Once in a Blue Moon

August ended with a blue moon. Which called to mind the phrase "once in a blue moon." And reminded me of some rare occurrences of the past year.

     It was exactly a year ago that I spent a night in the hospital for observation after experiencing several of the symptoms of a heart attack. Turns out I had a pinched nerve, which led to neck surgery a few weeks later. My first neck surgery (one vertebra higher) was a decade before that. This recovery has been slower and often discouraging. 

     I endured an ugly job experience, but learned much about abusive relationships. More than anything, I was reminded to heed my instincts. I had a bad feeling from the get-go and at almost every turn, but kept going far too long. Years ago, I ignored that instinct and broke my elbow. Lesson learned?

     I found myself drawn to volunteer for a task in ministry for which it turns out I have been uniquely qualified. It has been good to serve in this way. Chalk one up for instinct heeded.

     I lost two decades-long friends this year. Both to cancer. One anticipated, one completely unexpected. Both cared deeply about others and led servant lives. It seems to me that they should have had more years to bring joy and blessing to this world. But I don't know of anyone who could enjoy Heaven more.

     I'm in the middle of a remodel project on Mom's place that is both over budget and past deadline. One thing leads to another. And I'm not as handy as I used to be. But, once completed, we're good for another 20 years. 

     Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast in your arrogant schemes. All such boasting is evil.                       James 4:13-16

Happy Birthday, America!

What does the 4^th of July mean to you?  The older I get, the more patriotic I become. But, then, I appreciate a lot of things more than I did when I was younger. I did not participate in the invitation to read the Constitution, although I think that is a worthy endeavor. To be honest, I forgot about it until this morning. I know, you’re old enough to be smiling, too.  I put my flag out very early and left it until dusk.

Like most Americans, who gathered with friends or family, I invited friends over to grill hamburgers and play cards.  We ate outside, but didn’t last the afternoon in the patio shade. Welcome to the Northwest! Warm days usually come only after the 4^th. We expect temperatures in the 80’s for the next week.

Most of my neighborhood celebrated with fireworks, an activity that traumatizes pets all over the county. My dogs do better than most, but I cannot leave them alone. Neither can my friends, who had to go home early enough to beat the onslaught of ear-splitting noise and bone-jarring concussions.  Vancouver is famous for its public fireworks display, which I adore. Unfortunately, that display is partially funded by the sale of private fireworks that turn neighborhoods into “Little Beiruts.”

Watching the Capital Fourth on PBS has become a tradition at my house because it fits the bill.  It creates fun cover noise and allows me to join in the celebration from home. The finale is watching local coverage of Ft. Vancouver’s fireworks display. No music this year, though.  What’s with that, KGW?

It was well into the wee small hours of the morning before uninterrupted sleep came to my house, regulations notwithstanding. When I finally made my way to the bedroom, I was assaulted with the acrid smell of spent fireworks. No windows were open, just the outside vent in the master bathroom. Welcome to Clark County!

All in all, I had a great day. I hope you did, too.

test

Testiing

The God of Excellence

It recently occurred to me that it is easy to fall into the habit of expecting no more than "just getting by" from God, as if that is a sacrificial posture to Him. I am challenging myself this week to expect God's very best in response to the requests I lift up to Him. King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Creator of the Universe, God of every living thing... how small to imagine any less. 


So, how about you?  Do you have any God-sized petitions to place before Him?  I do.

Life Changing

Life is fluid, ever changing, never static. That change is often imperceptible, but it sometimes seems to occur at warp speed. A snapshot of my life this year:

·        My overall strength and some specific capabilities have declined since my surgery.
How much of that can be reclaimed is yet to be determined.

·        I have new job, for which I’m thankful, but its duration is uncertain.

·        My congregation is undergoing a huge transition in staffing and outlook.

·        Today I learned that two of the pillars in my home-based business company independently moved on to the same business opportunity.

The reality that is hard to keep in mind is that only God remains the same. Everything else is subject to unsolicited, and often unwelcome, change. The continual lesson for me is that trust must reside in the One who not only is unchanging, but most loving.

Words to Live By: "Stop and love the person in front of you."

There is little that puts life into perspective more than death. The past few weeks have been deja vu for me and my close friends as we have experienced the loss of not one, not two, but three friends in as many weeks. The same thing happened about this time last year.

