Coming Home

“Those who live in the shadow of the most high will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.’ Psalm 91:1-2

It’s been so long since I’ve been here that I feel as if I have crept into the back door of my childhood home, letting myself in with the spare key. I can almost hear the creak of the screen door. I actually did do a recording of that squeak once, not wanting to forget what it sounded like. I drive by there from time to time to check on my brother’s rental that was put in the trust when he died, since its about 3 doors down.

The explanation for why I haven’t been here. I guess it’s just that the words haven’t come, not for lack of things happening in and outside of my life but for lack of thinking that any of it matters to anyone else. I tell myself it’s all part of the journey of writing. I hear people talk about it, the silence. I guess there is a place for it, otherwise why the 400 years of silence between Isaiah and the New Testament?

I recently started a Bible Study that I’m really enjoying. My childhood friend invited me and it’s held at a small Baptist Church that reminds me of church the way it used to be. We gather together in the sanctuary with the leader ( a little 4’11” dynamo) with a sparkle in her eyes and her spirit and a humble heart. We sing a hymn (from an actual hymnal) then she prays for us and we are released into our small groups and work through our study with a leader. We then meet back in the main hall where Pam goes through all our questions with a final lecture. I find myself looking forward to each lesson. I feel it bubbling through me like living water.

Getting back to the theme of home, where I think this is all going. Anytime we delve into Scripture, it’s a bit like coming home all over again. That is, if we put a bit of work into it. And this actual home we moved into, oh my friends, we are enjoying it so much. Eight years of living in a very small space does a number on you. For those who forgot or didn’t know, when we moved back here, we lived on my aunt’s property on the Mokelumne River. (Click on link to see) It fed my nature loving soul and it was a beautiful setting for sure. That part of it I miss but it was so restrictive in many ways. (And tiny) Constant worry over maintenance of an older RV and 50-year-old trees falling among other things and we were done.

So, we are home. This is the final resting place this side of Heaven unless there is an earthly purgatory in the form of a care home (God forbid). Not being able to care for yourself is a real downside of getting older. As my aunt says (she’s 92 now) “It’s not for sissies.”

It’s kind of weird how God and life work if you pay attention. About 40 years ago I came to this very same mobile home park. I went out on a spiritual limb and said yes to God (it was actually my aunt and uncle) but the much bigger yes is the one I said to God when he asked me to sing with their small group. ( A solo with canned background music) To this day I’m not sure why I said yes. Singing a solo was about as far from my personality as it gets. But He came through for me then and He has never left my side. All these years later, here I am and here He is.

So thank you for anyone here still reading and caring. The kittens we got from the Balam Foundation in Mexico are thriving. Atticus has attached himself to me and Scout has made Elaine his mama. Of course, we love them both equally. Needless to say, there will be no Christmas trees inside this year. We got some decorations up and I found Santa on the ground this morning with a few small parts missing. So far that is the only casualty. And for the first time in 9 years, we are cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving. Life is good friends. Most importantly God is good.

If you are still here, thank you for slogging along with me. I hope you and yours have a very Blessed Thanksgiving this year from my humble Prayer Closet……Peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Lori

New Every Morning

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning. Lamentations 3:22

”It’s been a too long time, with no peace of mind and I’m waiting for the times to get better…….” Songwriter: Allen Reynolds

I was meditating on the Lamentations verse this morning and once again filled with thanksgiving that we have this living hope we can stand on. It’s a promise God offers us every single day. What a wonder, in this troubled world we live in. Where are the ready smiles on the street? It seems to me that people are burdened. Then, while watching the Olympics last night there was the commercial with that old Crystal Gayle song. Elaine said, “I Do Not Like that commercial, it’s so sad.” Yes it is, but it seems like an honest depiction of a lot of people’s lives right now. Nothing is getting cheaper, crime is everywhere. We have to really look to find the good. We open our phones in the morning and are assaulted with an endless barrage of whatever the media thinks we need to know.

When I get weary of it all, I usually go to YouTube funny animal videos to cleanse my mental palette.

