Cycles of Thanksgiving

     As we get ready for holidays, memories filter from my past. Nostalgia creeps through brain waves and reminds me of my blessings, losses, loves, and beginnings. 

      Thanksgiving as a child meant it was closer to Christmas.It meant eating my mom’s hot buttered rolls, southern style sweet potatoes, and key lime pie. I didn’t have time to stuff myself because kids are too busy playing and laughing with cousins and friends.

       As I grew older, Thanksgiving meant coming home from Ohio University to eat my mother’s gourmet cooking. I rejoiced at the delicious cornucopia of aromas. The dressing was fluffy and perfectly seasoned as was the gravy that smothered the heavily buttered mashed potatoes. Thinking about the sweet potatoes and cranberry salad still makes my mouth water. Admittedly, I selfishly looked forward to Thanksgiving break to devour scrumptious food and sleep. When I awakened, I‘d go see high school friends to catch up on their lives and share my latest news. Since we had no cell phones or tablets, we had a backup of stories that needed to be shared. I did little toward making the food or spending time with my parents. I was twenty and read to trot.

     As a young mom, my focus and understanding of Thanksgiving began to change. It was about setting an artful table, and planning and cooking the entire meal.  I rushed the little lads from the kitchen to play with dad and worked laboriously trying to create a tasty meal as my mom had done through the years.  I invited folks who had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving and relatives who would drive to Muncie to spend the holiday with us. I worked all week cleaning, cooking, and preparing a special meal. I realized all the standing, peeling, baking, and cooking my mom had done for me all those years was exhausting. I understood the pressure of getting every dish to come out on time, together, piping hot, and delicious. Thanksgiving meant a lot of hard work, but it was worth it when I heard the “yums” from those sitting around our table, and the smiling faces of my husband and sons.  Men waddled into the living room to watch the Detroit Lions, children played board games, and I was back in the kitchen cleaning up the mess with help from a couple of my aunts.

      As a mom of college kids, I cooked furiously to provide the dinner that fulfilled the guys’ expectations.  I couldn’t wait to see them, hug them, and hear of their adventures abroad or at the Naval Academy. I was obsessed to make the perfect meal. They, like I, came home, stuffed themselves with turkey, dressing and a boatload of gravy.  They inhaled pumpkin and pecan pies like a vacuum sucks up dirt. Then, off they went to see their friends and catch up on what had been happening. Den helped me clean up the mess, as adults chose to snooze, play cards, or watch football. The cycle was the same. I understood but wanted more time with our sons. I am sure my mom wanted more time with me too. But, soon the holiday was over, and the guys returned to college. 

     My focus has changed through the years.  It is important to be a part of serving the less fortunate and providing food products for families so other mom’s can cook. I pray for the needy and hungry. I understand now that Thanksgiving was so much more than about my perfect meal.  Many had no meals, no fancy table, no kids that returned to them for a family time.  The elderly have an institutional turkey dinner in the facilities where they live.  Dinner is humdrum and tasteless unless there is an unexpected visitor or invitation by a family member. These elderly ladies yearn to return to their kitchens to mash potatoes, grind fresh cranberries, and be exhausted from serving. 

     I understand that I have almost made the full cycle of Thanksgiving. Den and I are the older aunt and uncle invited to dinner. I will bring pies and rejoice with younger cousins about their tales of travel, hear the stories of how illness has altered the lives of my beloved aunts and uncles, laugh with cousins about all our genetic flaws, and reminisce on all the wonderful Thanksgivings in our past. I am thankful for all the memories of sitting down and giving thanks for our lives, family, friends, and the mother, who taught me the importance of sacrificing, cooking and creating a welcoming table so loved ones could come and share the day.

     Enjoy your Thanksgiving in the cycle where you are this holiday.

  

Paris brings opportunity for us to pray for peace.

What’s your rabbit’s foot?

Today there is a great out powering of grief and suffering in Paris.  Explosions and guns were used to bomb Frenchman going to Friday celebrations and living life.  There were other countries represented in the crisis, but it was focused on Parisians.  The terrorist destroyed the beauty of architectural over 200 years old.  The enemy destroyed families, young and old people, spirits, safety, and peace.  ISIS strikes and will continue to strike.  This grief permeates our soils and souls.  We understand the enemy will continue to grow.  We need to a plan.  A big plan.  A prayer plan.  A war plan.  How can this happen in time to save our country or others?

