Joy

The Flip Side of Gloom

The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined. Isaiah 9:2

Many writers and bloggers choose a word for the New Year. I remember last year I was entertaining this idea and before I could even ask God what word He would whisper to my spirit from His, the word came:

GLOOM

This can’t be right, I thought. Most people get hope filled inspirational words others could latch onto happily like HOPE, JOY, PERSEVERENCE, FAITH, LOVE. But I get Gloom, and it was persistent. Recent circumstances have brought forth the meaning in someone I care about deeply. Something that was supposed to be a relatively low risk surgical procedure has turned into a nasty infection and she is fighting it with everything she has. It’s been almost two months now. We are fighting it together with the Lord and all His angels we can muster. We’ve both had our turn at caretaking both sets of parents, and now it’s her turn to be taken care of. And that’s tough for someone with a caretaking spirit. And we ask why. My best friend is a person who rises each day and sincerely wants to leave someone or something in her world better.

Life can turn on a dime. We all know this. What started out as a procedure that is done each and every day, (with minimal risk, we were told) something both our brothers had done, and my mom had done twice. How could this seemingly innocuous procedure leave someone young(ish) and active, first in the ER, then in ICU? This is my person, my sister in Christ, my best friend of almost 40 years, someone who fixes everything broken. How could this happen?

Three surgeries in 3 weeks, and the days stretched on. An agonizing night in the hospital praying and holding her hand when she awoke battling fear and great pain. You quickly get used to a different life. It’s very hard to watch someone you love suffer, and harder still for them, cast suddenly into a world of IVs, endless rounds of pain meds, not to mention the horrendous pain itself. If all went well, she was supposed to be home 2 weeks ago, doing therapy and walking around.

I re-learned that a whole host of people have been cast unwillingly into this alternative universe. I learned the agony of waiting in the waiting room for any news at all. Of course, I knew that others had this life and I was empathetic, but I wasn’t part of it. Until you are the one standing at the elevator in exhaustion, forgetting what button to push, it is just a sad nod at someone else’s life.

We have now moved from the hospital life to a convalescent life. An alternative universe of still another set of challenges. The first room she shared an adjoining bathroom with a man who wasn’t all there, both physically and mentally. She awoke to him walking through the room stark naked and he then proceeded peeing all over the bathroom floor. (And she fighting a major infection) Then there was the one who yelled for help all night across the hall. It was starting to feel like “One Flew Over the Cuckcoo’s Nest.” We enlisted the help of a wonderful PT who came to the rescue and got her moved to the next wing. (Thanks be to God). It has been better over there. Thankfully, the staff for the most part is good and geared toward getting people out of there if they possibly can.

Thanksgiving came and went in the hospital, and Christmas will come and go in Rehab. Our Holidays have been spent clinging to the Rock (Psalm 18:2) and calling on the name of Jehovah Rapha, our healer. I drove through some of the roughest streets in Stockton at night during Thanksgiving. An adorable porch display on Acacia Street with lights and inflatable turkeys made me cry for some reason but I was grateful for it. Something about the hope in that silly little display touched my heart. In my other life, I would never have driven any of those streets at night, (there was a gang shooting that took place close by that same week), But God delivered me from all fear and brought me safely home each time.

And Satan, ever vigilant to swoop on those who belong to the Lord, one morning got the best of me. My thoughts were blackest of black and his voice taunted me. “Does the Lord always heal?” He then set about reminding me of all those who I had prayed for in the past who had left this earth for eternity anyway.

It’s easy to have faith when you think you know the outcome, but how about when the path ahead is obscured? That takes real faith. It’s the “Help my unbelief” kind of faith.

When my mind was grasping for sanity, there in the dark I cried to the Lord as the Psalmist did:

In my trouble I cried to the Lord, and He answered me. Deliver my soul, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue. Psalm 120:1,2

In this case the lying lips were straight from hell, and I don’t belong there. I told him that too. I claimed the blood of Jesus over all of it. And then like a crack of warm oil flowing into my heart God reminded me of how I had been healed so many years ago. “Remember that day, Lori?” Oh yes, Lord I do. Please forgive me for listening to that voice even for a minute. Then I got up and prayed face down upon the chair and felt all the darkness dissipate. The cats were worried.

