Please scroll down to the bottom of my blog and turn off the music player so you can give your attention fully to this video!
Friday, May 25, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
Still Counting my Blessings!
661. A short visit with a Rose-breasted Grosbeak. I’m sure my feeder was just a short stop for refueling on his trip back to his northern summer home. If you are waiting for one to come back, he’s on his way!
662. Searching for a “roadmap” of sorts or a plan to begin a home group study and it all coming together in the dark hours of a sleepless night.
663. A much needed shower in the morning hours.
664. Watching the heavy, wet branches of my sycamore tree bend low as they are washed clean.
665. Hugh leaves --- big enough to be the perfect umbrella for a titmouse caught in the rain.
666. How all the leaves glisten in the sunlight after the rain.
667. Watching a group of turkey vultures all land together on the limb of a dead tree, and that limb cracking and falling under their weight. I don’t often laugh out loud, but this just cracked me up to see them all squawking and flapping and looking under their feet as their perch crashed to the ground.
668. Stressing over a mother cat as she tried to get her kittens to cross a busy road. I can’t stand to watch, but I always do. I don’t understand the process --- as these kittens get old enough, Momma takes them on this long journey to --- who knows where --- and just when I think they are gone and lost for good, they all come back, starving, wild, scared and skinny. This group made it between the cars across the road and decided to rest under my car.
669. My Ninja blender/ice crusher. I am on a mission to make my own iced coffees and smoothies.
670. Two angels who took time out of their own schedules to mow and weed wack my lawn. Thank you Jarred and Daniel!
671. A car that will not die. It just keeps going, and going, and going. . . .!!!
672. A beautiful, delicious dinner prepared by special friends.
673. Comforting a friend who begins her jouney with breast cancer, hearing the courage and faith in her voice, glad I could be a living witness to what God can do in the worst-case scenerios!
674. Finding strength and support from friends when eating right and dieting are NOT what I want to do.
675. Sticking to it and shopping right, inspired by new recipes.
676. My washing machine. How did I get so much laundry for just 2 people? I can’t imagine taking it all down to a river and washing it all on a stone. . . .!!!!
677. Digging my way through a Bible Study on the Women of the Old Testament and wondering if I could really teach a group of young women. . .???!!!!
678. My “gal” all excited about me thinking about teaching and opening her home for this to happen!
679. Adding a new food to my diet, Quinoa, and loving it! A grain full of protein and tastes delicious!
680. Eating lunch out with a friend, enjoying fellowship together, as well as good food.
681. Realizing Buster is well aware of wardrobe and puts together what will happen when I wear certain things. Like. . . Old yellow Crocs are ok as I stay home when I wear those. Black crocks are nerve wracking. . . I’m going out, probably shopping which means treats, but I’m gone -- not good. . . Good black shoes, nice blouse and makeup mean I’m going to be gone for a while -- reason to pout! Nothing in it for Buster.
682. Flycatchers teaching their young ones in the birdhouse their song. I don’t think they are allowed to come out until they have it right.
683. Fresh eggs from my sister’s chickens.
Linking up with Ann VosKamp and a multitude of others who are still counting. . .!
Friday, May 18, 2012
Perspective
On Fridays, a group of people who love to throw caution to the wind and just write gather to share what five minutes buys them. Just five minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
Your words. This shared feast.
Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
Today's topic?
Perspective
Sometimes, it takes a radical change in life to see things from another perspective. I was always one who shyed away from people who were sick, especially those who were suffering with cancer and going through treatments, surgery, and radiation. I just didn’t know what to say, what they wanted to hear. I felt inadequate and had no idea what they were going through. I think back now to how cold and callous I must have seemed. My heart aches for a “second chance,” to be able to go back and do it over. . .
As I walked through my own time of cancer, I became so aware of my feelings, my fears, my doubts, my strengths and my faith (or lack of it!). Nothing meant more to me than the encouragement and help of my friends, my sister, my mailman, etc. Sometimes it was just a hug with no words at all. Sometimes, it was something left at my door, a meal delivered, a card sent, a phone call, a yard mowed, etc. All these dear ones taught me how to care, how to give, how to love and strengthen someone going through these hard times.