This morning I prayed for the first time in the new shop. It was a short session but it was a breath of fresh air. I haven’t had a place of prayer in years. I know, we can pray anywhere and I do. Arrow prayers all day. But having a quiet place to go to without interruption is different. My prayer was one of gratitude that even though the world seems to be in chaos all around us. God’s mercies are new every morning. What a gift. I pray that it’s a reality in all our lives.

We thought we would never live here. In this park, I mean. We had another “senior” park all picked out but it just didn’t gel. And we got tired of waiting. When we moved in, our neighbor had quite a few negative things to say about the park and management in general. We thought at the time that he was being nit picky and ridiculous. Now he is gone (the park bought him out). By no means am I bragging when I say we have made this place gorgeous. And management has taken issue with some of our positive changes, while other resident’s places are falling down around them. Mind you, neither one of us has problems with rules, in fact that is part of why we moved here. But when the rules don’t apply equally across the board it doesn’t sit well.

But………we love our home, and we have no intentions of moving. Not to say it hasn’t been a bit discouraging. Oh well, we are living in a strange and broken world. So much is upside down. This is no surprise. The fact is, God knows it too. From the dawn of creation He knew everything that would happen. But He counted the cost and figured it was worth it. He saw that everything he made was good. Perfect in every way. But it was also no surprise to Him when we went after the one thing He told us not to. The lie just sounded so good.

One time long ago, Pilate asked Jesus, “What is truth?” Pilate didn’t even know truth when He was looking right at him. Do we? Anyway, the good news is still the good news. We can have that happy ending since Jesus didn’t back down from restoring all things, and us as well. The redemption that is restoring all things is alive. Because of Jesus, we can wake with hope every single day.

I remember that old hymn we used to sing long ago. “Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe, sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.” We never should have stopped singing those songs.

Until next time, be blessed and keep looking up.

Finally Home

Bless the Lord, O my soul and forget not all his benefits: who forgives all your iniquities, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from destruction, who crowns you with loving kindness and tender mercies……Psalm 103:2-4

The Rumba is working its way around the house, and I have two little kitties nearby. They have finally settled after wrestling and bouncing off the walls for the past 3 hours. One is sitting in the decorative bowl on the table and one right beside him. When we got them, they both fit! “They” are Atticus and Scout, respectively, and a constant source of joy, having been cat less since Briggs died in 2020.

This is retirement, the first week in. Several times over the past few days, I have found myself in a state of wonder at how incredibly blessed I am, how at peace, how content. On my first walk around the park where our new (refurbished) home is situated I dug out my old iPod and selected the playlist I used to walk Desert Harbor in Arizona. It was like I was home, really home.

Living in a very small space for the past 8 years really makes you appreciate the everyday things. A new washer and dryer that we almost worshipped the first few weeks. No more laundromat! Our own garbage can, for another. We never used the can at Aunt’s house because she was very fussy about her garbage.

I’m home, I’m home, I’m home and I never have to move again. What a feeling……I can scarcely describe it. God is so good. At first, we kind of poo-pooed this park. It wasn’t as “perfect and pristine” as we liked. We had our eye on another in a neighboring town. It was well-kept and the space rent was lower. There were a few that came up for sale but inside repairs would have been costly. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Elaine wasn’t sold when we looked at this place, but I secretly thought “I could live here.” There was a kind of strange room off the living room. Back in the day it might have been called a “family room,” separating both sides of the house. Elaine turned in circles and exclaimed, “What is this room?” I am happy to say that it has become a beautiful library. (Pictures to follow in another post) Wayfair is our new best friend. Of course, you have to build whatever you buy and thankfully Elaine is very talented. I was the assistant handing tools and fetching screws and bolts.

First, we made an offer which they didn’t accept. Then it fell through twice more. We made another offer, with concessions and it was accepted.

Here’s another strange thing. Over and over, I have had this dream for years of two big closets. I just go from one to the other with a sense of amazement in the dream. Well, yes, you guessed it. I have two walk-in closets. Thank you, Jesus! The second walk-in has become the litter box room and storage for Christmas.

Each day, I wake up so very, very thankful. Life is good on a Sunday morning in June.

But I have trusted in your mercy; My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me. Psalm 13:5,6

No Title

I don’t know if “No Title” is a title but it’s okay.