Ancients used lucky charms like rabbit’s feet to ward of evil spirits or create a safety net within if they carried the animal’s foot.  They relied on this to bring them luck and protection.  Some of us still carry rabbit’s feet in other forms.  Sometimes we sit in our warm home in front of the fire sipping tea and feeling so content, secure, and safe.  We push away the thoughts of those grieving from disasters, the hungry and homeless, and those Christians that have been persecuted and killed in North Korea, China, Syria, and more.  Denial becomes our rabbit’s foot.  The burden is so heavy, so difficult to comprehend that we just need to escape.       

What if we used this advent season to pray?   Peace begins with prayer. Choose a specific time to sincerely seek God’s word and pray for our hurting brothers and sisters.  Pray for those being persecuted for their beliefs.  Pray for the heart of a terrorist.  Try to visualize one of the terrorists that make the news and see his heart softened.  Diligently pray every day of advent that Jesus will intercede and safeguard our country and others.  We will create a prayer wall around our brothers and sisters, peace-seeking countries, and our families. 

Do not throw away your confidence with your used tea bag.  Instead, “…my righteousness one will live by faith.  And I take no pleasure in the one who shrinks back.  We are not those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved. “ Hebrews 10:38,39

We will be richly rewarded if we ban together in prayer every day.  In these times, we need to stand together.

Please take the time to name the time you promise to pray from now through December. Pray for our country and those being persecuted.  Your responses will be an encouragement to commitment and a blessing to all.  Please add your strength to our prayer wall.

Grace of God

Grace

I have been studying how Jesus lived for many years.  I so want to be like Him, see like Him, serve like Him, but I always fall short.  I think that’s okay as long as I keep trying and seek His grace.

            I have specifically studied how Jesus would greet people and how He invited them into His life.  As a disciple, I  am encouraged to be an imitator of God.  That sometimes doesn’t feel like encouragement, but instead, a bar so high I can never reach it. So, these are the times I seek God and ask, “ How can I ever be all you intended me to be?”

            Gently He nudges, “ I will give you grace, my dear child.”  Grace undeserved but given to me for just trying to be like Him.  He gave that same grace to the women at the well when He told her all the things she had done.  She knew she was forgiven, didn't ask, just knew.  That was His first miracle in Galilee after turning water to wine in Cana.  Jesus invited her to be all that she could be now.  She accepted his grace and told others in the village.

 The second miracle was when the royal official begged Jesus to come with him and heal his son.  Jesus answered, “You may go.  Your son will live.” The official took Jesus at his word and departed.  While the official was returning home, his servant met him on the road to tell him the news that his son was living.

The third miracle He performed in Galilee was to tell the man, who had been crippled almost forty years, “Pick up his mat and walk.”  Just do it.  The man accepted his greeting and walked. He didn’t even know who Jesus was.  He was healed by the grace of Jesus.  The crippled man did nothing.  In fact, he saw Jesus later and then knew who had created the opportunity for him to be healed.

Each time I read these scriptures in John, I am amazed at how grace is the greeting, the vessel, and the end result.   Jesus’ grace flooded over sin, sickness, and honored obedience. 

May the grace of God be with you.  (1 Corinthians 16:23). 

Difficulties Nurse Understanding

Pilot Light

From birth, each of us begins life with a spiritual pilot light in place. Sometimes it may dim, but it is always there.  Recently, an object lesson of life reinforced that to me.

“Husband, there is no hot water to wash dishes, my hair, or to bathe!”

 Denny checked the pilot light, and it seemed to be out.  He followed the directions on the hot water tank to reboot the pilot light, but to no avail.  We still had cold water.  So, he called the plumber for a next day appointment. We dreaded how much this would cost us.  We went the entire day without cleaning anything.  

Then, late in the evening, Denny was at the kitchen sink rinsing a dish and said, “Hey, we have hot water.”  Yep, the gizmo had reset itself, the pilot was on, and the water was hot again.  We wondered how long we had hot water.

This reminded me of the many times I thought my pilot was too dim to have sufficient faith to expect a miracle.  Sometimes I thought it was off when I could not write an inspirational blog.  Once, I even thought it went out when I lost a dear friend, Nancy Hoopingarner, who many others and I had prayed for believing a healing from cancer.  Instead, Nancy died rocking our faith and temporarily extinguishing our pilot light.   Who do you call for a reboot to your spirit?          

