Day 66 A time for Thanksgiving

Day 66 - A Time for Thanksgiving

"Joy and gladness will be found in it. Thanksgiving and the voice of melody." Isaiah 51:3

Up early, before 5 am. First thoughts of the day are thankful. Four whole days of not working stretch before me and I am filled with the delight of a child who knows Christmas is just a few days away. Made coffee, and have my Bible and devotional books near. I will spend some time reflecting and then get back to you.

My devotionals focused on being Godly in the little things of life. The daily, the ordinary. The tendency of each of us is to want the noble, the extraordinary, the big things of life to play out our Godliness. When we do this, we ignore the fact that Jesus, ate, walked, talked, slept in the ordinary, everyday things of life. People are "doers", stars in their own plays so to speak. God is looking for people who are willing to be "extras" on the stage of life to be His hands of care, love and concern to a hurting and dying world.

Wow, if you've been following my blog you realize that I have been struggling with this servant role in my own life. The yearning for a 'greater calling' has been knocking on the door of my own life. Accepting that God has engineered my destiny to be exactly where I'm supposed to be would mean that the unpleasant, the tedious, the hurtful things are part of the plan for my life. Hmmm.....

Being part of a culture where finding yourself, becoming your best, finding your purpose, were part and parcel of my education, it's a difficult jump to let go of the constant seeking to become more. The spirit of the time has been to be goal oriented, to achieve more and this philosophy has invaded the church. We count numbers, conversions, percentages and rank success of outreaches by those very things. We are immersed in the mind-set of how many, how much, how often..... etc.

Have I become a Martha, who unlike Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus listening, is busy about temporal things, hurrying and scurrying around losing sight of the fact that relationship with God and man supersedes some practical matters? It is a dichotomy of sorts. Be grounded in the everyday, but be aware that the spiritual is of utmost importance.

This Thanksgiving for me is a mixture of both. I'm thankful for my returning health, having food, clothes, heat, water, lights, car, job, family, church, friends and so much more. This morning I feel rich in blessings. I know I have cleaning and cooking ahead of me, and the mundane yet necessary of sorting bills, chores and obligations. But, personally, God has been very kind to me this last year. He has brought several friends who have been a blessing to me. I have had hundreds of hours of fantastic outdoor moments where the incredible Northwest has washed my soul in beauty and wonder. I have enjoyed wonderful fruit and food, and gained strength and endurance through walking, hiking, biking in the mountains, hills, and beaches. I have had memories that will last throughout my life, I have been blessed.

Evaluating whether or not, I've been a blessing, well that's a different thing. Only God knows, but this one thing I know, putting last year behind me I can try to become more of a blessing to others in the practical and spiritual. To not seek so much to become, as to be. In some ways, the existential now should permeate my Christian convictions to the extent that I constantly realize, who I am in the moment is the only person anyone will ever see. Not my plans, not my goals, not my visions for future service, only now; in the humble surroundings of Turkey and dressing, potatoes and gravy and the everydayness of life.

Today, may your life and heart be filled with a spirit of Thanksgiving. To count your blessings to the degree that sorrow and sadness flee away.

Day 65 And the rains came. down......

Day 65 - And the rains came down....

As a child, I attended Sunday School every Sunday. My father would line our shoes up the night before, take his wooden box with polishes and rags and work on our shoes. My mom made sure our Sunday clothes were clean and ironed. In my mother's home, there was never, ever a laundry pile. Or a sink full of dishes. She kept a very clean house and kept all our clothes clean and ironed. I did not know how to run a washing machine until I moved away from home at age 19.

Our Sunday school classes were cheerful times for me. I loved the lessons, the weekly Sunday School papers, the crafts. I loved learning. Yesterday, at my own church, I realized I am somewhat of an albatross; an wayward soul, not quite fitting. My long time dear friend had a stroke over a month ago and no longer teaches my Sunday School class. So I sat in the foyer of the church trying to access wi-fi on my lap top, listening to the two greeters talk about getting ready for end times.