Among the comments I have heard since then that stick in my mind are these:

“I’m learning that it is the small things that matter.”

“Life is fragile, isn’t it?”

My friend and author Lisa Harris recently recommended a book, Kisses from Katie. It is the true story of a prominent young woman drawn to ministry in Africa. Even before she finished high school, she left to visit this far-away land. Before she reached the age of twenty, she had settled there and adopted more children than most of us would think of taking on in a lifetime. Known to her Ugandan neighbors as Auntie Katie, she distills her young wisdom into one sentence: Stop and love the person in front of me. Those simple and profound words, and this story from her book, will forever be engraved on my heart.

   I don’t always want to help other people. Generally speaking, I do. But there are certain days when I, like everyone else in the world, simply want to do what I need to do and keep moving. It’s part of being human. But so often, when we stop to be kind when we don’t really want to, that’s when the sacrifice becomes most rewarding.

  The night in 2007 was cold and rainy. I was walking out of the supermarket on Main Street in downtown Jinja, on my way home. Then I saw him. Huddled on the street corner, drenched and shivering, was a little boy. At that moment, all I really wanted to think about was getting home, getting dry, and crawling into my warm bed. But a voice inside told me to stop.
  I took the little boy inside the supermarket to dry him off a bit and bought him some biscuits and juice. I gave him my sweatshirt, a small wooden cross I carried in my pocket, and some change so he could get a ride home.
  As he left, he called out, “What is your name?”
  “Katie,” I responded, “Auntie Katie.”
  “Me, I am Daniel,” he shouted and disappeared into the wet, chilly night.
  About a year later, I walked into the supermarket to buy food for my family and got caught in a big hug. Two small brown arms wrapped around me as a child’s voice excitedly proclaimed, “Auntie Katie!”
  I looked down to see Daniel. Beaming.
  “Wait,” he urged me.
  He hurried to the nearest street vendor and bought me a popsicle with the little pocket change he had. He then dug his little hand in his pocket and pulled out the small wooden cross. Looking at me with a wide grin, he spoke words that pierced my heart: “I have never stopped praying for you every day.”
  To this day, I think of that story and stand amazed at the goodness of our God and the enormous things He can accomplish if I am obedient to His command to stop and love the person in front of me. That rainy night, I really just wanted to hop on a piki and go home. But I stopped, because that’s what my heart told me to do. I only gave him a sweatshirt (I’m sure I have eight more). I only gave him some cheap biscuits (I can eat biscuits anytime I want to). I only gave him enough money for his ride home (probably less than the equivalent of fifty cents). But Jesus gave him hope that night. And he remembered. He didn’t just remember my face; he remembered my name. He prayed for me. He prayed for my safety and for the opportunity to see me again. I blessed him just one cold night, and he blessed me every day after that for an entire year.

~Clark, Beth, Katie J. Davis, Kisses from Katie, New York, Howard Books, October 4, 2011, pp 101-102.

Life is fragile.

It's the small things that matter.

Stop and love the person that God puts in front of you.

Another Year, Another...

This weekend, the calendar showed another year had passed marking my time on this earth. A tsunami actually happened in Japan last year on my birthday, so this year wasn't quite as earth shattering, but that was OK by me. 

I spent the weekend at the beach with a dear friend, relaxing and laughing. (And, neither of us were decked out for pictures on this casual holiday, so this travelogue is strictly scenic.)

Stormy weather made the fireplace especially welcome.














Nothing fits the beach more than an Adirondack chair, complete with cushions, to complement traditional upholstered furniture.

One sign of the middle years— and beyond— is that creature comforts become more and more appreciated. What's NOT to like about a beach house with a toilet that has the cushiest seat in the house?

Walking the beach loop via our street revealed some historic buildings. This circa 1895 home came complete with a matching porch cat:














I was glad to see that I wasn't showing my age nearly as much as this place:

One of the joys of having a March birthday is that Spring is just around the corner, an unmistakable reminder that renewed life is one of God's promises.










I came home refreshed by time away and blessed by the warmth of friendship.  




And, when I grow up, I want to be able to place text and pictures on a blogspot page as I intend, not as "it" requires them to appear.

