A Few Thoughts

No lake trip this evening. It was probably beautiful and I probably missed running into a friend, but I didn't go tonight. I had an appointment at physical therapy where I saw a PT about the pain in my back. She agreed with the doctor's opinion that my sacroiliac joint is the cause of my lower back pain and has given me some exercises to strengthen my glutes. I am optimistic and eager to be rid of this pain in the butt.

The mind continues to roll and ponder. I will, in all likelihood, always carry some degree of cognitive dissonance regarding my divorce, but I am hopeful that these thought processes will no longer cripple me. I stopped at my old church to drop something off to James yesterday afternoon and ran into a couple of women from my old Ladies' Prayer group. One of them is especially dear. We shared a long tight hug and I told her I loved her. She is a great source of encouragement to my children and for this I am entirely thankful. I'm not entirely sure what to think when they tell me, "I'm praying for you." I said thank you, but deep inside I'd really like to know exactly what they're asking God to do... Ugh.

 I've been thinking the last couple of days about April and how it was so very sad for me. It's a month full of memories, but there is something else this year I realized I've been grieving and that is the loss of my favorite tulip, the one I moved from the farm when I came to live in my childhood home. I thought she was in a safe spot, but she was lost when Sergio moved the little Japanese maple tree from up by the house out into the yard. I knew back then that she was probably gone, but I'd held onto a shred of hope in her miraculous return. It's hard to admit something as simple as a flower could make my heart hurt, but she represented so much growth, healing and resilience that letting go is painful. It's not as though another can take her place. She taught me so many lessons and I am ever so grateful for the gift she was.

Our smokey skies have cleared. (We were under an air quality advisory for a couple of days due the Canadian wildfires in Ontario and Quebec.) There were puffy, white clouds and blue skies this afternoon. I can't even imagine what it must be like for those in the thick of it.

Eight Years

It's the annual "Dad Post" because I still love him as much as ever and miss him like crazy. Perhaps in some ways, I've missed him more this past year because I've felt so much like I need him to be here. I've needed his wisdom, his guidance, and his love. I've needed his arms around me and his prayers upholding me, but just when I find myself thinking I don't have those things anymore, I remember that love, wisdom, and prayers are timeless.

I still have my father's love. He poured so much love into my life that the well will never run dry. My dad taught us not only through his words, but by his actions as well. He was a man who said what he meant, and meant what he said. If I search my heart and listen closely, his wisdom is etched into my soul. And God, who lives outside of space and time, not only keeps our tears in a bottle, but he has a bowl filled with our prayers as well. He doesn't count prayers lifted on our behalf as "expired" when the intercessor passes on, and so I find great comfort in knowing that even though my parents are no longer physically here, I am still wrapped in their prayers and ever will be. And I am grateful.

Still Here

I'm still here, wanting to write, but not knowing how to let the thoughts and feelings flow... There are so many things in life we don't put out there for the entire world to see, things we either hold inside or whisper only to our closest friends. Prayers that tumble out through tears and trembling...

The sun is bright today and spring promises to arrive as usual. I'm off to work. Yesterday's eight hours was especially long. My friend took a tumble and spent the entire day in bed. She's bruised but apparently not broken.

That lady in the photo is my grandma who had a passion for gardening. Her yard was never without flowers during the spring and summer. I'd like to be just like her, but lack of time and energy constrains me, not to mention rocks.

The Funeral

Monday morning my sister Priscilla and I attended the calling hours of an old friend and neighbor. Gretchen was more my friend than that of my sisters. We didn't really hang out together when we were in school, we did that more with her brother, but Gretchen always knew I cared about her. Last Thursday my telephone rang and on the other end of the line was my friend Adam, calling to tell me that his sister had passed away early that morning.

Gretchen had sent me a Facebook note back in early January informing me that she had been diagnosed with cancer the day after Christmas and soon after had started chemo. " I don't want any of my family to know. I moved on from them." she told me. "The out come is not good but I am going to beat it."

I didn't really know what to say. I fumbled about for a bit on my end. Gretchen had always been the dramatic kind. When she told stories it was impossible to decipher fact from fiction. Her only brother is like a brother to my sisters and I, yet I knew she hadn't spoken to him in years. She had disowned both her parents along with her oldest son when he was still a child. "I'm sorry to hear that," I wrote. "Will keep you in my prayers." It seemed lame, but I wasn't sure how much to draw out the conversation. I am ashamed now. It was the last time I talked to her.