During church, I offering my apologies and sat out from playing the organ. I still feel weak and just getting through the service is about all I'm up for. A different kind of Thanksgiving topic, Jonah, and how from the belly of the whale, the wayward Jonah, offered a prayer of Thanksgiving to God after repenting of being rebellious about going to Nineveh to preach. And then, the whale spit Jonah up on the beach and he continued on his mission.

Well, I don't want to be spit up on the beach to 'finish my own mission', but I feel "Jonah" like. It is before 5 am here and I've been awake over an hour. At one time, I felt so 'purposed' about being a drug and alchohol counselor. I knew I was smart, I knew I cared, I knew I wanted to help. Now, what I know is that change must come from the heart and soul of the man or woman who truly wants recovery. I believe without the life-changing experience of accepting Jesus Christ as their personal Saviour, there is little hope of changing; the siren call of their drug of choice will come back like a fury and helpless before the onslaught they will relapse, again and again.

My friend and I have dicussed the inevitable spiral down of having a noble calling and the in the trenches experience of knowing most of what we hear from our clients is only what they want us to hear and for most of them, our program is only a means to an end, to get out of prison time.

In a culture where I am bombarded with re-purposed this, and re-purposed that, perhaps I need to re-purpose my career. From the position of being a professional counselor, have I truly become a pencil pushing, paper processing clog in a wheel that turns out hundreds of people every couple of months from a massive treatment machine? Not sure at this point, who I am in terms of a helper.

I pray on the way to work, "God help me to be kind. To see past the rough exteriors to the hearts of these men. To offer them hope for the hopeless, help for the hurting." By the end of the day, I will have gone through countless strange experiences with people being angry, annoyed, manipulative, regretful, remorseful, pushy, selfish, whiny, self-absorbed on and on. Unless someone has worked in an inpatient treatment center like I'm at, they haven't a clue what goes on. On any one day, I could be yelled at, sworn at, cat-called at, cried at, on and on. I have to lecture to groups of about 30 men who I also have to tell, repeatedly; "No, you can't do search-a-word's during lecture." "No, you can't keep cross-talking while someone else is talking." "No, you can't tip back in your chair." "No, you can't bash staff while you're talking."

It's a weird deal where most of these men have spent years in juvenile jails, adult jails, and prisons. These are the guys who make drugs, sell drugs, and rob people. They are also someone's son, grandson, brother, father or nephew. More importantly they are in God's eyes, a child who needs love, who needs care and who needs a Savior.

At 62, I don't have that much work life left, I think. I wanted to be a missionary as a child in that long ago Baptist church of my childhood. I can remember going forward, a small, brown-headed child answering the call of how wanted to be a missionary. And here I am later, some 57 years a strange missionary with a more unusual mission field.

God, grant me the serenity to........ find a renewed vision, purpose and calling in the field where I've been placed. It's not Africa, it's not a backwoods jungle, but it's an urban jungle with a deep need. The holidays are a difficult time for many people. Being in an institution, the holidays can be even more depressing. Lord, in the middle of my own weakness help me to find your strength, your love, your compassion. You are my source, without you I am nothing. Thank you Jesus.

Today, if in your own life you need renewal, take heart. You are not alone. Each and every day millions of others are seeking the face of God to provide strength for the journey, hope for the way.

 

Day 64 - 38 days 'til Christmas

Me at Disney World, Christmas time some five years ago, a happier, healthier time in my life.

     Yesterday, I caught up on my emails. Sorting the junk mail from the updates on friends, acquaintances and bills. I got some bad news about a younger brother of a childhood friend. He'd been sitting in his study, had shooting pains and wound up recuperating in the hospital. We truly do not know the number of our days. Still recuperating myself, I bought the fixings for Thanksgiving dinner and then came home and sunk into refuge of my recliner, quilts and remotes in hand. On and off I tackled a few projects but slunk back to my chair aware I am still weak. I can't help wondering if this not feeling good is going to end, or if it's the beginning of a more serious decline. Time will tell.