It’s Sunday and I should be getting ready for church. I’ve been up for hours, first Sissy-cat then Bo Bo, taking lap turns while I started my new book, “Animal Dreams”, another Kingsolver. I had to turn Demon Copperhead back in. The writing was superb, but it was just too dark and I don’t need to be immersed in that darkness right now. Maybe I’ll pick it up again at a later date when my life calms down.

Back to my present church apathetical malaise. I find I can relate easily to David as quoted in Psalm 42:4 when he says:

These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I would go with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God with glad shouts and songs of praise, a multitude keeping festival.

I feel like the lukewarm person that Jesus refers to when He says: “I would that you were hot or cold…..” I don’t know what’s causing it. I do know I’m happy when I go, but I’m also happy sitting here and of course it’s much easier. I have no excuse.

Part of yesterday was spent with a friend looking over my brother’s house and everything in it for her expert opinion on the feasibility of holding an estate sale there. I thought she would run off screaming but she was undaunted. I was ready to empty the contents of the bathroom into a garbage bag to dump but she said no, that (emphatically!) “People will pay for that!” I obviously have no clue about this stuff but she does.

She will let me know if she wants to do it, I have yet to hear back. If not, we will go in another direction. Maybe all this stuff is catching up with me. I need to go to church regularly and I need to walk regularly. Just not today. I am extremely satisfied with my stack of books right now. (Reading two and two in the wings) Kingsolver is my new favorite author.

I cleared a space for the four chairs I want down below in the little shack, but upon inspection this morning I saw a very fat creepy spider hanging by the doorway. I will have to spray the living daylights out of it before I brave the door. (Sorry Charlotte) I have no mercy and need to get things done.

Today I will post this, then see what comes next. And tomorrow is another work day, and another work week closer to retirement.

We did find a home for my brother’s two fish and it was kind of comical. I just couldn’t flush them! They were too happy. Elaine made the sacrifice of putting her hand in the slimy fish-poop water and scooped them out. I held them in their ziplock, still happily swimming into an unknown future. The guy at the Pet Supply got on his walkie-talkie and asked if they take (used) fish. He gave a conspiratorial glance and said, “Now’s your chance, leave them and head out the door and nobodies the wiser.”

But then the disembodied voice crackled…….“Yes we will take them.” He said, “We’ll put them in an isolation tank for now.” I was impressed they cared that much.

Stages…….

As writers, we always want to make sense of things by organizing the chaotic jumble of thoughts that are swimming around in our heads/and or hearts. Getting those onto the page is a different story. In our fantasies the words flow freely. Most of the time this doesn’t happen. My Dad used to paint watercolor, and I think probably the creative process of that is somewhat similar. I am sure he had an idea in his mind of what the finished product would look like. What my mom would think was beautiful many times ended up with a big black “X” across it, tossed in the garbage. Ending up with something not sounding ridiculous and trite to our inner ears is somewhat of a miracle. But I digress…..

I needed to get away for at least a few days and we made arrangements to stay right on the beach in Monterey, near Cannery Row, the inspiration of many of John Steinbeck’s writings. Usually, I find my rhythm of peace right away on the ocean. This time it took a day. It concerned me, because I felt maybe I just wouldn’t get there at all. The second day it all changed. Thankfully. We had 4 wonderful days of great meals, walking for miles and blessedly cool weather with the sun breaking through the coastal fog most days. We went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium which was packed with families and kids jockeying for position at the viewing windows, but it’s massive enough we saw everything we wanted to see. Once again, I was overwhelmed with God’s imagination. I mean, just the jellyfish alone!

It was just what we both needed.

I continue to deal with the stages of grief at the loss of my brother. I am still kind of in the disbelieving phase of settling into this new reality of being the last of my original family left standing. It’s a strange new world. Part of navigating through grief is the self-evaluation of asking the questions: Did I love enough……Did I love at all…..Did I tell them I did…..When was the last time I told them I loved them……or hugged them? Why can’t I remember? Part of that is normal. Endless recriminations about what I did or didn’t do is not. I rest in the many years of memories we all shared together. And there are many.