And the day got better. On the way to the Rehab a rainbow revealed itself as God’s eternal promise. This after weeks of no sun in sight. And later, in the Doctors office, Elaine got both drain tubes taken out. (We prayed for at least one). Later I stopped by the library having dumped the 3 books I couldn’t seem to focus on, there on the new shelf was the new one by Jan Karon. Another God sign, (I’ll take it).

In light of all these things, we hold out Hope because we know the One who can vanquish the darkness of this world. She has been asking everyone in the hospital if they know Jesus. When you have been through the valley of shadows struggling for breath, you realize again what’s truly important.

In the meantime, while we are here in the “Waiting Room” of this world before eternity, here is my Christmas list for those grasping for the Light in a world that has gone very dark.

No more waiting rooms, no more waiting for test results, no more shattered hearts. No more grief that sucks the life out of you. I look for the time of turning swords into plow shears, and hearts softening and turning to Jesus who holds the keys of death and hades, but also holds out the perfect gift which is himself, so we never have to worry about the latter.

You’ve got this because He’s got you. We know firsthand the flipside of Gloom and His name is Jesus.

Earth, strike up your music, birds that sing and bells that ring; Heaven hath answering music for all Angels soon to sing: Earth, put on your whitest Bridal robe of spotless snow: For Christmas bringeth Jesus, brought for us so low. Christina Rossetti

Holding on……

It’s been two years since her Daddy, (my brother) passed and recently we went to one of their favorite places. We went to recapture, remember, and most importantly, make some new memories. For in all the loss that this life can throw at us, love always remains. And we are thankful, so thankful for these times.

For the best thing we can do sometimes, is hold on to what remains. And it’s a lot.

We played, we splashed in the water, and we rode the Carousel several times, and the log ride. I am not a big fan of roller coasters but the log ride I can do. Just to hear her laugh and scream at me getting wet, it was worth everything. And when she grabbed my hand as we walked all day on the boardwalk, I felt like I had been given a precious gift. Parents of Special Needs kids (and adults) have a challenging task and I will never minimize it.

but I also believe it comes with many blessings that bleed through the exhaustion……

I guess you have to balance what you lose and what you gain along the way.

You may have a much different timetable that everyone else has. Your victories are bigger even when the tasks may be minimal according to what the world thinks. But you celebrate them just the same and maybe more. I remember when she was small, things like going into a store, seeing a man with a beard, or a floaty in a swimming pool meant a hasty retreat out of there.

With all the challenges you face, you remember. And sometimes the remembering makes you cry.

As she grabbed my hand in the crowd this past weekend, I flashed back to this picture when she was about 5 with her dad. Here’s the thing. What would you give to have your grown 22-year-old grab your hand once again? Maybe they are off to college, living far away, or maybe they are in the next room, sullen and an island all to themselves.

What would you give?

But I got to do this. I got to hold her hand and it was a gift she gave me that remains with me still. What a tremendous blessing that we get to see the world through their eyes, and it is still a magical and wondrous place. So, Special Needs parent, God has given you an extra responsibility and you will need your village behind you.

There are challenges. There are the times like this weekend when her world came to an end and her brain was stuck in an endless loop of not wanting to go home, not want it to end. It can be so agonizing when you can’t help. (Hey, I get that way too at the ocean). And it didn’t help that someone had an accident in the pool, and it was closed. That might have helped soften the edges. But to her credit she and Mom got through it.

In the end, I believe Heaven has a place saved for these kids, because in some ways they have never left. They show us the way of simple joy, and purity and how it was long ago in the beginning, without fear, without darkness, when everything was brand new and each new day was a gift to be discovered.

I love you Lauryn, your Auntie Lori.

Breath of life

Scout and Atticus enjoying the rain on the windows and bird watching.

I used to have a vibrant prayer life, I don’t know why it used to be easy to pray and now it isn’t. But praise? That has always been an easy thing for me to do. It’s a gift I’ve been given, not anything I did on my own. In the half-light, I thought of David and remember thinking, still mostly asleep, “he wrote himself comfort.” He wrote himself (or I should say prayed out) because really, before they were words, they were prayers. As I lay there reciting some Psalms I know by heart I fell into the most delicious of sleeps. I awoke later more refreshed than I have been for quite a while. I don’t have a lot of Scripture memorized but what I do has been so valuable during times before I fall asleep, or times of stress.