Too Many Goodbyes

Last week I said goodbye to my almost 15-year-old Silky Terrier, Sasha. She collapsed trying to get out of her doggy bed near my desk and died in my arms shortly thereafter. At 104 in doggy years, she experienced her share of age-related maladies: deafness, arthritis, cataracts, insomnia. She had mild epilepsy most of her life, controlled by phenobarb the past few years. But, she never lost her zest for life. She still jumped with enthusiasm to get a spoonful of wet dog food to make the pill go down easier. She never stopped jumping with anticipation when I cooked rice, her favorite food. I think there is a life lesson there. 

Sasha helping with her last project... recovering the chair.

Sasha's gift— and menace, at times— was her interest in whatever was going on. That included peeking into the dryer every time I did laundry. No repairmen ever came to my house without getting her charming assistance. Most of them fell in love with her. Of note was the man who put in my Marblecraft shower. He always worked alone, and she broke his isolation for three days.

RIP, Sasha

But, as is His way, God brings grace.  I am thankful that Sasha did not have a lingering or expensive exit from this world, even more thankful that I did not have to put her down. I made the difficult decision to put down Beau, my last Silky Terrier, a month shy of his 15^th birthday. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. God took Sasha a month shy of hers. And, because I was nearby, I did not have to find her after the fact and wonder what happened.

But, wait, there's more.


Last night, we met at John and Betty’s for Life Group for what may turn out to be the last time before Betty goes home to be with God. It is just getting to be too hard for us to be there. Betty remains her cheerful, if mostly bed-ridden & increasingly-confused, self. She wanted each of us to visit with her, one at a time. When I came into her bedroom, she said she had hoped I’d be last, so I could sing for her. I shared my Mango frozen dessert with her and talked a little. Later, I gathered everyone to sing, and she joined in with her alto voice. She requested songs about Heaven— “just one more” at a time until she really did mean this was the last one. Precious!

My very first “up close and personal” memory of Betty was when she accompanied John to the “warm-up” rehearsal just before a funeral. Even though she wasn’t one of our appointed group, she joined right in. If my last memory of Betty is of her lying in bed singing songs about Heaven without missing a beat, it will be a perfect bookend. Or, as she agreed about the memory we had just made, “the best.”
xxx  

On The Hurting Edge

I pick my way through the sleeping shapes in the darkened gymnasium to do an early wake-up call for one of the overnight guests at the Winter Housing Overflow. Forty five of the fifty slots are taken. As it turns out, the ID numbers are wrong, and I first rouse the wrong person, but the woman who is expecting the 6 AM call is already awake. One person, at least, is deep in sleep, snoring loudly across the room.

Tonight, we're told, we have one pinkeye- and one head lice- infected child to deal with, quarantined as best they can be in the opposite corner of the gym. All in all, a group of homeless people generally thankful to be out of the cold of the street and their cars, huddled for the night in a safe, welcoming place.

When we put the lights on for an "easy" wake-up call, the blanketed shapes begin to emerge to reveal sleepy faces. The youngest is an adorable two-month old. He is already busy at his bottle. Two older siblings burrow further into their blankets nearby, reluctant to give up their snugly beds. This is one of the families that will have a hard time getting themselves put together by the 8 AM deadline. We will run late on this shift.

My heart breaks for the little ones. A little boy, barely school age, bravely brings mat after mat into the storage area for us to stack. When he is done, he takes a package of instant oatmeal and a paper bowl to his mom. "No time," she says. "You should have gotten up at 7 when I first asked you." He accepts her verdict without complaint. I intercept him as he brings his breakfast choice back and ask if I can help him fix his cereal. He says there isn't time. "Well, let's just fix this and you eat as much as you have time for. If you don't have time to eat it all, that's OK." He gratefully follows me, and I prepare his oatmeal and give him a breakfast bar "to go." No longer bugging his mom as she tries to get ready, he is able to finish his warm breakfast.

I volunteer here once a year. It is a sobering reminder to me that "there for the grace of God go I." Over the last few years, the makeup of this group has changed: many, many more children; younger families; fewer victims of addictive lifestyle choices; more victims of the economic downturn. Cell phones charge overnight. Wheeled luggage holds pared down possessions. Infant carriers and strollers sit next to floor mats. 

There for the grace of God... I hope their lives were touched by God's grace through our interaction this morning. Mine was.