The Practice of Hope

It was just a small tree -- small enough to fit into her car. But it was perfect and I knew just where it would go. The best birthday presents are those that live on, and little did I know that this Sycamore tree would become my “Tree of Hope.”

It came in a big pot, tied to a stick that kept it straight and kept it from bending and breaking in the wind. It’s trunk was still small, bendable, and needed support. A few years before, an old oak tree had died, and I chose that place for this new, perky tree. And so, it was planted, stick still in place, with the hopes and dreams of someday seeing a large shade tree in my yard.

Hope has visions of what tomorrow looks like. The maturing of what is, the reality of our faith, the flowering of our buried seeds. And I knew what my Sycamore was to look like --- tall, wide, full of large leaves that would shade a hot summer yard. Hope works towards that end reality, watering, feeding, pruning, etc.

Storms came with wind and rain, sometimes gently, refreshing a thirsty plant, but sometimes violently, as if intentionally trying to break its spine and loose its roots from the ground. I wondered. . .and I hoped. But that stick remained strong and steadfast, keeping my tree in place through each and every storm. It grew taller, and that spindly trunk was now thick and strong.. . And I noticed that the supporting stick had broken away from the tree, its job finished and complete.

Shortly after this, a friend shared her fears as a young boy she had mentored and loved was about to make decisions that she felt were beyond his ability to make. She wondered if there had been more she could have taught him, had her love been enough, could he walk through this strong and unbending? I related the “stick story” to her, and told her she had been the supporting stick to her little “sapling”, and that he was now able to stand strong through the storms. And we stand back, and we wait . . . And we hope. . . With a hope that sees what tomorrow looks like.

Sometimes, between our hope as we plant our dreams and the fulfillment of our vision, a storm will come that seems to test us beyond what we feel we can bear. For me, it was breast cancer and all that goes with it.
Hope? At times it seemed hope was all I had to hold on to, and at other times, I wondered if my stick would hold me up. Chemo was a very strong storm, harsh and unrelenting. Six treatments, six rounds of nightmare material, six times wondering if I’d make it through. I remember looking out my window at my tree ----- my beautiful Sycamore tree ---- and I saw it suffering along with me. I had planted it much too close to my septic tank, and its roots were taking up the waste of my chemo! It’s leaves were curling, burnt brown all along the edges. Some fell, but most hung on, looking about as badly as I felt. Fall and winter came, the last of the leaves fell, and I wondered if my tree would survive and come back again. . .much how I felt about myself.

Spring came, as did the end of surgery and radiation. And then I saw it! Tiny little green buds all up and down the branches of my tree! And I knew we had made it together through the worst of storms. Today I see the fulfillment of my hope --- 2 ½ years since treatments ended and all is well. All is well for my tree, too, as those great big green leaves continually dance in the breeze. It’s fall now, and I’m seeing some bronze leaves as they finish their summer life. But they see me sad and call out to me, “Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.” Psalm 43:5

And so I wait yet again and expectantly wait for yet another spring. . .

Joining up with Ann on this “Walk With Him” Wednesday:

Stones of Remembrance

It was 1982. Not the best of years for me. It seemed that my life was falling apart and I had no idea which direction to go. After spending some time in Virginia, I moved back to Florida, the one place I had a home to come to, and I started over ----- again. I had no job, so I took a part time newspaper route. It’s the perfect job for hermits and loners. I could be alone, out in the wee hours of the morning, no one bothering me, no dress code, just me, my papers, and my van.

Perhaps it was seeing my Dad so sick with cancer shortly before moving, or maybe the emptiness of my own soul, or a combination of both. I knew that in my moving that I would probably not see him again and that hit home. Not that we had ever been close and “cozy,” but I loved him, hated to see him suffer, and I felt sad for all that had NOT been there between us. My father’s faith had never wavered through his illness --- it only grew deeper and stronger. And somewhere in the deepest abyss of my soul I knew I was so far from whatever it was he had ---- I might as well have been keeping company with the prodigal son in the pig pen!

It “just so happened” (some would say this, but I believe the Lord makes these things happen) that someone from my way-back past popped up and suggested I read a book, the name of which I just can’t
remember. How can that be????? But I remember that the gist of the whole thing had to do with opening doors of your heart, as you would the doors of your home, and dealing with one room at a time. The only trouble was, you just kept finding more and more doors. And it became a lifetime of “cleaning house.” But one room and only ONE at a time.