I awoke this morning the first time at around 6. It was dark and I heard the gentle patter of rain outside. My first words were “thank you God for the new day, let everything that has breath praise the Lord, squirrels, chipmunks, cows, chickens.” I don’t know why I thought of those particular animals, but I did. I guess because I thought of this crazy squirrel that we almost hit yesterday. I swear he went right through the wheels. It was the same road, and I assume the same squirrel I saw yesterday dart out to the middle of the same road and back. It’s a red squirrel and they are kind of crazy, (kind of like a little red cat I know) Not mentioning any names (Scout) we love him so.

Conjuring up the Christmas Spirit is always hit and miss and sometimes elusive. At certain moments throughout the day, it comes whispering in. I bought this book for myself, and I highly recommend it. It’s called “Let the Earth Receive Her King” by Alastair Begg. This is a passage I highlighted that gave me comfort this morning:

Whatever lies in our past or our present, we are never beyond being used by God to further His glorious eternal plan

This is my first Christmas retired, and I heartily recommend it. Not having to go anywhere in the mornings is like a dream. We put the Christmas tree up on the patio because (the kitten factor) and I love looking at the lights through the window as I sit and read. I can actually bake again since I have a real stove so that has been a real joy. Recently, we had our usual brunch at Grand Island Mansion, a treasure of the California Delta. When we were finishing up to leave, I was shocked, pleased and surprised to see my friend Darrell who was best man at my wedding and my husband’s best friend. They had moved to a neighboring state, and I hadn’t seen them in a few years. It was a great ending to a perfect morning.

It’s been a wonderful Christmas season full of joys, a few moments of melancholy, peace and overwhelming thankfulness for a God who loves us and strives with me each day despite my stubborn nature. Taxes and jury duty and life lurking round the corner but in all these things we are still more than conquerors. (Romans 8:37)

Merry Christmas to all and hope and blessings going forward to the New Year!

365 Plus 1

“I just heard “She’s gone” in my sleep” 

“Mom passed on October 2nd, 2021, at 3:40 AM”

As I opened my iPad to write this post, these were the two statements I had recorded here 365 days ago yesterday. A whole year and millions of breaths since her soul passed into Heaven, taking a part of mine with it. I hadn’t remembered the day, but my sister-in-law did. For some odd reason I thought it was the 6th. 

Maybe somewhere inside I knew. I had chosen the morning to finally box up her photo albums and clothes she had saved of mine that I had in my car partly because I didn’t know where else to put them or maybe I just wasn’t quite ready to turn them loose. 

I’m still making a weekly pilgrimage to the cemetery to do the flowers and it’s weird because I never wanted or felt a need to do this with either Grandparents or even my husband. Then again, there are no rules in grieving and that’s okay. Even as I thoughtfully arrange my Hobby Lobby bouquet, I have to smile, because I can almost hear both of them say, “Give it a rest already……”

Life stops for some and keeps going for others. Inexplicably. This morning I came across a blog post someone else wrote that I had to share in the aftermath of hurricane Ivan, you can read it here. As I very well know, there are no guarantees we will get another day. That makes today the most important day. Inhale deeply, everyone! 

Don’t just walk, see things when you walk. If you are in good health, thank God. If you aren’t, thank Him even more that He is with you in it. He once walked this earth and felt all the things you are feeling right now. If you are feeling despised and rejected, remember He was too. 

I’ve been reading Ezekiel, talk about a crappy job assignment. None of us has the right to complain! Year after year, they didn’t listen to any of his warnings. I venture to say that none of our employers has ever had to lay on our left side for 390 days, and an additional 40 on our right (for the sin of Judah). And even when they finally did concede that he had been right all along in his prophecy, they still didn’t act on it. 

There is a message there for all of us. Basically, we Christians are all little Ezekiels. We know there is Something and Someone better after we leave this place we call home, but too often we remain silent and distracted by the world. Ezekiel warned and obeyed until it hurt. 

Sometimes I don’t know why or how I can keep a lid on my wonder at God and how good He is. But if these words can be a little leaking of hope and joy out into the world then there is redemption in that. 

I leave you with these words from Paul.