During this past week, two of my friends were diagnosed with cancer. And I found myself reacting so differently than years before. My experience gave me a new perspective -- I knew how they felt, the shock of the diagnosis, the fears, the what if’s. I saw the pain in their eyes. And I didn’t even have to think of how to react or what to say --- it came spilling out of me. My new perspective has given me a new ministry, one where I can come alongside and walk with someone through this, giving encouragement, direction and support. . . . . STOP!
5 minutes are up!
Linking up with:
Monday, May 14, 2012
The Desert Place
Have you ever been in that place where you feel so alone, you wonder if God is even hearing your prayers, And your reading of His Word seems dry and distant? I've been there. And I've wondered why. My first thought is always guilt -- that it must be me, that I've done something wrong, missed something that I was supposed to do, learn, be, or whatever, and got off track with my Christian life. But I have learned that the greatest lessons taught to me was in that Desert Place where I thirsted more than ever and walked with sand in my shoes to a place called nowhere. Lately, I've been reviewing the life of Hagar and how she trudged her way through the desert with her baby boy --- only to have a meeting with the Lord Himself and to learn His Name -- El Roi --- The God who Sees. And He provided a well to quench their thirst and gave hope, direction, and a vision of her future. He doesn't leave us there and He always has a purpose!
The Desert Place
To think that He would bring me here was never in my plan.
My dreams were quiet valleys where the deeper waters ran
To feed within Your pastures green and not a fear to trace --
Oh, Father, why the choice of this, the lonely desert place?
Paths that lead me nowhere, and I walk them all alone.
Futile days of desert heat, and nights that chill the bone.
I’m tired, Lord, so tired of the heavy, aching heart!
Tired of defeated days before they even start.
Where can I find my song again? Oh, Father, can it be
That even in this desert place you have forgotten me?
“I never will forsake thee!” Oh, how sweet the promise is!
To know that I am not alone, for I’m a child of His.
Oh, Father, may I learn that you will feed me with thy bread,
That somewhere in this desert place you have a table spread.
Teach me all the lessons which you think that I should know,
And may I pay attention to where e’er thy footsteps go,
So when another pilgrim finds his way into this land,
And cries, “I am so lonely!” I can say, “I understand.”
I will not doubt that through it all, You know what’s best for me.
And may I find within this place my chosen ministry.
And when the evening hours come and sunlight starts to dim,
I’ll know that I was not alone, but walked today with Him.
--Cora Eelman
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
My Mother's Greatest Gift
It was Christmas. And I was six. First grade half done, and I could now read. I was proud, and I loved all my books. I loved my little Sunday School papers. Letters, the alphabet, words. . . . They all came together for me, opening up a whole new world.
Early in the morning light of that Christmas day which we all impatiently waited for, we found a pile of gifts wrapped in brightly colored paper. Simple gifts --- like a roll of white shelf paper and a box of crayons. I thought I could color my way around the world with that much paper! A doll from my namesake aunt who lived so far away. It was dressed in a crocheted dress that my grandmother had made.
But the gift I cherished most of all was given to me by my Mother. It was a Bible. I loved the smell of that new book with the thin, crisp pages. But what made it so special was my name in gold embossed on the front cover. Inside, in her beautiful handwriting, she wrote my name after the words, ‘This Bible belongs to. . . .” and after the words “From” it said, “Her Mother.”
I carried that Bible every.single.Sunday of my childhood. It wasn’t until my Junior year of High School that I got a new Scofield Reference Bible ---- THE Bible to have at that time. But I kept my old Bible. It was special. My first. And it was from my Mom. And she was gone. Forever. It was all I had of her heart. I had no picture or momento that would link me to her. Only my Bible.
I kept that Bible no matter where I went. And sometimes I went far. As far as a wandering heart can take a Rebellious, proud, prodigal daughter. I always knew where it was. I wanted it close -- just in case. I knew my way around it, where to find certain verses that would win an argument, where to find my way back, where to find the cross, where to find grace and forgiveness. Within its covers were memories -- some so sweet, others so haunting. I won “sword drills” with that Bible, memorized verses and chapters, did my Sunday School lessons, and looked up verses in Junior Church. It convicted me, comforted me, and sometimes, confused me. But it laid out a roadmap, always showing me the right way, the old way, the one way that was well traveled, deep with ruts made by those who had gone before. That way always led by the way of the cross.