As I was delivering those newspapers one night, I was thinking of all the upside-down stuff in my life, all the crazy choices I had made, dreams that turned into nightmares, faith that turned out to be so weak that I wondered if there was any at all, and a tomorrow with no plan or vision or promise. Several hours before, there had been a storm. The tide had been higher than normal and what I did NOT know was that the waters of the Gulf of Mexico had come up over the road, then receded, but left muddy, slippery seaweed on the pavement. So here I come at three o’clock in the morning, and my van full of newspapers slides uncontrollably off the road and into the Gulf. I was able to climb out unhurt, and I just started walking. I had no idea where the nearest phone would be (this was LONG before cell phones), but on that walk, I prayed. I asked the Lord if there was ANYTHING at all left for my life. It just seemed so dark, useless and yes, wet, at that moment. It seemed that I walked forever, but suddenly a verse that I had memorized years and years before came into my thoughts --- Phil. 1:6 -- “He that hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Christ.” I said it over and over and over. And somehow, I knew. He had not lost me, had not let me go, had always known where I was.

So much happens in those sacred moments. Soul washing, heart cleansing, reuniting with a Heavenly Father, and a burden lifting type of peace! And I stooped down and picked up a stone. I wanted something from that place. . . That place of new beginnings.

I still have that stone, along with many others that I have picked up along the way since that night. Each one has a verse that I clung to at a particular time of significance on my journey. Since my Pastor is teaching in the book of Joshua and spent one evening talking about the crossing of the River Jordan and how Joshua had one man from each tribe pick up a stone from the middle of the river as stones of remembrance, I have been thinking of my own stones. Remembering where we’ve been somehow helps me to know where I’m going. His ways don’t change, there is no shadow of turning, He is faithful to His Word, and He is always there! I need to continue to pick up more stones. . . .!

When Giving is Receiving

Some days move along smoothly with no upsets, surprises, or trip-ups. Most of my days are like that. I seem to move in a steady pace, doing what needs to be done, and ending the day wondering where it went!

But today was different. Yesterday, I stopped for some veggies at the stand on the corner, and I was thinking of a gal at church who has been on our prayer list. She is desparately looking for a job, and has been for some time. I knew (you know how you just know???!!!) that this HAD to be tough with two kids. So I got some extra stuff while I was there and headed over to her place.

I was met by a young teen boy who invited me in, offered me a seat and told me that "Momma" would be home shortly and did I want to stay. I needed to go, so he walked me out to the car, carrying on the sweetest conversation. As I got into my car, he asked me my name and said he would let her know that I had been there. I was drawn by him.

Her house was small and rustic --- maybe better called a cottage. Huge oaks shaded everything, and I loved the vines, flowers, trellises, archways, etc. It was such a peaceful place to be.

I wanted to speak with her and find out if there was anything she needed help with, so I went back this evening. Little did I know. . . .

It was ME who would be blessed beyond measure!!!! Beyond anything I could give, this woman gave me more. We talked about God's care and blessings, and I told her how He has brought me through cancer and chemo and supplied my every need. She then told me that she has been battling brain cancer for 25 years now, taking chemo all this time. She is on an experimental program with the Marines. I looked at her, and I thought about myself, "And YOU thought YOU had it bad!" I just grabbed her and hugged her. I couldn't help it.

I saw joy in her eyes, and peace. And as she spoke, faith oozed out all over the place. She told me how she built her home by herself, how she took in the two children, and how she had to build on bedrooms if she wanted to keep them. She told me of being in the Marines, an expert dog trainer (BUSTER, watch out!!!!), and how she took care of her Mom and Dad through long illnesses.

I drove out the long driveway, paused before pulling into the road, and I just sighed a HUGE sigh. Where had I just been???!!!! I thought I was going to find out how I could help someone, and I never even asked the question! Instead, someone ministered to me and lifted me up. Instead, I met someone who is content, happy, and at peace with very little in life.
Instead, I met someone who gives, and gives, and gives of herself for others.

I think I met someone who knows A WHOLE LOT about Calvary Love! Someone I want to get to know better. Someone I want to be more like.

Where's the WOW!???