As I was writing this, I remembered a snatch of a Bible verse: “Strengthen what remains.” And right on the heels of that was another thought: “Love who remains.” That I can do. And who remains is God, who is always present, and that also includes myself and the loved ones around me. And the lessons we can all relearn from loss, (mine or anyone else’s.)

Call more, stop by more, pay attention more, help more, hug more, love more. Even if you get rebuffed or rejected. In essence, love more like Jesus loved. I want to get to the end of my life with as few regrets as possible. That’s my goal anyway.

All this blather to say. I am moving forward, I am sifting through feelings and thoughts and memories and learning to adjust to this new reality. The best thing we can all do is the best we can. Live life. This morning was peace. It was picking the neighbors’ tomatoes, watering before the heat sets in, watching E. work on the boat, feeding the cats double just because they will be very hot outside today. Breathing in the miracle that is life. I close with this thought, in Heaven there are no regrets. And Revelation 21:4, He will wipe every tear from their eyes and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning or crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

Book recommendations: One of the books I am reading right now is called Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxes. It’s not a book you sail through, (there are 20 pages of notes alone) but it’s very inspirational. (And historically accurate) A brilliant theologian, Bonhoeffer should be as well-known as Anne Frank, or Schindler but sadly, he’s not. He died in prison after being arrested by the Nazis for among other things, trying to rid the world of Hitler. Another I’m just about to start is The Collected Regrets of Clover. Jury is still out on that one.

I continue to feed my brother’s two feral cats. They come out from their hiding places immediately and are very grateful to get the food. I know he would be happy to see that.

Until next time, thank you for the therapy, dear readers if you are still with me. I hope you know that I pray for every one of you. Lori

When you lose a sibling

I have been grappling with the right words to write for weeks. It’s been exactly 60 days since I heard the panic-stricken voice over the phone say, “Lori, Ron is dead.” It was my brother’s friend Margaret who went to check on him after he stopped replying to our texts and calls.

There are moments that split the timeline in a life and that phone call was yet another one.

Three family members in two years, gone. I still pause several times a day and hear the whisper, like a breeze flowing through my soul that tells me he’s not here. And how can that be?

Death, the Bible says, is a mystery. How can people in your life be here, breathing, walking, talking, making decisions (or not); then simply disappear with a wake of a life left behind. I find comfort in knowing he is in Heaven. I was there the day he made his declaration of faith, Easter Sunday 81 or 82 if my memory is correct.

I remember thinking he looked gallant and humble that day. Handsome and tan in a white shirt walking down the aisle like a lone male bride. My Aunt and I were in the choir that day singing selections from “The Messiah.”

Flash forward 40 or so years. And time, and time and time, like the Steve Miller band song says, “slips into the future” and my brother’s soul flew like an eagle to his Heavenly home.

In childhood, I idolized him. He looked after me when we were small. On family trips we slept together in the back of the Volkswagen with the seats folded down. I remember that. Other things stand out. The time we made a pact not to bicker and fight anymore. (Didn’t last) and the Birthday party where he and a friend attached prizes behind the sheet draped clothesline so my friends and I could “fish for prizes.”

In high school, he was the star athlete, the popular one. I was the quiet book nerd. In the ebb and flow of life, we drifted apart over the years but came together at different times, usually when crisis hit.

I had utmost respect for him as a caregiver when his first wife got cancer. He never left her side, caring for her until she passed away. And at the worst time of my life when my husband died on our honeymoon he flew to Mexico and stayed until we could bring his body back.

He has left behind a special needs daughter who will be 21 this December. My brother could always make her laugh with his silliness. She also shares his love and compassion for animals. I’m so thankful she has such a great Mom.

There are mountains of stuff and mountains of decisions to sort through and I am still in somewhat of a state of disbelief. I see a gray Ford truck coming down the street and I still think it might be him.

I was the first to hug him, all our lives. He never made a move to hug me first. That just wasn’t his way. I wish I would have grabbed him and hugged him the last time I saw him. But I didn’t know. We never know. I also didn’t know how depressed and lonely he was ever since our parents died in 2021. I wish he would have let me in. I wish I would have been more sensitive.