Now? Maybe 50 Bibles later -- all sizes, colors, versions, paraphrases, --- I still have my Mother’s Bible. It’s stiff now, the binding cracking and brittle (kind of like me) as it gets older. But it never changes. Its words, its message, its power are still all they ever were, and will remain so through eternity’s ages.
Sometimes a Mom doesn’t know the importance of a gift slipped under a tree on a frosty Christmas morning. She didn’t know that a few years later she would be taken suddenly from me. No good-bys, no last words, No hugs --- but she left the greatest gift of all. All I would ever need to get me through the good times, the bad times, up the steepest mountains and down into the deepest of valleys. It brought me safe thus far, and it will bring me safely Home.
Thank you, Mom, for the greatest gift a Mom could give. I am forever grateful!
And if you thank YOUR mama on your blog and link up with Ann VosKamp — you will help support a mothering educational project in Haiti just through your gratitude. The 1000 Moms Project is about 1000 people standing up and thanking their mom publicly (what mom doesn’t want a gift like this for Mother’s Day?) – and we’ll match your honoring of mothers by funding a Maternity/Child Survival Program in Haiti for a whole year. (You can read all about it here)
Monday, May 7, 2012
He Sings!
He sings!
He always sings.
Early in the morning hours,
before the sun rises over the trees,
he is there on the top of the pole,
singing his songs with his head directed towards Heaven.
He sings in the rain,
in the midst of the storm,
shakes off the droplets as the thunder passes into the distance,
and sings again
as the sun breaks through the clouds.
He sings!
As the red and orange ball of fire
sinks slowly behind the pine trees
He finds the highest tip of a tree
where he can see the last rays of what we call day,
and sings his songs again . . .
And again. . .
And again!
He knows them all,
and he learned them well.
And each bird in the woods
has their own special lullaby
sung to them as they settle into darkness.
He used to irritate me.
But there came a time
when I needed a song sung into my soul.
A time when I had none of my own,
no notes on a score,
no words on a page,
no rhyme,
no rhythm,
no melody.
I picked up my hymnbook,
and it was almost as if
Mr. Mockingbird had spoken to me ---
“Just pick one,
and sing it with all your heart,
like you mean it,
and don’t stop til you get it right,
til it turns your soul inside out.”
The old hymnbook fell open to
“My Jesus, I Love Thee, I know thou art Mine.”
And best I could, I sang.
Things change when the heart sings.
Songs heal wounds.
Hymns take us to the Cross.
They dry tears so we can see His face,
they lift us from the muck of self,
to the presence of the Father.
They remind us of who we are
and refresh a parched soul.
They find words we can’t seem to find
and whisper them into the ears of our beloved Lord. . .
And He sings them back to us in love,
and grace,
and compassion . . .
only as He can sing.
And so today, I sing my gratitudes. . .
653. That you are my gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou.
654. That I love you because you first loved me.
655. That you purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.
656. That you wore a crown of thorns on your brow for me.
657. That I will have eternity to adore you.
658. That a mansion awaits for me.
659. That I will sing for You with a crown on my brow.
660. That my song will be a love song, and like my bird, I’ll just keep singing it over and over and over. . . !
Linking up with Ann VosKamp and so many others who continue to look for all the blessings in the moments of their days and are offering up their gratitudes:
Monday, April 30, 2012
Thank you, Emmanuel!
Emmanuel -- The God who is with me. Several days ago, someone was talking about this Name of God, first prophesied in the Bible (Isa. 7:14) as the Savior who would come, and then fulfilled in Matthew 1:23. “God with Us!” Born in human flesh, walking on the earth with us!
Each of the names of God gives us a little more insight into the character and qualities of who He is. This name, Emmanuel (Or Immanuel), is perhaps the most personal and draws Him close to each of us individually. As I thought about this name this past week, I began to make a list of all the times He was with me. Somehow, I could just hear the whisper of His name as I wrote each of these down. My conclusion? He has always been there! Even in those times before He was my Savior, He was there, drawing me, calling after me, protecting me, knowing that one day, I would turn my face upward, and He would draw me out of the pit I had dug for myself.