            Sometimes we suffer in a state of hurt and despair creating more seeds of destruction.  We operate on the premise that our circumstances can’t be fixed. We stay in that cold place a long time shivering with no hope or understanding.  We sink so low that we finally look up and ask our heavenly Father to help us.  When we do surrender, we discover warmth, a peace, and an understanding.  Were our pilot lights always lit but went dim because of what we were telling ourselves?  Were we operating on disfigured truth because of the circumstances?  How long do we stay facing the wall, when all along the eternal light within is ready to convert our worldly thinking into spiritual understanding?  My goal is to search my inner light and buried truth sooner and remember I have the constant warmth of the Spirit.

Waiting prayers

Waiting …everything I am seeking is on the way.

            In May, I planted two small moonflower plants.  I wasn’t sure they would grow on the trellis because it was not located in full day sun. I asked God to bless them as I do when I plant most of  my flowers.

             As each of my spring beauties blossomed, I marveled at their bright colors of yellow, purple and pink and wondered when my moonflowers would bloom.  As summer annuals were mixed into my perennials, I looked at the moonflower vine and observed it was growing, but there were no buds.  Annuals bloomed brightly, and soon in July and August my ten hydrangea bushes burst forth large, elegant white and pink blooms.  I looked at the moonflower vine, and it was still climbing the trellis.  September came and I pulled wilted annuals and cut back some of the perennials and wondered if I should pull up the moonflower vine since it was doing nothing but producing heart shaped leaves.  I was rushed that day of gardening and decided to just leave it and pull it out when I came back from vacation.

              As I surveyed the gardens when I returned, I could not believe what I saw.  Giant moonflowers were on my trellis and evidence of some that had bloomed and wilted while I was gone.  The plant produced what it promised.  It bloomed in its time and its season.  In the midst of becoming my blessing, I almost uprooted it.  Instead of expectation as I had in the early months, I felt disappointment toward the end of summer. I almost destroyed my blessing before the bloom time was here. 

            How many of us have planted prayer seeds and wondered if they would be answered?  At first we were patient and diverted by other things around us.  However, months passed and seemingly no answer.  Then, it shows up.  It slips into your life so quietly, with grace and ease.  You might not even believe it at first.  When you weren’t looking, working, or even praying about it; suddenly the answer is there.  My moonflower taught me a wonderful lesson this summer.  Pray for something with all my soul, my full heart, and have confidence that God hears my prayer and acts on it.  That’s it! In fact, I don’t have to do anything but look up and see my moonflower in His timing.

Art Is Used To Help the Congo.

 In memory of Congolese displaced women.  

 

    Today I am posting four paintings that will go to our church auction.  All proceeds go to World Relief Congo.  Violence and conflict in the Democratic Republic of Congo have been prevalent for many years.  My church, Fellowship Missionary, has made a commitment for the last few years to come along side of World Relief and provide prayers and funding to help these troubled people.  We have been a part of training peace builders among the tribes.  By we, I mean the people at my church  and World Relief. We pray all 

year for the displaced women of the Congo.  Many of our members train for the Race for Peace and solicit funds from sponsors. The monies go to World Relief to provide more counselors for teaching ways of resolving personal battles and ministering to the tormented and abused women. Over five million Congolese have been killed and slaughtered since 1996. Seventy-five per cent of the population lives on less than $1 a day.  My heart is heavy and burdened for the people of DR Congo.

          As I paint Congo scenes, the women, the surrounding tropical trees, it is as if I am stepping into their land and seeing individuals that become real to me.  God has given me a dream  for three successive years and shown me what I should paint to raise funds.  This year was no exception.  He showed me three women praising, and hope rose as they praised and prayed. 

     I enjoyed painting a stylistic portrait of the three gathered in praise.  This is a different style for me.  Friends have asked me who are the ladies that I paint?  I don’t know how to answer. The ladies live in the canvas and when I apply paint and prayer, they appear.  Now, sometimes I have to repaint if I get a color wrong or a body part out of proportion, but I never tire of painting.  I am as surprised as the viewer with the end result.  God gives me the design and image, but I must create His vision on the canvas.  It is like living on the edge of paradise.  His call, his gift, and the Holy Spirit leading creates these images. Putting our gifts together for the kingdom of God is what Race for Peace and Create4 Peace is celebrating.