I don't know what this friend of mine dealt with growing up, I only know that she was a soul in pain, and she reacted to that pain by fighting. Her life was mostly painful and unsettled. Trouble seemed to plague her, but she was stubborn and resolute. If she got knocked down, she came up fighting. She was a woman bent on making it in a man's world. She wore high heeled shoes and mini skirts, and drove a tow truck, sometimes at the same time. She competed in beauty pageants, rode motorcycles, and drove snowplows. She loved men in uniforms; police officers, firemen, EMT's, and soldiers, and she had a strong opinion. I never found the urge (or courage) to challenge her and looked to avoid confrontation, sometimes by avoiding conversation, but never by avoiding her. If I chanced to see her out and about, I always stopped to say hello and see how things were going.

When my older children were small I babysat Gretchen's oldest son. I think he was about 6 or 7 years old, the same as my Bethany. Gretchen was driving snowplow that winter and would bring her son in my house to sleep on the couch well before I came downstairs in the morning. It was our agreement and it worked well. Sometimes when he went home from school on the bus the house was empty and he would call me on the phone. "Martha? My mom isn't home. Can you come and get me?" he'd ask and I would.

When Gretchen's husband went off to military training, I held her while she cried. When her second child, who had just begun to pull herself up and walk around the furniture, began to cry each time her mother put her down, we both found ourselves concerned. It was as though the baby was in pain and I encouraged Gretchen to follow her gut and take her to the doctor. It turned out that the baby had leukemia. (Today she is 22 years old.) And, when she struggled to come to terms with a third pregnancy when her daughter was still an infant, I was able to encourage her with the news that I was pregnant too. Although they've never even met, my son Ben and her son were born just days apart.

I sat in the church yesterday with my sister and looked at the grieving family across the aisle; an older brother who hardly knew his younger siblings, a grandmother who raised the older son and was denied a relationship the younger two, and Gretchen's own brother who was and is so very much like a brother to me. I watched the oldest son lean over and kiss his little sister and then his brother. I marveled at how the men in this family all had clean shaven heads and facial hair even though they barely knew each other, and I watched as a young woman grieving the loss of her mother, clung to her grandma and cried, and I ached inside for what should have been.

There are too many people in the world who decide to cut family members out of their lives,who give up on those they should hold on to, and who hold onto the pride and grudges they should let go of. I have friends and family members who know the pain of severed relationships and unanswered questions, and I know a bit of that too. Sometimes we have to let our loved ones go in order to gain them back again. I had to because the good memories needed to live on.  I couldn't allow myself to be eaten up by bitter thoughts and unforgiveness. My prayer for this wounded family is that they will learn to love and forgive and be an example of love and forgiveness to a hurting world around them.

The Multitude of Conselors

Where there is no counsel, the people fall; But in the multitude of counselors there is safety. 

Proverbs 11:14

Last night as James and I talked, I told him how much I really miss both my mom and dad. Dad's wisdom for the family is unreplaced, and Mom is no longer able to give guidance. When I think about it, perhaps the easiest thing in the past three years was letting go of Dad. It put a knot in my stomach, took away all my desire to eat, and left me weeping in the dark of night, but I knew what I had to do. I had to let my dad go. It was his time.

If I grew spiritually by leaps and bounds in the months preceding Dad's illness, the months following left me feeling unprepared and faced with a multitude of unanswered questions. It also found me leaving the church I had come to love and trying to fit into another. Perhaps part of the plan is to eventually come to trust the pastor and his wife as the new spiritual counselors in our life, but can I bare my heart to them, and why do I find myself so reluctant to trust them with it?

Our family issues have not miraculously disappeared, and although I have been accused of backbiting and attempting to garner sympathy for my cause, the truth is that I honestly don't want anyone to think ill of any member of my family. This is why I long so for my dad. He loved us all, and I believe he loved us all the same. An outsider always comes into a situation with a little bit of prejudice, a bit of sympathy for the party with which they are familiar, or maybe the one who knows best how to use words. I am not a winner of debates, but neither do I want to see my own child be the loser. I only want him to see how much he is hurting not only us and other family members, but himself as well.

It's a new year and the last go around has me looking to retreat. I have said and done everything I know to say and do. I've told him I love him, but I am tired and I am done playing the game. I choose to walk away and pray that God and time will work in all of our hearts to bring about the healing we all so desperately need. I can't live my life on a pendulum and I shouldn't have to.