Several times during the past months, I have heard my friend, Marty, burst with a great big “WOW!” I’d raise my head in surprise and look at his face, and sure enough -- “WOW!” was written all over him. It was real and genuinely expressed ---- and I was jealous.

I was born in church (not really!!!) and I can’t remember ever missing being there when the doors were unlocked. I think I had 17 bars of Sunday School pins when I was 17 years old --- perfect attendance! Youth Groups, Junior church, big church, Pioneer Girls, Youth Choir, Big Choir, Wednesday night prayer meeting, Evening services, etc., etc. I think I always knew that God loved me ---- the first Bible verse I remember learning was, “We love Him because He first loved us.” So I learned a lot during all those years.
I heard it over and over and over and over. . . . In a million different ways, different presentations, different people, different lessons.

I went on to Bible School. More of the same, only a little deeper, more concentrated, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Now. . . Here I am in my early 60’s. I recently started attending a church where there are many new Christians. Not only are they young in their faith, but all of this “stuff” is brand new to them. One told me that she had no idea what they were talking about when they told her she needed “A Savior.” She had no inclination of what that meant. She said, “Saved from WHAT?” All the words that we are a part of our Christian “language” were new and foreign and strange to her. Grasping the concepts of the sin of man, a Savior, redemption, the cross, etc. just baffled her and said that there ought to be “beginner classes” for those who come into the church unlearned and new.

It’s been a real eye-opener for me, but at the same time, the most refreshing thing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve wondered how many times I have said things that perhaps went right over the heads of those listening to me? I grew up in a time when most of us all went to church ---- Catholic, Jewish, and Christian --- that’s what we all were in my high school and we all went to our respective churches. I remember years later the shock that came over me when a teenager asked me, “Who was Jesus, anyways?” At that time, I thought everyone in the U.S.A. knew that answer. I definitely know better today.

For me, it has been such a blessing to watch new believers “get it!” And there is just a little, tiny piece of me that wishes I were in their shoes. I would like that “WOW!” feeling once in a while. Yes, I am grateful for all God gave me in my Christian upbringing. But having grown up in it all, taking it in little by little on a daily basis, somehow the wonder and awe and newness was just not there for me.

One of my prayers lately has been that the Lord would show me Himself in a new and “WOW!” way, and that Scriptures that have been memorized and repeated over and over all my life would become new and alive and real ---- just as they are to Marty.

How about you? Do you have any “WOW’s” ? I’d love to hear about them!

Read others who are participating in On Your Heart Tuesdays here:

Old Paths and Good Ways

Several weeks ago, a friend invited me (or should I say, BUSTER) to go to the beach to share a playdate with her two dogs. All I could think was. . . . BUSTER?????? And ME??????? Out with real people and other dogs????? We talked it back and forth, and after finding no fight in me at all, I thought, what’s the worst that could happen??? We could just come home.

The day arrived, and it had been raining. The sky looked so threatening, but I put Buster’s gentle leader collar on, snapped on his leash, grabbed some towels, ice, water, etc., and out we went.

By the time we were all ready to jump into their car, it was starting to rain, but we decided to go anyway.
I was shocked at Buster’s good behavior with the other dogs. Amazing!!!!!

I loved the ride. It took me on a trip down memory lane ---- places of years ago, old haunts, good times, hard work, places of new beginnings, dreams, bad endings, and people involved in all the in-betweens. Add to that, I love rain, and I loved the conversation and getting to know new and wonderful friends.

The sky was still dark and threatening when we arrived at the beach, and the wind blew non stop, but it was perfect. No blazing sun, no hot sand, no squinting, no mosquitos, no panting and no sweat! Can’t beat that.
This doggy-friendly beach area was deserted except for our little party, and Buster found the walk to the water just full of wonderful sniffing places, and his nose would not stop! His head was high and his nose taking it all in. But to see his eyes when we reached the water ----- I wish I had remembered to take my camera. Up until now, the biggest body of water he has seen has been the little blue plastic kiddy pool in the back yard! Can you imagine what he thought of the Gulf????? And waves??????


I rolled up my pant legs, and began to tug on Buster’s leash, but he had anchored his feet deep in the sand.
But the next wave came up over his legs, and we were in. The other two doggy friends were swimmers and jumped right in, but Buster?????? No jumping in that stuff, no sitting, no swimming. I didn’t force it, and soon he relaxed a little and at least got his belly wet. What a chicken for a great big ooff of a dog!