     At home, I caught bits and pieces of news programs. Videos of the hurricane aftermath. Houses in ruin, people without power, or homes. Wars and rumors of wars. Intermixed was weird overtones of Black Friday sales hype. We are a strange culture of buying and selling in the middle of a sinking ship of world upheaval.

     I am awake before 5 am. A quiet house on an early Sunday morning. I will have some company coming this week and the house beckons me to clean, I am still too tired and realize tomorrow at this time I will be getting ready for work, fortunate to have only a 3 day work week, but one full of month end reports and endless groups and lectures.

     I realize I need to rekindle my positive outlook and know I need to do something different. Bad weather upon us with a fury, outside treks are put on hold. Along with the awareness that my good health has somehow flown out the window. Another guy at my work was lamenting his own bout with the "bug" wondering if he would ever feel better. So, usual retreats aside, I know something must change. Diving into a spiral of dismal self-introspection hasn't historically been demonstrated as a "cure-all" for blues of any kind. World or personal problems haven't been solved in a pity-party soup of "poor me".

     So, what about "talk therapy?" Can I simply talk myself out of feeling bad? I have clients who subscribe to this theory and every group they try to dominate the conversation sharing their story, their opinions their view of me, me, me. Nope, I can't see that their self-absorbed perspective is gaining them any insight into their own problems, so why would I believe indulging in the same belly-button concentration would help me? Hmm....it all goes back o the age-old dilemma of faith versus reason. Men (and women) throughout the ages have fallen into the trap of thinking, "We can just think ourselves out of what ever problem presents itself." There is some kind of intrinsic delight into believing that the answer lies within.

     However, I've been down this road before enough times to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the answer certainly does not lay within me for sure. Times before when presented with some kind of a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in my life I have only found real relief in seeking God, hanging on for dear life and waiting.

     Downstairs in my laundry room a pile of clothes awaits my tending. When you live in a large house, with lots of extra rooms, I believe the laundry pile becomes proportionately large. Anyway, inside that pile, is an old hand-embroidered picture of Elijah with his hand out, the raven sent by God hovering just overhead with bread in it's mouth. I made that rough-hewn picture some 40 years ago, an abandoned, pregnant wife living in a small Tacoma apartment waiting for my first child to be born.

     In those subsequent 40 years of living, there have been many times when like Elijah, I've had to wait, that I've been frustrated. Doing something, figuring things out, making plans, taking action. Those are things that "feel better" than waiting. Waiting seems so passive, so not doing anything. As a teenager at camp, Miracle Ranch outside Seattle, I learned a chorus, "They that wait upon the Lord, shall renew their strength. They shall mount up on wings of Eagles. They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Teach me Lord, teach me Lord, to wait." Isaiah

     And so now, here I am pressed in on all sides by things that need done. Lacking strength and resources to fulfill what needs done. I am like the boy trying to fix the hole in the dike with his finger. My financial ruin is kept at bay by a feeble attempt to 'rob Peter to pay Paul' syndrome. Here a little, there a little trying to keep lights and heat on. Water and food. My bill pile is huge and I realize I am only one of millions caught up by inflationary spirals, and the horrible awareness that the home you bought dropped it's value 40, 50, 60 thousand dollars and you are so far under "water" with the mortgage you'll never see daylight.

    But then, it is a week of Thanksgiving. My refrigerator is full of food. The lights are still on. Although outside, the rains are coming torrentially down, I am safe inside, with heat and comfort. So many would trade my safe, perch for their own traumatic world of disaster. I need to acquire a global outlook, a perspective that includes an awareness that even in my worst case scenario, foreclosure, terminal illness, I still have so many advantages millions to not have. That even at my point of most desperate need, I am still surrounded by so many blessings, including, and foremost, my awareness that God loves me, and no matter what He will help me through.