There have been tears, of course, because that is how a momma's heart works, but I will be okay. There is so much to look forward to this year and I can not let myself be ambushed by grief and/or pity. God still reigns. He still loves both of us more than either of us know, and I can still pray. There is always prayer.

Decoration Day

 "Where are the men and women whose knees are as calloused as their hands?"

Although my father joined the Naval Reserves as a teen, he never saw war. Although he sailed one tour to Cuba, he never crossed the ocean or stood on the enemy's shore. Excused for medical reasons, he never looked down the barrel of an enemy gun or hid with his buddies in a foxhole. Instead, he stayed stateside, married, raised a family and fought a battle of another kind.

Dad was a soldier in the Lord's army. He took his little family to church each Sunday, read Bible stories to his children at night, and prayed.  Dad struggled in his Christian walk just like the rest of us do. There are battles in every life. Dad's childhood battle with polio taught him to persevere in future times. Raising an autistic son taught him compassion. Facing a teenaged daughter's pregnancy taught him love and forgiveness on a level he had never reached before. By the time dad faced his battle with lung cancer, years of testing had solidified his faith in Christ. He never let go, never questioned God's faithfulness, and remains to this day a hero of the faith.

Our family lost a great prayer warrior when my father left this world. They say prayer is a powerful weapon in the hands of the believer, and I believe this to be true. Our family needs a warrior. Who will fill those shoes?

Kneeling in the Dirt

"You’ll work best if you are kneeling.” -the Farmer

I've been blessed again by reading Ann's words,  "Sometimes weeds go deep." Weeds go deep. Yes. And that is precisely why the art of growing a garden takes perseverance. Without perseverance there will be no fruit, no flowers, just an overgrown area full of troublesome and undesirable growth.

So, here I am thinking again, thinking about gardens. Thinking about prayer and Bible study, and about those weeds that grow, not only in my garden, but in my life as well.

Bruised and Abrasive

A little over six years ago I started a blog. I named it "Lookin' Up" and made an unspoken commitment to keep my writing upbeat and positive, vowed not to use it as a vehicle to hurt or demean others, and purposed it to honor the One who lived and died for me. I also wanted to keep my writing honest and have found through the years that sometimes honesty means that life is not all roses and sunshine. Everyone faces storms in life. There are challenges and heartaches of every kind. Sometimes we laugh at life, and other times we weep. Sometimes we are strong, and other times we are overwhelmed. Lately I have been overwhelmed.

I am easily bruised and easily abrasive. When I speak my words are not always well thought out. Disagreements and misunderstandings leave me literally tied in knots and in physical pain. Though I know the pain in my neck and back are not caused by structural issues, I still find myself in pain. A chiropractor can not take it away. I need to pray more, I need to read my Bible more, and I need to learn how to give all my anxieties and fears over to His care. Thankfully, I have a God who already knows exactly what I need.

The Escape Hatch

I was totally overwhelmed on Monday. It wasn't the small children playing in my living room, just an overall unsettled stress deep within. Sometimes I find myself wondering whether the room is spinning or just my mind, and then I realize it's all those loose ends that never stay tied. On Sunday afternoon I heard part of a message on the radio. The pastor was speaking of those times when we go to pray and all we can muster is "Oh, Lord..." He said that was okay and God hears the cry of our hearts and so my prayer was just that, "Oh, Lord."

I had been wondering if God was hearing my prayers anymore or if He would ever answer my cry. On Tuesday morning my friend Vinnie came to play. I felt a sense of relief wash over me when I laughed at him kissing the goldfish through the side of the bowl. It was just the beginning. There was a phone call from a mom who I had agreed to babysit for. She doesn't need me after all. A little more stress relieved. Another phone call told me that my grandkids would be here today rather than Wednesday and that left Wednesday free and clear aside from putting Emma on and off the bus. Relief. And my friend Heather came to visit too. It was a wonderfully dark and rainy morning, perfect for a little bit of cleaning and a visit with a friend. In the afternoon Hannah and I ran out to the bank and a quick stop at the store. We ended the day with a Scrabble game between James, Hannah, and me. I think I lost, but that's okay. Today the pressure is relieved and all I had to do was trust God to provide a way of escape.