The sea was restless, churning dark, and the waves were hitting hard and fast. The phrase, “troubled sea” took on a new look for me, as this was truly it. I stood there, trying to anchor my feet, just as Buster was,
But each wave took away the sand I had planted my feet in, and I felt myself losing my footing. Time after time, wave after wave, more sand washed away from around my feet, and I was sinking. I would have to move again and again. Buster heard the sea gulls and was watching them above him. They flapped their wings so hard, trying to fly against the wind, but seemed suspended in midair as they could not make any headway. I loved their soft, soprano harmony added to the beat set by the crashing waves and the melody of the wind.

If anyone could have seen my heart that day, it would have looked just like this storm tossed gulf beach. A “troubled sea” would aptly describe it. I had forgotten that feeling that comes when something crashes in, and my footing feels unsure, and I’m finding all the junk from the bottom of my heart churned up and causing me to trip over my own feet. Sand!!!. . . . . At that moment, I felt like my whole life was just sand. . . Something that was just washing out to sea at the will of a churning storm.

I looked behind me, and I saw how over time, about 3 feet of beautiful beach had been washed out to sea by these waves. There was a wall where the sea grass ended, where the waves had beat away inch by inch what had been. I saw it as “a line drawn in the sand” so to speak --- the place where the waves stopped and never crossed --- a dividing line between what is a sure foundation with roots and life and stuff that grows, and shifting sands that wash away with the slightest of storms. On one side, the storm nurtures and waters life, on the other side, the storm takes away to the bottom of the sea.

The dogs all had a great time, and so did we. I know I did. I loved watching Buster’s reaction to it all. We got ready to leave, put our shoes on, and found the path back to the car. This path was well worn, beat down by many, many years of people and their dogs. But step off that path and the sand spurs dig in like spears. Buster stopped dead in his tracks and lifted his paw and it was up to me to pull those suckers out!!!!
I wrapped the leash so it would be shorter and kept him on the path. This path twisted and turned a bit, but we knew it led to the parking lot and the car. It was the way we had come --- so it was the way back. Later, as I thought of it all, I was taken back to Jeremiah 6:16. A favorite of mine for years, but I had not thought of it in so long. . . . “Thus says the LORD: Stand in the ways and see, And ask for the old paths, where the good way is, And walk in it; Then you will find rest for your souls.”

We went home, dogs were dog tired, and it continued to rain. My heart still churned like the sea and for weeks I tripped in the sea weed of my soul and sunk in the sands of what I had previously thought were rock solid foundations of my faith.

Why I let all this happen to me, I don’t know. I knew better. I knew the “good way.” I knew the “old paths.” I had no business on that side of the line in the sand -- all I had to do was remain steadfast, stay in the ruts of the old paths and the good way and I would not be pierced by sharp sand spurs, I would not lose my way, and my footing would be safe and sure.

I needed a picture, a real life illustration. A day at the beach in the pouring rain with crazy dogs and two wonderful people who had no idea of what was going on in my heart.

Thank you Dan and Liz!

Linking up with "On Your Heart Tuesdays" today. Click on the icon and
check out what is on the hearts of others this week.

Beginning Again -- for the 756th time!

It’s been just about two years since my oncologist gingerly approached the subject saying, “Have you ever thought about a diet?” You just don’t know, Dr. Happy, that diet has been the number one, central thought of my life since high school!!!! And now, since that awkward day two years ago, he has made my life just plain old miserable. There hasn’t been a single moment of my life where I am not bargaining, “I’ll start again tomorrow,” giving up, starting again, crabby at the grocery store, crabby at what I cook --- crabby if it’s diet because I don’t like it, crabby if it’s NOT diet because I’m off the diet. There’s no happy here. Two years of no happy, no progress, no nothing.

I have lost some, don’t get me wrong. When I began my cancer journey, I was sooooooo heavy, and I managed to lose about 40 pounds during that time. And in the past two years, I’ve lost about another 50. Not too bad sounding when you look at it like that. But I need to lose about another 100!!!!! And the past 6 months have been a total standstill, in fact, I’ve gained a few and it’s got me scared.