     So, no matter what, I will try to continue. To hope and pray for strength to complete my tasks. To finish what lays ahead and to try to maintain a grateful heart, to realize I am not alone, that God holds my right hand.

Today, if you struggle with your own valley of despair, take heart. Lift your cares to the God of all compassion. If you are sick, my heart goes out to you. Two weeks of illness and I realize what a struggle being ill is. If you are poor, my hands reach out to you. Struggling this last two years I realize financial pressures can be horrific. If you are depressed, take heart, read the Psalms, pray and find others to help take you through the darkness. God is light and in Him there is no darkness. Although your way may be dim, the struggle long, believe that someday the burden will be lifted. The chorus of an old song goes, "Burdens are lifted at Calvary, Calvary, Calvary. Burdens are lifted at Calvary. Jesus is very near." I believe you can be like the man who came to Jesus and he said, "I believe, help Thou my unbelief." It is not our faith that saves us, it is not our mind or reason that thinks us out, it is Jesus, only Jesus.

　

Day 64 - 38 days 'til Christmas

 

　

Me at Disneyworld, Christmas time some five years ago, a happier, healthier time in my life.

Yesterday, I caught up on my emails. Sorting the junk mail from the updates on friends, acquaintances and bills. I got some bad news about a younger brother of a childhood friend. He'd been sitting in his study, had shooting pains and wound up recuperating in the hospital. We truly do not know the number of our days. Still recuperating myself, I bought the fixings for Thanksgiving dinner and then came home and sunk into refuge of my recliner, quilts and remotes in hand. On and off I tackled a few projects but slunk back to my chair aware I am still weak. I can't help wondering if this not feeling good is going to end, or if it's the beginning of a more serious decline. Time will tell.

At home, I caught bits and pieces of news programs. Videos of the hurricane aftermath. Houses in ruin, people without power, or homes. Wars and rumors of wars. Intermixed was wierd overtones of Black Friday sales hype. We are a strange culture of buying and selling in the middle of a sinking ship of world upheavel.

I am awake before 5 am. A quiet house on an early Sunday morning. I will have some company coming this week and the house beckons me to clean, I am still too tired and realize tomorrow at this time I will be getting ready for work, fortunate to have only a 3 day work week, but one full of month end reports and endless groups and lectures.

I realize I need to rekindle my positive outlook and know I need to do something different. Bad weather upon us with a fury, outside treks are put on hold. Along with the awareness that my good health has somehow flown out the window. Another guy at my work was lamenting his own bout with the "bug" wondering if he would ever feel better. So, usual retreats aside, I know something must change. Diving into a spiral of dismal self-introspection hasn't historically been demonstrated as a "cure-all" for blues of any kind. World or personal problems haven't been solved in a pity-party soup of "poor me".

So, what about "talk therapy?" Can I simply talk myself out of feeling bad? I have clients who subscribe to this theory and every group they try to dominate the conversation sharing their story, their opionions their view of me, me, me. Nope, I can't see that their self-absorbed perspective is gaining them any insight into their own problems, so why would I believe indulging in the same belly-button concentration would help me? Hmm....it all goes back o the age-old dilemma of faith versus reason. Men (and women) throughout the ages have fallen into the trap of thinking, "We can just think ourselves out of what ever problem presents itself." There is some kind of intrinsic delight into believing that the answer lies within.

However, I've been down this road before enough times to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the answer certainly does not lay within me for sure. Times before when presented with some kind of a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in my life I have only found real relief in seeking God, hanging on for dear life and waiting.

Downstairs in my laundry room a pile of clothes awaits my tending. When you live in a large house, with lots of extra rooms, I believe the laundry pile becomes proportionately large. Anyway, inside that pile, is an old hand-embroidered picture of Elijah with his hand out, the raven sent by God hovering just overhead with bread in it's mouth. I made that rough hewn picture some 40 years ago, an abandoned, pregnant wife living in a small Tacoma apartment waiting for my first child to be born.