On Being A Mom (a second post-it note already)

Sometimes being a mom leaves me looking at a nearly grown up child and wondering what he or she is thinking. When my kids are happy, I find myself smiling, and when they hurt deep inside, my heart aches too. I am no longer at the point in time where I can kiss away the boo-boos or easily distract a troubled mind. I can't make their decisions for them and I can't manipulate the world in order to make life easy. There are days when I fear the callouses on my knees are missing, and times when I whisper a name repeatedly in prayer. I can't erase the pain that comes with life and I suppose it wouldn't always be wise anyway. Somehow experiencing pain, both emotional and physical, gives one the ability to empathize with others, to care how others feel, and to love our neighbors just a little bit more. It is my prayer that my children will always know they are loved deeply and unconditionally, that I am here to help them where I am able, and that it is my heart's desire to be available when they need a shoulder to lean on. I know I have failed often...

Spilled Water

“If a sudden jar can cause me to speak an impatient, unloving word, then I know nothing of Calvary love. For a cup brimful of sweet water cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, however suddenly jolted.”

~ Amy Carmichael

I rolled my eyes at the inconvenience and heaved a sigh of irritation. It wasn't a really a big deal and the offender took no notice, but continued instead to be a puddle of icy, cold snow water on the kitchen floor. It was only me who was bothered by the incident. No matter that I had actually been the one who did the stepping. In actuality, I was the offender, not the small amount of snow tracked into my kitchen on the bottom of someone's boot or shoe. The snow had been doing only what God made it to do, melt with rising temperatures. I could have been grateful, for it's presence indicates that my home is warm and cozy, but instead I grumbled at the cold, wet spot on my sock. I could have taken opportunity to smile, sit down in my blue chair with a cup of hot coffee, and put my feet up on a stool in front of the wood stove. My sock would have dried in a few minutes time. I could have turned the moment into a visit with my Lord and Savior, but instead my Bible sat, waiting and unread, on the dining room table.

And what of those I love? How often do I look upon them as I looked upon this puddle of ice water? When did I forget to take each and every opportunity and use it for the glory of the One who died in my place? Have I ever learned to do such a thing? Can He, will He, help me do just that? Only if I make myself willing and available. The real question is, will I?

He Knows

Therefore strengthen the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be dislocated, but rather be healed.
Hebrews 12:12-13

There is nothing quite like the voice of God to take one's focus off self and onto others. I have continued to struggle with my thoughts and feelings of late. They aren't what they need to be and I am hurting only myself, yet I can't seem to get past them and on to where I should be. As I looked at Jasmine's zigzag pattern of tracks through the yard yesterday, I thought it just a little like me. Not quite sure where I'm headed, tending to shift my focus often, and stumbling headlong as I go. I'm glad God knows how to gently shift my gaze back in the right direction without knocking me over.

I left a very short note for an old friend this afternoon, actually she is more of an acquaintance and I haven't had any contact with her for years. I was surprised to find a return message, one asking prayer for a hurting heart. God knows His children. He knows when we need a shoulder to cry on or a word of encouragement. He sends His love and care packaged in the words or touch of a fellow child. I have had Him touch me in such a way and have found Him use me when I least expected it. Tonight "J" is on my heart. I pray the Lord will wrap His loving arms around her in such a way that she feels His unmistakable presence and finds comfort in His touch.

A Long and Winding Road

This week has already brought about as much as I can bear. There have been many tears and much heart ache. There has been a searching of the soul and a testing of the spirit. In the stress of these situations, communication often breaks down and there are words and actions on both parts that have been either misunderstood or simply unnecessary. I know God is in the midst, changing me and growing me in ways I never imagined. I only wish it wasn't so painful. I pray the worst is over and there are brighter days ahead. I hope I have learned something in the process.This morning all I could do was wrap my arms around my daughter in law and cry. There is a healing balm in tears.

PS. My Uncle Chuck came through his surgery which included a triple bypass. He is now in the hospital recovering. Thank you for your prayers.

The Tackle Box

Lest anyone think I may have gone completely over the edge, I am here to assure you I am really okay. Life just dishes up tests and trials which must be tackled and dealt with. This is what we are doing. It is a relief to know that God is control when circumstances appear to be out of ours.

Not long ago I asked God to make me a prayer warrior. I think He is answering that prayer and for this I am thankful. There is no better way to tackle life's troubles than to pray, and there is no better way to get us on our knees than a trial.

Answered Prayers

Our prayers have been answered and my uncle is out of the ICU. Rachel took Mom up to visit today and found him smiling and making jokes. It will still be some time before he is better, but we are all much relieved and grateful to have him back with us again. (James and I had stopped at the ICU on Monday evening while he was still on the ventilator and sedated. He tried so hard to wake up.) I am looking forward to seeing him again soon and giving him a big hug.