So here I am, beginning again. For the 756th time of my life. My doctor highly recommended the Weight Watcher’s plan. Since I am such a hermit, I did join the online program just to check out the plan, get an idea of what the point system was, etc. I’m a little leery about the “all you can eat veggies and fruit” thing, but the rest seems doable for me. I’ve been sticking to this now since Tuesday, and so far, 3 pounds have come off. It’s something!



Why does this have to be such a hassle for me? Food addictions are so hard, because we just have to eat, don’t we? And it’s sooooooo “acceptable” in society. No one hauls you off to rehab because you overate and went off your diet. The police don’t bust you for filling your grocery cart with all the wrong stuff. And people would NEVER think of agreeing with you if you complained about being fat and needing to lose weight. Yet, I think I struggle as much as any addict does with alcohol or drugs. I have all my bargaining chips, excuses, hiding places, etc.

And so. . . . I fell. . . But I get up again . . . And again. . . And again!!!!! And I put one foot in front of the other and look at the top of my mountain and plug on forward.

My house of overflowing with all the right foods and Buster is sooooooo worried. I’m licking my own plate clean and growling back when he asks for a bite. He knows. . . . . . He just knows there will be NO PIZZA BONES (the crusts) in his futue for a long while!!!!

558. A great selection of diet foods in the grocery store.

559. Lots of fresh veggies.

560. Ideas on how to cook this stuff.

561. Friends who don’t judge -- just encourage!

562. A group who listened to me and admitted that they did not understand that a food addiction could be so hard.

563. A God who always picks me up, sets my feet on a rock, and establishes my goings ---- AGAIN!

564. A Pastor who gives his all. . . And more. . . In spite of failing health.

565. Buster --- I just love this guy!!!! I realized how much yesterday when he started sneezing --- sooooo hard. Violent sneezes that wouldn’t stop for hours and hours, until he was sneezing blood. I was so worried and just held him and loved on him. He’s ok today.

566. Finding a check in the mail. Almost threw it out as I thought it was junk mail. I was reimbursed for that bra and boob!!! Thank you, Lord, for making something right that was just not right!

Joining with so many others in finding thanks and gratitude in the moments of living:

I Love You, Aunt Jo!

I was eight years old, and I sat on the steps of her home. I told her that I had learned a new song in school that day -- “Do you want to hear it?” I asked. “Of course!” she said, and I began to sing.

“ This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world: I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
his hand the wonders wrought.

2. This is my Father's world, the birds their carols raise,
the morning light, the lily white, declare their maker's praise.
This is my Father's world: he shines in all that's fair;
in the rustling grass I hear him pass;
he speaks to me everywhere.

3. This is my Father's world. O let me ne'er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world: why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!

I was attending a Christian school at the time, and this was the song we had learned. And as I sang this to my Aunt Jo, she cried. She hugged me tight and said it was beautiful. But I think her tears went deeper than the song or me singing it --- you see, her sister (my Mom) had just died suddenly, leaving me and my four brothers and sisters motherless, and she was left without her sister. How painful this moment must have been for her! I never forgot it. And this was 56 years ago.

Aunt Jo was special. If I loved anyone through my early childhood, it was this happy woman. She loved us kids, and made each one of us feel special, “one of a kind,” and loved. She listened, was compassionate, caring, and I always felt safe with her. I will always remember how she washed my hair --- tenderly making sure the soap did not get in my eyes, checking the water temperature to make sure it wasn’t too hot or cold, etc. I felt so special.

Life went on, and my Dad eventually remarried. Family happenings caused us all to drift apart, and I didn’t see my Aunt Jo for years and years. I missed her terribly. It wasn’t until I was an adult that we connected again, and I will never forget that hug. She hugged me so tight, and even now I feel that heart connection that I had as a little girl.

This dear lady died suddenly today. I feel like an orphan. Though we did not talk to each other much or see each other often, the memories of childhood kept her close in my heart. I clung to those memories for years and years as one of the few good things I had been given. Why didn’t I call her yesterday? Or last week? Or last month? Why didn’t I find the time to say thank you?

Getting it Right

Keeping secrets can be the hardest thing in the world to do, especially when you are a child. But when fear is attached to that secret, and threats hang like thunder clouds over your head, it comes much easier. And as time passes, the winds of time blow more and more dirt and sand over things to where nothing can be seen.
And we think it no longer matters. It’s past. Long past. . . Until someone comes with a shovel and begins digging right where we buried the secrets!