It sounds like a Hallmark cliche to say that we never know when it will be our last moments but it’s also true. If there is any value, any lesson I can learn (or relearn) from loss going forward it’s this:

“Do what you can live with after they are gone.” That is the best advice and it’s what my bestie Elaine always did and said while she was caregiving for her parents.

I miss my brother. I know he is at peace and I am getting there. I will close with a letter he wrote his first wife shortly before she died, and these are his words:

Your grace and courage in passing from this life cause me to fear death no longer. And, as you said to me one time before you departed, “Ron, I won’t just be waiting for you to arrive in Heaven, I’ll be waving you in.”

Do Words Still Matter?

What words could I add?

In light of all the suffering going on in the world right now, what words could I possibly add that would make any difference at all? It’s a question that writers everywhere ask. The answer, thankfully, always comes back the same, and has throughout history. Words matter a great deal because the written (or spoken) word will always have tremendous power to change. Even if that change is a barely detectable shift in the heart or soul. And there will always be readers. In my formative years, there were no computers, no iPhones. We had each other. Real faces, real places. And the things we read in books. We had no choice but to use our imagination.

Flash forward to 1996. I started work at Intel, Corp. For 20 years I worked alongside many others deep within the heartbeat of the technological age. Together, we built the chips that made it all go. I remember back then people said we would be living in a “paperless” world. And now, in 2022 we are drowning in more paper than ever before. And thankfully, bookstores have not become obsolete. Libraries are still being funded. All is not lost.

When you look around at our current world situation, it would be easy to lose hope. Character seems scarce. Crime is off the charts. And yet, we honor a beloved Monarch who has passed into glory. We honor and pay tribute to Queen Elizabeth because she embodied great character and values not readily seen much anymore. She had the role thrust upon her in her youth, and instead of resenting it, she rose to the challenge and continued to do so for 70 years. Splendidly.

Also as Americans, after 21 years we must pause, at least at some point in our waking moments today and remember 9/11. We all remember where we were that day.

On a more personal note, we have just gone through a massive heat wave here in California and yesterday we were released at last and out from under the 100 plus temps for the first time in several days and weeks. For quite a few days we have been hotter than Arizona which is very rare.

Just being able to take a walk without sweltering was like a miracle. There is something so redeeming in it. Getting out, off the phone, away from the barrage of voices that can so often cause unease and weariness of soul. Come away with Jesus on the mountain and pray. Even He, being God knew how important that was.

And read. If you haven’t read Ray Bradbury’s “Dandelion Wine” I wholeheartedly recommend it. It will restore you to all things good, worthwhile, precious and true. Most of all, read the Word that matters more than any others. His. Peace and Blessings, Lori

Your word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.
Psalm 119:105

The Quiet Hour

It’s the quiet of the morning and I think again of what Thomas Merton said about this time in the marvelous anthology “Book of Hours”

Antiphon:

“The most wonderful moment of the day is that when Creation in all its innocence asks permission to “be” once again, as it did on the first morning that ever was.”

This little book was brilliantly edited by Kathleen Deignan. Somehow, she managed to reduce the mountainous volumes of his writing to this perfect little gem. I reach for this book again and again when I feel the turbulence in my soul that comes from a prolonged absence of my morning quiet time when I think I’m too busy.

My soul tends to wither and fall prey to all kinds of clamor that our world can so effortlessly concoct. This small island of sacred space helps to remind me that:

My soul is big enough to hold eternity.

Big enough to hold Him.

Or, rather, He makes Himself small enough to fit inside me.

A humbling thought, one I have to make myself be silent enough to understand. Sometimes Alexa plays David Nevue quietly. Soft piano hymns fall like gentle rain and the words come from a place I remember.

Miracles never stopped happening.

The possibility is there, we just have to accept the Invitation.

Each morning, my coffee, my time, these conversations, become a kind of Holy communion.

Even more important than a good night’s slumber is this rest for my soul.

Here is a great verse to ponder that I found today in the Good Book:

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11

It’s now the close of the day. First week back to work and it’s Friday tomorrow. I’m calling that a victory.