In those subsequent 40 years of living, there have been many times when like Elijah, I've had to wait, that I've been frustrated. Doing something, figuring things out, making plans, taking action. Those are things that "feel better" than waiting. Waiting seems so passive, so not doing anything. As a teenager at camp, Miracle Ranch outside Seattle, I learned a chorus, "They that wait upon the Lord, shall renew their strength. They shall mount up on wings of Eagles. They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Teach me Lord, teach me Lord, to wait." Isaiah

And so now, here I am pressed in on all sides by things that need done. Lacking strength and resources to fulfill what needs done. I am like the boy trying to fix the hole in the dike with his finger. My financial ruin is kept at bay by a feeble attempt to 'rob Peter to pay Paul' syndrome. Here a little, there a little trying to keep lights and heat on. Water and food. My bill pile is huge and I realize I am only one of millions caught up by inflationary spirals, and the horrible awareness that the home you bought dropped it's value 40, 50, 60 thousand dollars and you are so far under "water" with the mortgage you'll never see daylight.

But then, it is a week of Thanksgiving. My refrigerator is full of food. The lights are still on. Although outside, the rains are coming torrentially down, I am safe inside, with heat and comfort. So many would trade my safe, perch for their own tramatic world of disaster. I need to acquire a global outlook, a perspective that includes an awareness that even in my worst case scenario, foreclosure, terminal illness, I still have so many advantages millions to not have. That even at my point of most desperate need, I am still surrounded by so many blessings, including, and foremost, my awareness that God loves me, and no matter what He will help me through.

So, no matter what, I will try to continue. To hope and pray for stength to complete my tasks. To finish what lays ahead and to try to maintain a greatful heart, to realize I am not alone, that God holds my right hand.

Today, if you struggle with your own valley of despair, take heart. Lift your cares to the God of all compassion. If you are sick, my heart goes out to you. Two weeks of illness and I realize what a struggle being ill is. If you are poor, my hands reach out to you. Struggling this last two years I realize financial pressures can be horrific. If you are depressed, take heart, read the Psalms, pray and find others to help take you through the darkness. God is light and in Him there is no darkness. Although your way may be dim, the struggle long, believe that someday the burden will be lifted. The chorus of an old song goes, "Burdens are lifted at Calvary, Calvary, Calvary. Burdens are lifted at Calvary. Jesus is very near." I believe you can be like the man who came to Jesus and he said, "I believe, help Thou my unbelief." It is not our faith that saves us, it is not our mind or reason that thinks us out, it is Jesus, only Jesus.

　

Day 63 - Jesus Please

Day 63- Facing illness

       For over two weeks I have been ill. Headaches, cold symptoms, fever, dizziness, upset stomach, aches, pains the works. I've had such incredibly good health for such a long time, the whole not feeling good has been upsetting. I've gone to work ill days upon days and finally took a day off, sleeping all night and all the next day. The world seems grayer then usual, and my outlook is impaired.

I can't help but wonder how do people with terminal diseases come to grips with life and be pleasant? I don't feel pleasant, I feel horrible and it feels like it will never stop.

On top of which, I don't want to read my Bible. Why the two things, being sick, and not wanting to read my Bible should go together, I don't know. But for right now that's the way it is. I get my mail, I get phone calls about over-due bills and the hopelessness about things getting better seems to get larger.

I keep reminding myself, I have food, I have heat, lights, a home, a job and a lot more. Why is it that debt should have such a toll on my positive outlook? I guess the whole insurmountable aspect of it is part of it. I'm too old and tired to take on a second job, my current job sucks 12.5 hours out of my life every day five days a week. It is very taxing work with people who are very unhappy very addicted and used to a life of crime, drugs and chaos.

Where is God in all of this mess? I try to think of all the millions of people world wide who lack food, adequate shelter and realize I am only experiencing a fraction of the suffering they feel daily. Watching their families die through lack of food, medical care and impoverishment has to be incredibly painful. Who am I after just a couple weeks of illness to complain and wonder where God is?