It was a Saturday night, the end of a week of evangelistic meetings in our church, and this was Youth Night. As a group of young people, we all sat together just as we always did. We grew up together since cradle roll. We were all friends. The music was great and we sang lively songs for that time period of the early 60’s. And then came the message of the evening. The speaker gave a message about purity and God’s standards for our lives concerning sex and marriage. It led up to an invitation that would change my life forever, something that God never meant to happen, I’m sure. I will never forget that horrible night as long as I live. Even now, I can feel that nervous stomach, that lump in my throat, the hot eyes, the quivering of my lips. I hoped no one noticed. The man in the suit with arms outstretched begged each of us to come forward and promise before God and those present in the audience that we would remain pure for the one we would one day marry. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Who wouldn’t want their teenager to hear that and respond????

I stood there and in those few moments of decision making, my life flashed in front of me. As quick as a flash of lightening, that covered grave of secrets burst forth, up in my face, and I knew I could never make that promise to God. I had never heard about abuse, never heard it spoken. I was sure that this had happened only to ME! I only knew I was unclean, impure, used, and dirty. Could I just stand there and say no while everyone else went to the front of the church and said yes? I found my way. I thought it was God giving me an escape. I COULD make the promise -- all I had to do was promise God I would never get married, and that way I would never mess up any nice Christian guy’s life. And so there I was, in all my mistaken understanding of who God was, making a life decision in secret between me and Him. And I’m sure Satan himself smiled!

For years and years I kept that secret. No one ever knew and surely I would never tell. But there is something so precious and amazing in how the Lord works to make sure one day we just get it right. We don’t hear with our ears --- or even our hearts at times. Most of the time, what we hear is filtered through the experiences of our lives, and we interpret things to fit where we have been, what has been done to us, who we know, what we have been taught by parents and teachers and peers. If it doesn’t fit just right, we don’t hear it.

But then it happens. And the Lord takes me by surprise. One day, as I was sitting in church, we were singing the song, “My Hope is Built on Nothing Less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.” I think I knew that song all my life. I didn’t need the hymnbook --- I knew all the words to all the verses. So there I stood, singing away, when all of a sudden the words to that verse hit me like a spear through my heart: “Dressed in His righteousness alone, faultless I stand before the throne.” Could that be??? Could that POSSIBLY be???

My pastor at the time was doing a series of messages called, “On These We Stand.” He did a wonderful job on going through the main doctrines of salvation, justification, sanctification, etc. But I will never forget that same day, he spoke on how we stood before God and how He saw us as perfect. Dressed in white. Pure. All because of Calvary. I knew that. But why didn’t I KNOW that????

Do you know what that means to a little girl who thinks she’s dirty, unclean, used, and broken??? The little girl who wondered if the angels were watching? The same little girl who stared at the mural on the wall of the cross that bridged the chasm of sin and Hell? I had carried a burden of untruth for so long that I was never meant to carry. Since that day, my whole life changed as I saw God -- not as my stern, strict judge, but rather as my loving, compassionate Father who loves me and sees me perfect. Isn’t that the most amazing thing???!!!! Even more amazing is what it cost Him. To think that price paid was His only Son, just so I could wear a spotless robe of white. . . Thank you, Father!

A celebration of Gifts

543. Experiencing music in a new way. Went to an “open mike” night at a church in my area, and the music was so good. One group had worship dancers that were just excellent. I have not seen this before and loved it.

544. Great fellowship with friends as we enjoyed the music together.

545. A triple-chocolate overloaded Blizzard from Dairy Queen. I just know there will be Dairy Queens in Heaven!

546. A Birthday. Just passing another birthday seems like a milestone. Three years ago, I wondered if I would ever see another birthday. Somehow, they seem a little more special than they ever did before.

547. A birthday dinner at Applebee’s. Sister and a special friend made it so great!

548. A Kindle from my Sister. My mind is making a list a mile long of all that I want to read.

549. A surprise in church last night. “My Guy” sang a song so special to me. Sis got him into this covert operation of getting the pastor, his wife, the drummer and the keyboard guy to sing “God of the Mountain” -- a song that just meant everything to me during my cancer journey. It caught me by surprise and the tears
Just flowed. I’m not one who cries easily, but last night I sobbed.