Thank you, Lord, that
631. You were there with me when I was born, knew my name, knew my end from my beginning, and loved me.
632. You were there with me when I contracted spinal meningitis as a three month old baby, sparing my life so that one day, I would know that You loved me.
633. You were there, sending a pastor to sit by my father’s side - one he did not know, but changed the course of his life and mine, putting me on a path where I would find out that You loved me.
634. You were there, protecting me as a child, as I rode my tricycle into traffic and other dangerous places because, as a Father, you loved me.
635. You were there with me, as I held a dead sparrow in my little chubby hands, questioning all the why’s of death -- and you loved me!
636. You were there with me, as I innocently walked through streets in neighborhoods that were not safe, and you loved me!
637. You were there with me, the night my mom went Home to You, leaving a deeply grieving dad to care for five bewildered children, and you wept with us, and loved me.
638. You were there, in the closet with me, hiding from a relentless abuser, and you felt my pain, and you loved me.
639. You were there with me, when I knew I was a sinner and received your cleansing and promise of eternal life, and you welcomed me home and you loved me.
640. You were there, as I struggled with guilt and painful memories, secrets, and burdens I wasn’t meant to carry, and you constantly reminded me that you loved me.
641. You were there, sadly looking on as I walked away from you, thinking I could do life on my own, but still, you loved me.
642. You were there, with tears of joy as you watched me come back home to you, and you told me that still, as always, you forgave me and loved me.
643. You were there, the day I realized I was not a marred, useless, broken vessel, but rather, a princess of a King and dressed in beautiful, royal robes of white, and looked into my eyes, and told me you loved me.
644. You were there, the day I was diagnosed with cancer, orchestrating the whole scene to bring me the care I needed, and held me up and told me you loved me.
645. You were there, through the hardest days of chemo, surgery, and burning days of radiation, always holding me up, helping me take the next step, to do the next thing, and told me I could do it with your help, because you loved me.
646. You were there, saying “I can” when my heart cried, “I can’t,” and gave me strength while you whispered that you loved me.
You were always there! My Emmanuel! My God who is always with me and will never leave me, nor forsake me! Why would I doubt His presence in my tomorrows? Think today of the times He has been with you, make a list, and thank Him for being the God who is with us, always there, always yours, who will never forsake you!
Sometimes, we thank Him for what we see in our every moments of the day. But sometimes, we reflect on what we see in our rear view mirrors --- the places we were, the roads we traveled, the rivers we crossed and the mountains we climbed. And there, in the reflection of that rear view mirror, we see we were never alone. Emmanuel, My God who is with me, is there, and I see His image in it all. And so, my list of gratitudes are for these places in my life which made me stronger, and planted my feet steadfastly in a hope that will not disappoint. Joining a community of wonderful people who are also counting their gifts at:
Friday, April 27, 2012
Community -- Five Minute Friday
Five minute Friday
We bloggers write for five minutes flat on Fridays. We set a timer, throw caution to the winds and try to remember what it was like to just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. write for 5 minutes, no back-drafting, no editing –
This week's topic to write about for 5 minutes flat is COMMUNITY:
GO!--
I am not one who seeks out community, groups of people, lots of friends, etc. I'm one whose first instinct is to run FROM these things. I'm a loner, a hermit, and I hide myself away. But I've learned the value of looking into someone's eyes and seeing love, trust, friendship, and yes, even the image of God Himself. I've learned to hug, embrace, smile, and risk turning myself inside out, and I have these (and more) to thank for that:
Marty, the one who calls me “Momma” and sees more in me than I will ever see.
Vanessa, the one who accepts me as I am, scars, scratches and dents and all.
Jackie, who hugs me every time she sees me, despite the pain she feels each time she is touched.
George, who always give me a Werther’s hard candy and says, “I love you best next to my dog!”
Ruthie, who always asks how I’m feeling and am I doing ok, and doesn’t take just “fine” for an answer.
Ron, whose eyes smile when he sits down behind me, always gently touching my hair to see if it will stay where it is put.
Liz, so full of grace and understanding, always sitting next to me in church, always a friend.