It’s a small, small world

It’s July 9, 2022 and I still sometimes catch myself wanting to write the date starting with a 19, imagine that. Last night I had a dream that I was scheduling my tans like I used to do before an event where I knew I would be wearing a bathing suit in front of other people. Maybe that’s where the “19” came from on the date. The 1970’s were the decade that saw me purposefully baking in the sun to color my acne-ridden skin.

If I knew then what I know now I may still have done it. (I may have skipped the tanning bed in the 80s though.) It’s the second month of my summer break from school. I am blessed to be able to see children every day at my job and play at least a small part in their education in a supportive role. I’m in the 6th year of this “retirement” job and it will be my last. Yesterday I tore open the important looking envelope from the School District that held my next assignment. Praise God, it’s the same school and the same student as last year, little Edith. I am more than thrilled.

I am currently reading Ray Bradbury’s book entitled “Dandelion Wine” In it, one of the elderly characters is described by the town youth as a time machine. I am beginning to feel like one of those myself. It’s a wonderful book that was recommended by someone on one of the timelines of social media and I was glad to find it in the library. It will be one I may buy and keep on my hallowed shelves. That is, one day when I do get shelves again.

Speaking of the library, I was going through withdrawals since I hadn’t been there for a few days. When I got there it was 11:58 and they opened at noon. There were around 7 people waiting there and more walking up. I saw a lady around my age waiting too so I seized the opportunity to talk to her. “Encouraging, isn’t it, that people are waiting in line to read?” Her face brightened and she said, “Oh yes, I volunteer in the bookstore and sometimes I just buy kids books for them as a treat.” I said, “Yes, how often can you buy anything for a dollar or less anymore.”

She said her greatest reward was that one of the kids ran up to her and hugged her legs. I told her I was a Teacher’s Aide and I heartily agreed that was the absolute best reward you could get.

Later E and I had lunch with a longtime friend and I told her of my conversation. I described the lady and she said, “Oh yes, her name is Betty. They bought our house on Glenhurst.” Well, Glenhurst Street was my childhood home. The one we just sold this year after my folks passed.

Turns out it is a small, small world sometimes.

To those faithfuls who still may be reading, thank you for hearing me ramble. All is well in our little corner and I pray it is in yours!

Blessings, Lori

Whispers

It’s the day after we celebrated Independence Day as a nation. I took a walk, noticed things like you don’t notice in a car or even on a bike with the world flashing by. The reason I walk is not really for the exercise, but to be connected to our one humanity. To see people outside doing ordinary things. Puttering in their yards, digging up broken sprinklers, walking dogs. There is a wonder in that. E. followed me on the bike and due to tracker on these phones, caught up on California street where I paused.

I went by 615 West Locust where Grandma and Grandpa C lived. That’s how they always signed our Birthday and Christmas cards. I think about who lives there now. They don’t know or care what went on there before. They don’t care about the rock collection behind the garage that I liked to rummage through, or Mabel the solid gray cat of theirs, or the ancient stove in the kitchen. That’s as it should be, the way of life, I guess.

Walking along, I saw a kindred spirit taking photos of clouds, another cloud watcher, phone toward sky.

Last night the bombs were bursting everywhere. Neighbor cats were in one of their secret places tucked away. This morning they were both at the door ready for breakfast. It’s a blessedly cool and quiet morning. The last few years, I find myself almost enjoying the day after a holiday more than the holiday itself. The next day holds no obligation, just presents itself in all its glory, unmarred, unmoored.

I immediately walked down to the river because I had to capture this reflection in the water. On the path down, the wind held a whisper of fall. It happens sometimes in mid to late summer. I know there will be many days to swelter yet, but for now, I enjoyed the promise the universe had to offer. That another season will come.

Nature always helps me say, “Wake up!” Makes me think that maybe we can put away all the petty stuff and maybe find some common denominator. I think that’s why God gave us babies, and cute animals and sometimes a scene that is so majestic and magnificent that it takes your breath.

I pray today that maybe we all can find something to take our breath away. Just temporarily. Look to the left or right, maybe it’s the precious familiar person beside you. Maybe it’s just the sky. (And it’s never just sky.) Maybe it’s the promise that God said He will never leave us.

More than we need for our manna today.