550. Tiny birds at my feeder. So many little ones with high-pitched voices and fluttery wings waiting to be fed.

551. Oatmeal. Why do I love that sticky, pastey stuff??? A little butter, brown sugar, and I’m good to go!

552. Pork Roasts on sale BOGO. I couldn’t resist. I had one before, and it was just too good. I hate to admit this, but there are now eight of them in my freezer!!!

553. Green peppers still going strong in the garden.

554. Watching vultures get soaked in a rain storm. Is that being thankful or vindictive???? They were all in a large, dead tree as it poured down rain. I was so praying that the Lord would send lightening and strike that tree!!!!! At least it kept me entertained for a few minutes as I watched them dripping wet with their wings spread like umbrellas.

555. People who ask me hard questions and make me think deeper than I have dared to go in a long time.

556. That God has the answers to hard questions.

557. That He doesn’t mind us asking Him.

You can find so many others who are counting their gifts with Ann VosKamp here:

Are You Shaved?

During that summer of playing on swings in Mrs. Gravendyk’s back yard, my sister and I met a strange man. Strange to US, anyways. We would bound up those big steps and run down the walk and up the slate steps of the big, wrap-around porch. And there he was. Not just once or twice ---- but every single time we arrived, he was coming out of the big double doors with the oval, glass window panes. Maybe he had breakfast there, or was just passing time, I don’t know, but it seemed that we just couldn’t avoid him. We soon found out that he was waiting for the bus which would take him into New York City. Every single time, he told us the same story: How God had called him to tell the Jewish people of New York City about Jesus and that He was their Messiah, along with a whole lot of other “blah-blah-blah” that made no sense to a 9 and a 7 year old. Then he would show us the tracts that overflowed out of his pockets and explained how he gave them out. We would stand there politely, looking at our feet, saying “uh-huh”, wishing we were a million miles away . . . Because we knew what was coming!!! He would always end his speech with a big, booming, “ARE YOU SHAVED?????” (yes, it sounded like “shaved” but we knew he meant “saved) with piercing eyes, pointy fingers, wrinkled forehead, etc.

I think we would mutter “yes” or something, but I KNOW mine was never very convincing to him. It couldn’t have been. I knew I wasn’t good enough, clean enough, important enough for God to save me. But he would leave, catch his bus, and we were free to play on the swing. All I wanted was to get inside that house and look at the mural on the wall --- the cross that led to the city of gold and the angels that protected those crossing over.

I wish I had a recording of that man’s voice. To this day, if I were to ask my sister, “ARE YOU SHAVED????” in that . . . . Voice . . . . She would know beyond the shadow of a doubt who I was talking about. We never forgot him. I wonder why???!!!!! He was probably the first who personally confronted me about my soul. Maybe not the best presentation for a 9 year old to hear, but convicting and soul-piercing, nonetheless. Now that I think of it, up until this point, not one person had ever cared to ask me. Parents, family, Sunday School teachers, Christian School teachers, Youth leaders, Pastor, etc. NO ONE ever once asked me personally if I knew Jesus as my Savior. Yes, I knew the way of salvation as it was explained many times in group settings. And yes, later I DID make that decision to accept Him.

During the past few days, I’ve thought a lot about this odd man and the lasting impressions and memories he had on my life. No matter when I hear of a ministry or of anyone who shares their faith with a Jewish person, I think of him. No matter when I’m asked if I’m a Christian or if I’m saved, I hear his booming voice asking that embarrassed, uncomfortable little girl the same question. No matter when I find myself in the position of presenting the way of salvation, I DEFINITELY think of him, and have better ways of presenting God’s gift of salvation than he did. But. . . . . . It still all boiled down to. . . .

“ARE YOU SHAVED????”

Always Thank you! -- Always!

528. That the sun is always shining, even behind the clouds.

529. That leaves glisten and shine like new when washed.

530. How Buster wants to share my pillow with me at night.

531. How his tail starts flopping when I whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

532. How his lip wrinkles up on one side if I point something at him.

533. How he chews on a raisen for ever and ever -- then spits it out.

534. That my washing machine just keeps on going and going and going. . . I just
love hearing that buzzer when another load is done.