Dan, quiet, always a smile, always a problem solver, always a handshake, always a teacher.
Mike, who always has time for me, no matter what’s on my heart, no matter what he has to do, a keeper of confidences, someone who keeps his promise to pray.
Suzanne, quiet as a mouse, but always has a smile for you, no matter what, no matter where.
Peggy, a tender-hearted, do anything for you, down to earth, reality based, fun loving quilter.
Charlotte, shy, quiet, but as faithful as one can be, despite migraine headaches, always a sweet, kind word.
Lynn, so bubbly and full of smiles, always friendly with a hug and genuine concern.
George, quiet, but always there, always with a handshake and welcome.
MaryJane, a gifted encourager, a “walk beside you” type who sees God’s hand in everything.
Pastor Earl, whose only burden is to see his flock walk in God’s ways and understand His Word correctly.
Barry, a huge teddy bear with a huge tender heart for God.
There are others but I must . . . . STOP!
Visit all the others who are writing about community today at:
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
To Be In Control -- On Your Heart Tuesday
I mention these heros because I not only admire their victories and the strength they have shown in their battles, but I have also realized today that I have left this part out of my posts and my stories about myself. I’ve looked long and hard for reasons --- perhaps I don’t FEEL like I’m strong, that I’ve gained a true victory over things, and that if I DID shout praises of success, that I might shame myself in falling again. It all boils down to pride, putting forth a picture of myself that is better than it is, making you think I have it all together when I don’t. . .well, you get the picture. Strange that I would tell you about abuse, a hard childhood, mistakes I’ve made, etc. That was easy. It’s easy to talk about what OTHERS do to YOU, but when we have to talk about what WE do to OURSELVES, it’s a whole ‘nuther ballgame.
Food is my addiction. It has been as far back as I can remember. I scrounged for pennies and spare change and ran three blocks to Prescott’s corner store for penny candy. One day, as I drooled over the candy counter, another boy came in with a brown bag full of soda bottles. He handed them to the cashier, and she gave him a quarter! My jaw dropped and my eyes were wide as marbles!!! Remember those days when soda came in glass bottles, you paid an extra five cents deposit on the bottle, and then returned them to get your nickel back? Well. . .that was the day I went into business for myself. I went everywhere, checking gutters, garbage cans, around the parks. . . Anywhere people drank soda, you would find me looking for bottles. And every.single.bottle I found turned into a candy bar. This was my start in the world of addiction.
I was a skinny kid growing up. Always made fun of, always last in line because I was so tall, always picked last for kickball, always dressed in in hand-me-down, old clothing. I never had the stylish, cute hair-do’s that the other girls had. My only claim to fame in grade school was that I was the playground champion of jump rope! I have my older sister to thank for that.
I can’t remember if I was ever really hungry as a kid. But I do remember always wanting food, and especially sweets. My Mom died when I was eight, and everything began caving in after that. I felt myself becoming smaller and smaller in what was then my little world. I didn’t want to be seen or noticed. I would not answer questions in class, or give reports or participate in anything. I hid myself away. And the older I got, the more alone I wanted to be. Away from the endless teasing, from all the things I could not make right, from a relentless abuser and his threats, and later from a step mother who really did not care for me as a person. There was no place whatsoever in my life that could say I was in control. Even the kitchen was off limits and food was eaten only at meals, and often dished out on my plate. No choices, no yes please or no thank you --- I ate what put in front of me.
As I entered Junior High and High School, I continued scrounging for change. My one control, my secret, my one source of satisfaction. I’d clean my older brother’s room once a week and look for change on his dresser, in his dirty pants pockets, under his bed, etc. I would use this to buy an ice cream sandwich in the lunch line or a candy bar after school from the vending machine at the bus stop. Again, my grades suffered greatly because of my lack of participation in class. I refused to give reports, give an oral book report, or answer questions in class, even if I knew the answers. I was a day dreamer --- drifting off into dreams of a better life, running away, what if I had been born to different parents, maybe being an only child, etc. etc.
I lost myself in reading -- Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Elsie Dinsmore, Christian novels, biographies and missionary stories. When I read my first collection of Christian poetry, a book written by Ava Christianson, I perked up. I thought I could write like this. And I began to write and write and write. I lost myself in writing, but would always throw it all away for fear someone would find it and make fun of me.