Obviously, Job I'm not and instead I'm apparently longing for my good health, renewed energy, and affluent lifestyle that I grew to love so well the short period it lasted. So here I am on a Saturday morning, up before dawn, looking at my day. I will attend my Weight Watchers meeting facing the inevitable weight gain. Not feeling well for several weeks my exercise has fallen to little or none. My eating habits have been sporadic, and based more of what's easiest than what's healthy. (Went to my Weight Watchers meeting, lost 1.6 pounds this week. Total 25.8 pounds)

I have committed myself to seeing the getting fit plan through to the end, even though now, still feeling icky I can't help wondering what effect a long term illness might have on my plan. I have to buy a few things, pet food, fruit, vegetables. I will try to putter around and get what I need to done and come back to my quilts, chair and remote and doze on and off trying to best this virus that seems to have gotten the best of me.

At this point, I can only pray, "God help me." I feel horrible. I realize if this is something other than just a virus I will have a long haul ahead of me of adjusting to a new way of life. Each week in church we pray for more victims of cancer, heart disease, etc. I can't help but wonder, "Is it my time now?" I lost my father to cancer a little older than I am now. Why should I be exempt?

Having learned from experience not to make any major decisions when feeling ill or low I will attempt to maintain the statusquo and nothing else, until I either feel better or worse. Then, I will make careful decisions to deal with what happens.

Thanksgiving week is upon on and I will make a serious effort to count my blessings, even if it's from a sick bed. When I watch the news and see what people are going through I realize I should not complain, comparatively I have had things easier than many.

I will look now and try to find a verse that fits my current mindset.

"Why are you cast down oh my soul? And why are you disquieted in me? Hope in God. For I shall yet praise Him. The help of my countenance and my God." Psalms 42:11

I was asked to sing two weeks ago at our church. I've been too tired and sick to compose the music and have had to beg off with apologies. For those of you going through your own valleys of weeping, here are the words of my song:

Waiting through my darkest nights

To finally see the dawn.

Seeking God to give me faith

When all my hope is gone.

Looking through my weeping eyes

I fall down to my knees

With broken heart and wounded pride

I can only whisper, Jesus please....

Give me strength Lord

I cannot bear this

Ease my pain Lord

It hurts too much

I can't go on Lord

Through this valley

I need you near Lord

To feel your touch.

Listening for the Word of peace

To still my raging storm

To enter through the gates of faith

To God's love and sheltering arms.

Looking through my weeping eyes

I fall down to my knees

With broken heart and wounded pride

I can only whisper, Jesus please......

Give me strength Lord

I cannot bear this

Ease my pain Lord

it hurts too much

I can't go on Lord

Through this valley

I need you near Lord

To feel your touch.

Looking through my weeping eyes

I fall down to my knees

With broken heart and wounded pride

I can only whisper, Jesus please....

I can only whisper, Jesus..... please.

Day 62 Making every moment count

Day 62 - Making every moment count 

 This morning the clock has been set back an hour, daylight savings time has ended. My internal clock has kept going and I am awake before 4 am. I love morning. It's quiet and no one else is awake. I make my coffee, get my devotional books and Bible and have my quiet time. Today the emphasis was on what role our thoughts have in determining who we are. How the focus of our thoughts can determine to what degree our lives reflect the nature of Christ.

Well, that's a tall order for me for sure. As a mother who has raised seven children my life has been much of making sure the kids had what they needed, and were where they were supposed to be. At times, jobs, school, church and relationships intruded into that central focus. Being "selfless" wasn't always easy to do, and was in fact, sometimes, not my focus. Most of the time, however, instinctively I sought the best for my children. Praying, hoping that their lives would end up happy and blessed. Now as the last of the children reach adulthood I realize by in large who they continue to become is on them. My job is done.The good things, the bad things, the not quite good enough things I did as a mom are unchangeable.