“Finally, brethren (sistren too), whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything is worthy of praise, dwell on these things.” Philippians 4:8

Miscellaneous

Lassoing thoughts, figuring out what to keep

What to release

The writing process, even the phrase 

Taunts. “As if,” my own voice echoes 

Mocks. 

If no one is there to read, is it still a story? 

Because some things are too beautiful 

Not to share. 

Summer will always be 

The cool of the garden hose held over our heads

And “Let’s make skeletons!” 

Plopping down to feel the warmth of the driveway

Getting up to compare imprints

Purple Koolaid when it was still innocent

Remnants of powder on the cold metal rim.

Summer deliciousness. 

The hope of a warped chime from two blocks away

Rushing inside to get a thin dime

Missiles and Dreamsicles

Stubbed toes and hard-baked plastic flipflops

(Called thongs in those days)

All innocence must be kept like a treasure. 

And not forgotten. 

Writers are the guardians of recorded time.

It’s morning, and it’s God’s day.

I sip coffee and it tastes like gratitude.

I recognize for the umpteenth time

this is a sacred moment.

I stoop over the keyboard, the cat having stolen my chair.

I grant her a moment too.

Just like God has granted me so many over the years.

And this is present day and I summon the past in the form of a real

book. I know there are plenty of people like me,

who shun electronic readers.

Who know that reading is a feast for the senses.

The feel….smell….sound…..of a page.

The look of a particular font

even the thickness of the paper, all conjured up to make it

an experience.

Even before the first word is read.

Buster

Cat Chronicles, Buster (then)

After his initial dusting with flea powder, we decided it would be best to give both cats a flea bath. Rocky was first. Gentle giant that he was, he turned into a cougar when wet and it took us both to keep him from lunging out of the sink like a large furry banana. When he was done it was poor Buster’s turn. He was so small and so stressed that when it was all over, he collapsed. Horrified, we thought we had killed him. That was the last bath they ever got.

Turns out Buster was part dog (he growled, and fetched). He also had a penchant for opening drawers and retrieving underwear which he scattered different places for us to find. The front door had a window you could see through and several times people must’ve thought there’d been a break in when they saw clothes strewn up and down the stairs.

We also found out he didn’t like whistling, not one bit. I started whistling to the Seven Dwarfs tune watching an advertisement one night and he leapt from where he was on the living room floor, and headed straight for my face the source of the infernal sound. 

When he was a kitten, he tormented poor Rocky endlessly. He jumped on his back, and clung to his tail and ambushed him every chance he got. Every now and then Rocky would have had too much and just held him down with one giant paw as if to say, “Okay now sonny, I’m still boss here.” But it was obvious they loved each other.

Buster also liked cookies and would try to bat them out of my hand before they got to my mouth. Rocky and Buster went through several out of state moves together which they handled like pros. They observed all through bright curious eyes, except the time we encountered a violent downpour crossing the desert and both of them dove to the back under the blankets. Buster was thrilled with the Arizona house with its wooden banisters two stories up. He scared us to death by sailing through the air and landing on the skinny railing, part cat, part monkey.

The next move to New Mexico was also just fine as long as we were all together, except for our stop in Gallup. Buster went mad and wouldn’t stop yowling and we couldn’t figure out why. Later we found out that there was a frequency there that humans couldn’t hear.

After our two years at Intel Corp. in Rio Rancho, NM we both put in for a transfer. We longed to move closer to California so we transferred back to Arizona. 1 hour and 45 for a flight, and 12 hour drive is do-able.

Our temporary stay for the first weeks there was a local business hotel with many rooms and a homey atmosphere right in the center of Chandler. There was a Great Pyrenees dog show nearby and they were all lodged at the same hotel. Buster and Rocky just took it in stride. They never had potty accidents there or any other place. 

In fact, the only bathroom incident Rocky ever had turned out not to be. While we were still in California, my Mom had kicked off her Birkenstocks and Rocky decided there was a smell on her shoes he liked so much he had to mark it. While we all looked on horrified, he filled up the entire shoe. We determined he was exactly a size eight bladder.

Arizona was our home again from 1998-2016. After renting for awhile we put an offer on a nice house on a corner lot. We built a huge fire pit in the backyard which Rocky loved. Happy times were spent there. But those times also were tainted with sadness. Rocky and Buster were getting along in years.