Good News

My Uncle Chuck is doing better. The news this morning was that he was awake, breathing on his own, watching Fox News, and asking for his wife. I felt a smile creep across my face and relief flood my mind. I think he has finally turned a corner, though I know he faces a very long recovery process.

Thank you all for your prayers. Maybe by July he'll be ready to play "The Slap Game" with me. It was a favorite when I was a kid even though he always beat me.

Another picture of Mom and her little brother.

Hope and Mercy

The LORD takes pleasure in those who fear Him, In those who hope in His mercy.
Ps. 147:11

Bethany sent me this verse the other day. When my own dad was sick I prayed for grace, with my uncle I have prayed for mercy. It has been a rough week. First was the diagnosis of pneumonia, which was thought to have been caught early but quickly became life threatening. ICU and sedation have been the words of the week. As the pneumonia itself was brought under control a new complication arose, bleeding lungs. Every day we have hoped and prayed for good news. Today Uncle Chuck is in a Rochester hospital, his lungs are not bleeding quite as much, and when they begin to wean him off the sedating medications, he tries to get up. Aunt Mary knew this would happen. He obviously has things to do but is still very sick and so he remains medicated. They say you can't keep a good man down.


The photo is of Uncle Chuck and my mother many years ago.

Another Change of Plans

My morning started out with doing laundry and keeping track of small children. It was a gorgeous day to be outside. We spent the morning in the yard and even ate our lunch on the back porch. That was when I got the phone call...

It was Leta on the other end of the line. She had taken Mom to Urgent Care because she was short of breath and they were sending her to the hospital in an ambulance. Could I meet Mom there? I made some quick arrangements for the kids and set off to spend the afternoon with my mom. They gave her extra oxygen and a diuretic, did a chest x-ray, hooked her up to some monitors, and left us to wonder why she was there. After five hours a doctor showed up, decided her oxygen levels looked good, and said she could go home. The chest x-rays were clear and she was looking better. (That was about ten minutes after saying she was going to be admitted... ) You've got to love hospitals...

My Uncle Chuck is showing improvement today. He's finally responding to the antibiotics (he's on three), is still sedated to help him rest, and will likely remain in the hospital for the next week. I asked the Lord for mercy through tears last night. Mercy for my mom who I believe needs her brother right now, and mercy for my sisters and I who have no brothers to turn to if we need help with Mom. I came to the sudden realization that not only do I love my Uncle Chuck intensely, but he is also the last family patriarch. Time marches on and life continues to change.

Daffodil Praise

Hear the voice of my supplications When I cry to You, When I lift up my hands toward Your holy sanctuary. Psalm 28:2

It was bright and sunny yesterday but a cold wind stung my face and hands. My flower garden does not seem concerned over the weather. Fresh new shoots continue to stretch heavenward, reaching just a little higher each day. I couldn't help but think it appeared as though they were lifting holy hands to their God and Maker.

I am a rather private and reserved kind of person. I do not lift my hands in praise and worship during church. Though deep in my soul I want to, and I have done it, it is not my usual practice. It is my own pride that keeps my hands in my lap on Sunday morning and I am the one to suffer for it. Lord, forgive me. I want to praise You too.

I desire therefore that the men pray everywhere, lifting up holy hands, without wrath and doubting;
1 Timothy 2:8

Praise and Exaultation

For all people walk each in the name of his god, But we will walk in the name of the LORD our God Forever and ever. Micah 4:5

Last night I picked up a new book, one my husband found in the bookstore at church. It's just a little book, "Continuous Revival: The Secret of Victorious Living" by Norman Grubb. The book caught James' eye because a friend of ours had known Norman Grubb personally. Clif had been encouraged by Norman, and we were encouraged by Clif.

I want to walk with Jesus. I can not go back to yesterday and walk there and I can not reach into tomorrow. I must reach out this moment and take my Savior's hand; only in this moment can I follow in His steps.

I am learning something new about keeping my focus on Him. There have been and will be moments when I glance away and sink beneath the waves as Peter did, but in that moment I must make the choice to turn back, to look into my Saviors face, to call His name. He will never leave me nor forsake me.

Choice. He gives me the choice. He is always there waiting, waiting to walk with me if only I am willing to walk with Him.