535. Ditto with the dryer!!!!

536. That the smell of a barbecue pork roast in the crock pot can make a home smell like Heaven's kitchen!

537. That in writing down the stories of my life, I have seen God's hand of protection and guidance -- even when I thought He was not there.

538. That even though I doubt myself and listen to untrue voices learned from my past, God's voice is louder still and filled with encouragement and love.

539. That He is there, even when I'm sure He isn't.

540. That He cares, even when I'm sure He doesn't.

541. That He has a plan, even when I'm sure I don't.

542. That Verizon connected me to the internet again just so I could post this.

Joining in with hundreds of others as we count our blessings every moment of every day:

Angels and Kool-Aid

She was a slender, tall, older lady with a big smile and immediately welcomed us into her home. We were standing on the porch, looking through the glass double doors of the great big house. Her wavy, gray hair was pulled back into some kind of twist in the back, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that drew me in. Her accent was Dutch, and there was a sing-songy way in which she spoke. She had a gold tooth which sparkled when she smiled. Her dress was always long and flowing, covered by an apron with a big bow tied in the back. She stepped out onto the porch where we were standing, bent down to where she could look straight into our eyes, gave us each a hug and welcomed us. It was genuine. I could just feel it. And I liked her immediately. I was about 9 years old. And I needed someone to like.

Mrs. Gravendyk was her name. She and her husband lived in a big, old Victorian home and had started a house church there. And I was there for Vacation Bible School --- about the third one of the summer that I had been sent to. My younger sister came with me, along with a few other neighborhood friends. The house was set back, giving room to a big front yard. A few steps led from the city sidewalk up to the walk leading to the house. A huge wrap-around porch with a white railing graced the front of the house. Big, heavy slabs of slate made the steps up to the porch interesting and inviting. It was here we waited each day for Mrs Gravendyk to open the doors. 9:00 am. No sooner. No later.

The meetings were held in the basement of the home, so down the steep, narrow steps we went. There were several rooms divided off, and one had lots of little chairs, a piano, and a flannel graph board all set up and ready to go. Pipes ran along the ceilings, and someone had already attached strings to these pipes. I felt important when I found a string with my name on it. Mrs. Gravendyke came over, put her arm around me and told me that I had “caught” 5 fishes for my string as I had brought with me 5 people. I felt sooooo important! The theme of the week was “Fishers of Men.”

I loved it there. I loved the new songs I learned. ( Of course, we sang, “I will make you Fishers of Men“ at least once every day ---- with all the hand motions!) I loved Mrs. Gravendyk’s enthusiasm as she played the piano and sang. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone play “The Assurance March” like she could! I loved her Kool-aid and cookies, the little crafts we made and the way she told stories. But most of all, I loved the little church --- the sanctuary that I had supposed was once a large library or living room. I stood in awe of what I saw there, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live.

Mr. Gravendyk was an artist and painted murals on the walls of this home. All of them portayed some Bible scene. The one in the sanctuary was my favorite. There were two cliffs divided by a very deep cavern. But stretched across this cavern was a cross. And there were all these little people walking on this cross across the cavern to the side that portrayed the city in gold. There were angels protecting those who were making the crossing. I don’t remember much of what went on when we went into that sanctuary. I was taken by the mural on the wall.

Vacation Bible School came and went, but my sister and I continued to visit with this unique old lady. She gave us permission to play in her huge back yard. All that was there was a tire hanging from a thick rope and we would swing for hours on that thing.

And then, like clockwork, she would come with a few glasses, a pitcher of Kool-aid and some cookies, and we sat on her steps and enjoyed her company and treats. Sometimes we would go inside. And she always let us see the murals.

I felt safe there. There is no other word to describe it. Perhaps it was the ONLY place during that period of my life where I did feel safe. In the darkest of nights, when I closed my eyes so tightly, I saw that cross, and the shiny gold city, and the angels -- and I wished that just one had been there for me.

We moved away shortly after this summer of tire swings and Vacation Bible school. But I never forgot Mrs. Gravendyk. Angels? Perhaps it was this very lady who was sent for such a brief time to add a little light and safety to my steps. I know one thing: Every time I sang the song, “The way of the cross leads home,” I could see that painting on the wall, and I thought of one little old Dutch lady who was faithful to her Lord with Kool aid and cookies.