In my life now, with the majority of my time spent with people who are angry, confused, manipulative, addicted, my role is to be a professional helper. To provide comfort, encouragement, guidance as they are willing to receive it. Often I am at best, a listening ear, allowing them to speak and process the memories of events painful and traumatic. I try to act in their best interests all the time. To act as if each one of them will recover, will quit using drugs, will quit committing crimes. I help them rekindle hope of a better future. And then, above all I pray and ask others to pray. And then, I let them go; back into the world to sink or swim trying to continue their journey towards new life, faith and recovery.

At the treatment center where I work we are blessed to have a retired couple, Mary Beth and Al, come every week to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They have been donating their time for over two years. They conduct a church service every week. The local church they attend also hosts a weekly Celebrate Recovery meeting, where food, fellowship, music and preaching give further opportunity for men to be presented with the choice to ask Jesus Christ into their hearts and lives. This opportunity is one that I cherish and know many of the men do also. It is another building block they can use to rebuild their lives.

Another point one of my devotionals made this morning, is that God hears the weakest prayers, and once made the power, peace and presence of the living God flows into the heart, mind and soul of that person. A miraculous change occurs and that individual is passed from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of light.

Do people still relapse who have accepted Christ into their lives? Yes, they do. Like the probation officers who have to email me the sad message of another clients journey back into heroin, or meth and crime; I have to face that addiction is not always cured by finding Christ. It is sometimes a slow, painful process that involves trial, error, success, failure, and trying again. It is in that part of the equation that I have to let go, emotionally, spiritually, and realize my part is to help provide a plan to recover; their part is to follow that plan.

And so, today, is my Sunday. Now just 5 am I relish the fact I have 16 hours ahead of me before I sleep again. My plans are to attend Sunday School and church. But in between those hours, about 4, I have free choice to do what I want. No longer the sweet golden days of fall, the wet winter rains are upon us. Do I want to run away to the ocean and brave the storm to drink in the cold, fresh wind, and allow the vista's of sky and sea to wash away the cobwebs that 19 long days of work created? Part of me says, "Yes!" And the visions of hot coffee and cocoa pop into my mind along with thoughts of campers stew cooked over a cook stove in one of the shelters nestled near Coffenbury Lake at Fort Stevens State Park. Hmm.... need to think a spell as to whether or not that's something I want to plan for.

Need another cup of my wonderful, freshly brewed coffee. I'm using the last of my fragrant coffee beans and I cherish the wonderful aromas of newly ground coffee beans brewing into coffee. Way back when, when I was a Home Economics major at the University of Washington I remember studying how many different aromas coffee actually had, and the scientific breakdown of those scents. It was truly amazing. For me, I know the luxury of having real coffee beans is something I allow myself now and then.

Well, coffee in hand I made a steaming bowl of hot oatmeal. A survey of the freezer indicates hot dogs at the coast might be a better option than camper's stew. We'll see. I only live an hour away from the ocean and I know once there the walking will do me good, just making the plans, bundling up and going will be the challenge.

I'll let you know how the day turned out. For now, I'll enjoy my coffee and oatmeal and start my day.

P.S. Update; went to the coast. Oh so beautiful. Walked on the ocean beach for 2.5 hours. Not cold, not wet just wild, free and oh so awesome.
 

Wherever you are, may this day be for you, a day of new beginnings. If you don't have a church home, and can't quite make the challenge of attending a service, turn on your TV.* Find a service that ministers to your soul and seek the Lord. May you find joy and hope in believing. My prayers go out to you this morning, keep looking up!

* I like, In Touch, with Charles Stanley.

Day 61 - With a spirit of expectation

 

It's early here, dark, outside the rain comes down with a soft pattering on the leaves. After nineteen days straight of working. I have two days off. Sigh, it seemed like a long haul. Often waking up, facing another day, I tried to think of the millions of people who work daily. The luxury of a five day week doesn't extend world-wide does it? If I complain about how tough I have had it, is it really all that bad?