Now: We have spent almost 5 years living here at my Aunt’s property in a Motorhome and four and a half months without a cat family member. (Since 9/28/2020) when we put Briggs down. There are cats around, the two Weigumina’s and George at my folks. But we miss the patter of feet. The constant presence, the expectant looks, the furry body in the lap, and the purrs. It’s amazing how one small cat can fill up a space in a home and a heart.

“Animals are proof God loves us”

Sanity Restored

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I wonder. Is it possible to miss the days you never knew? It’s like stories you’ve been told so long they become a part of your own memory. They make my heart ache for what we’ve all lost. I don’t recognize my own country anymore. I wake hopeful. So very grateful for what I can restore, for what is still here that is good. I reach for peace and I am relieved that the unmovable things are still here.

God’s creation is still good. There are books, endless books full of messages of hope that I rest in. And I open once again to my bright highlighted passages and read again the old, old story about how God became homeless for just a little while for us all. So we could have a happy ending.

I start a new book this morning and feel that spark of recognition that comes when you know you’ve met a new author and it’s one you’re gonna like. (And I’m only on page 5.) I liked her name right off, Ruta Sepetys. Thank you Betty for the recommendation!

Oh Jesus, my prayers have become so simple. “Fix what’s broken, in our world and in me.” There is so much broken. So much we’ve left far behind. I want it all to come back. I want the shrieking and the lying about how terrible our country is to stop.

I want those simple times I got on the tail end of in the sixties and seventies, back before everything went crazy. When you could buy a home and only one person had to work. Back when we all played outside until dark without fear, and when there were corner grocery stores. And yes, when people still had their babies, unplanned or not.

I’m tired of sides. I remember when Americans could disagree but still come together because we had already fought all the battles and won. We can all vote, we can all aspire to any job, there are more opportunities than ever before. But there are those who are very loud that are saying that isn’t so. And it’s tearing our country apart. 

I remember, reaching back through the years of summer evenings when I really didn‘t want to go to church but now I’m glad I did. I miss Altar calls, I miss the Grandpa I never knew, asking everyone he camped around if they knew Jesus. And I can imagine my Mom and Sisters embarrassed.

There is still so much good here folks. It’s morning, and afternoon and then evening, and God still calls it good. And it is. And behind the scenes? He’s still making all things new. 

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The morning is quiet and the mockingbird sings, picking up the same endless melody he closed with last night.

David Nevue hymns play softly in the background and I am praying for my nieces little cat who is very sick. Seems to be something she ate. There are little teeth marks in the interlocking rubber floor mats in the bedroom. And now there is a big bill, but that pales in comparison to a girl who is heartsick. Oh Lord, sometimes we just get tired of all the sorrow. The world is weary. We are weary too. 

As I sit here amidst my tears there is a joy deep down resting at the bottom of my soul, in a feathered nest. It’s that quiet peace God gives. The living promise that He will never leave us or forsake us. That there is still joy for the taking. The assurance that in the end, all will be well.

I walk outside and see yet another mangled baby bird that will never sing a note. This is the fourth. Why do things have to die? I guess sometimes things can be rescued and sometimes they can’t. I think of the little mouse I saved one morning. Two bluejays were attacking it mercilessly. They would pick it up in their sharp beaks and then drop it to the ground. The mouse was terrified and when I went to pick it up it squeaked in fright. The poor thing didn’t know I was trying to save it.

I could feel its little heart beating in my gloved hand, and then it was my turn to be a little afraid. What if it ran up my sleeve? I hurriedly carried the stunned little creature to safety and settled it beneath some shrubs. I wonder if that’s how God feels about us? We fight so hard when He’s only trying to save us from ourselves. 

He looks down at the way we’ve chosen to mangle our world, our lives, and then He watches as we walk right past the gate that would swing wide and welcome us in.

He longs to pick us up and settle us in the only place we will only ever find peace and safety? “Rest my child,” He beckons. Finally, exhausted by all our own efforts, we collapse at His feet. He welcomes us, takes us as we are.

He’s the God of second, third, seventh, one-thousand chances. This morning I didn’t think I had any words at all. But God supplied a few, as it turns out.

The  train sounds in the distance, life propels forward. And the joy outweighs the sorrow once again. Despite everything, we have hope.  Pray with me friends? That a little cat a girl loves will be okay today.