     The woman sitting alone at the graveside appears somber.  Yet, there is hope rising in her.  Mysteriously, the MP3 laid down their arms last year.  After four years of intense praying, we heard the news report that for an unexplained reason they would no longer fight.  The warmongers stopped raping and attacking after years of violence in the DR Congo. The woman in the painting has buried her loved one and is not being hunted or accosted by the MP3. As she grieves for her loved one, she is sitting quietly finding hope in her future.

     The two figures carrying something on their heads represent hope rising too.  Hope is slowly rising in the Congo.  Peacemakers hired and trained with our race and art proceeds are helping tribes resolve problems. Life journeys are still sacrificial and difficult, but hope is welling up in individuals.

     The small map is a prayer map.  The woman stands in the midst of the Congo. She sees a beautiful sky and knows that life is getting better.  The keeper of this prayer map is reminded to pray daily for the women of the Congo.  Pray for healing of memories, emotions, and losses.  This map was created on a small four by six canvas, so it can sit on a desk or table and be a daily reminder to pray for our brothers and sisters in the Congo.

     I submit these art pieces and continued prayers that my sisters in the Congo may know peace and hope. Pray with me that these art pieces will bring a hefty price at our silent auction.  These funds will be added to the funds of World Relief Congo.

     

     

September and fall have a new meaning.

           September is starting with a thud!            

     I had to go to the dentist again.  I had been painting a Congo picture all morning and had as much paint on me as the canvas.  I looked at the clock and decided I must stop now and get a shower if I hoped to get to my appointment on time.

     I stepped in the shower and turned on the warm water. Suddenly, I could feel my feet sliding and that horrifying feeling of falling.  My feet flew out from under me so quickly I had no time to think or prevent my fall.  I felt totally helpless and out of control as I landed on the right side of my face, then my shoulder, next my knee and lastly a futile attempt to soften my blow by using my hand to catch me.  It all happened in a couple seconds, but I had the feeling time had slowed down, and I could visualize and see each contact point hit the shower stall and then my slippery body landed on the tile in slow motion. 

    I knew my cheekbone and jaw hurt a lot since it was the first to hit the little seat thoughtfully molded into the Plexiglas shower stall.  My endeared bench for shaving my legs was now a destructive enemy.  I could still move my jaw that was positive. Next, I decided I should try to get up and must have pulled the shower curtain which dislodged the tension bar, and it thudded the left side of my head, bounced onto my forehead, then fell on my neck with a strangled hold.  My feet and knees were entangled in my elegant lace shower curtain.  This is beginning to look like a crime scene I thought.

     The water was spewing out onto the curtain and floor.  Of course, no one was home but Dobie Gillis, my sweet senior dog. Since I had left the door open, not to fog the bathroom mirror, he sat in the hall watching me with what his little remaining eyesight.  He tilted his head the way dogs do when they don’t understand and dropped his head and put his nose to the floor.

    “Well, Dobie, it looks like I’ve missed my shower window!”  He just sighed and lay down to see what contortion I’d do next. I slowly tried to sit up but had to untangle my legs from the octopus arms of the shower curtain and rod.  My head was spinning, but I got back into the shower stall and washed my hair, finished my shower, and dried my now throbbing body. I went to the freezer, grabbed a commercial ice pack, and held it gently on my cheek and jaw.  I looked at the clock and thought I had just enough time to get to the dentist.  Should I go?  Was I in one piece?  Could I drive?

     I could move all body parts, so I assumed I had scathed by what could have been a bone-breaking bonanza. I dressed slowly trying not to stress any of my bruises and sore places and arrived at the dentist on time.  For two weeks, my dentist had been adjusting my newly created partial. On my day-by-day visit, he would grind a little away attempting to make it a comfortable fit.

    “How are you today,” Dr. Bible generically inquired.

    “You might not want to ask,” I jested.

     He grinned.  I smiled holding my jaw and told him my tale of woe.

     Now, a couple of days away from my own version of slip and slide, I am aware of my grace covering.  I went to water aerobics the next day to smooth out some of my kinks and knots.  I have placed a rubber skid-free mat in the bottom of my shower and am working through shower phobia.  I’m grateful for God’s protection one more time.