But, it's over and I have a respite. I missed my Weight Watchers meeting last week. It felt bad to know I couldn't check in see how I was doing, see familiar faces and listen to a lecture on how to stay focused and stay on my program. Today, I will face where I am, and regroup before the onslaught of holidays treats, meals, and unending food sabotage my efforts and I start packing on pounds. If I were a bear, I suppose the added fuel would get me through my winter hibernation. But I am not, and instead I need to keep trying to maintain new healthier habits.

I also missed church and it felt a little funny, like I was becoming a tangential person riding along on the outskirts of life like a surfer riding a passing wave. It occurs to me that people without a home base church feel like this also, as if life is happening around them and their own world lies unobserved in its own sink or swim universe.

Co-incidentally my wi-fi connection crashed and I have been unable to connect at home. My facebook friends continue to share their lives, but I again, on the outside, unable to look in. I remember a long time ago when my then husband and I were illegal immigrants to Canada. He was a draft-dogger and he and I had tried to escape into Edmonton, Alberta. At night, going stir-crazy from living in an unfurnished couple rooms in a non-English speaking Italian families house, we would bundle up and walk the streets. The black of night acted as a shroud for the bone-chilling cold streets of Edmonton. We would pass houses lit from within with golden glows of lights revealing families about their evening's business. We both, lost souls, in an unwanted land looked in as we passed, a longing in our souls to belong where we didn't belong, to somehow find our own home in the midst of chaos.

   My devotions and Bible and prayer have provided an anchor to help me weather this storm of near exhaustion as I've plodded on through the seeming unending 19 days. The ladies I car-pool with in their own exuberant sharing of thoughts, feelings, and stories have been a comfort on my journey. Gifts from their heart of coffee and a salad have helped cheer my heart.

 My walking buddy gifted me with a huge box of tapes he thought I might like. Yesterday, having just a few minutes I opened the box to take a peek. I almost cried, here were many treasures I would so enjoy listening to. Many, many tapes of Charles Stanley's In Touch ministries sermons. I didn't have time to look at more of the tapes but hurried to thank my friend. What a thoughtful and sweet gesture. My friend indicated what I didn't want I could donate to our men's church at the treatment center. I can hardly wait to return and explore what appears to be over 60 sets of tapes. I'll let you know how many later after I count them.

And so along the way, there have been blessings. My walking buddy and I have gotten a few more walks in between the bouts of downpours. The woods we walk in are giving their last bright goodbyes to falls and the ground is covered with yellows, reds and oranges of their summer's coat of leaves, shed with the chill of nights, and rains cold kisses.

Today, spreads before me like an uncharted sea. I'm not sure what I will do. For sure, I intend on going to my Weight Watchers meetings. I am resolved to reach my goal weight no matter how long it takes. I also, have a million and one household tasks that have piled up through the last 19 days of work. Part of me, yearns to pack up, bundle up and escape to the outdoors. To brace myself for the wind, rain and November day and seeks vista's of oceans, and mountains and trees to wash away the cobwebs of too many hours of typing, listening, training and talking in the confines of the treatment center.

I'm not sure what to do..........the possibility of choice is like a delicious morsel of food enjoyed at an evening meal. I am so fortunate. I have so many blessings. Still with excellent health and so much strength for being 62. I have a home, food, a job, family everything I need. God has been very good to me.

And so, I read my Bible and devotional books and explore the possibilities of what the day holds. The Bible says, Man plans his way but God guides his steps. I wonder what God's will is for me this day? I will pray for wisdom and then choose a path. I like the verse in Psalms that says, He makes His footprints our pathway. I like to think about Jesus taking time out of his ministry to go to the mountains and sea to get away.

To all of you who read this blog, I've missed sharing but I've been on a journey that required me to use all my energies. Hopefully, things will quiet down in my life and we'll be able to touch base more often. I wish you all a wonderful November day. Remember, when lost and puzzeled, God is there waiting for you to reach our your hand. He promises to hold our right hand and to help us through our valleys of weeping. Take care, and talk with you soon.