Somehow, I stayed thin all the way through High School, therefore, no one knew of my obsession for food. Perhaps it was the exercise of walking 2 miles each day and vigorous Gym classes 4 days a week. So my secret was well kept and my habits continued as long as I could find change or babysit now and then.
I was in big trouble when I worked for a summer at the Montrose Bible Conference in Pennsylvania. I was in the kitchen as a helper there. That wasn’t too bad, as there were people around all the time watching, but I managed to get a good share there. But when they asked me to run the snack shop after the evening services each day, I thought I had died and gone to heaven! Junk food heaven! Soda, candy, chips, and hamburgers and hot dogs. I became addicted to Tab, the diet soda.
After High School, I left home, went to Bible School, and continued with the same habits, craving food 24/7. I never thought of it as an addiction. I thought everyone was like me. But when I left Bible School, found a job and a place of my own, I knew I had a problem. Now I had my own source of funds to buy whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. As the years went by, the scale went up, and I didn’t care. I became a drive up junkie, going through all the hamburger lines. This was also the time when all-you-can-eat breakfast bars were so popular, and believe me, they didn’t like seeing me walk through the door. It wasn’t long before I was well over 300 pounds, probably pushing 400.
It wasn’t until I was in my 30’s that I began to think that this was a problem. I’d go to bed at night thinking, “tomorrow I’ll start a diet.” It was always tomorrow. Every.single.night --- tomorrow. Once in a while, I would start with some fad diet of the times. I’ve been on them all. I would lose some. Gain some. Lose some. Gain some. I did manage to bring that top weight down quite a bit, but never really lost it all. . . . Until. . . .
In the mid 80’s, a group of ladies in my church got together and we formed a weight loss group to try to encourage each other in our efforts. This was good for me, as there was some accountability and . . . A weekly weigh-in. One day, after a morning service, someone asked me if I was losing weight. That was encouraging. . . Until I turned away, and heard one say to the other, “She will never make it!” Everything changed at that moment in my life. I knew right then that I WOULD make it, even if it killed me! And so began the worst time of my life as I began using laxatives, eating 600 calories or less each day, using a treadmill, taking my dog on long, long walks, and weighing myself about 3 times a day. The weight came off fast and furious, and I was sick. I was dizzy and felt faint all the time and lived on the toilet. But I told myself that I was now in control of my life, and thought this was a good thing.
Here I was, skinny once again, just like I was in High School. And I was as miserable as when I was fat. I looked in the mirror and saw myself ugly and fat. I bought a million new outfits, but none satisfied my desire to look good. There was not one mirror in the house that reflected anything below the neck. I didn’t want to see it.
My unhappiness took me from Florida to Virginia, and I was there for four years, hiding away on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Slowly, but surely, I put all that weight back on, telling myself I was happier eating than when I was skinny and miserable. And for ten more years, I ate myself into the darkest time of my life.
It was during this time that I found a lump in my breast. My past blogging tells the story of that journey. Since I had no insurance, and no way to pay for any type of treatment, I let it go, acting like the stoic that didn’t care about life, death, cancer, etc. When I finally did go for help, I weighed in at a whopping 367 pounds. I remember the day that my oncologist spelled out to me that my weight dictated a much higher dosage of chemo, that this would be hard on my heart, and that there were risks to all of this. Also, he told me that my cancer was hormone positive, meaning that it was fed by hormones, and fat produces hormones. He did not hound me then, in fact, never mentioned it during treatment, which I appreciated so much. During those 9 months of chemo, surgery, and radiation, I lost a little, but nothing significant.
Then one day, I got the lecture. I knew if I was going to have any kind of life and do my part to keep the cancer away, I HAD to make some decisions. I had already done a lot of soul searching during thos 9 months. I knew I was a control freak. Isn’t it great how the Lord attacks the one subtle area of our lives that keep us from being all we could be. Food wasn’t the problem --- it was my way of being in control of me and my whole life. I knew that I built walls with food. It gave me a way to keep people at a distance. It didn’t matter if no one liked me -- I had food. For some reason, I really believed no one liked me. When you receive a diagnosis of cancer, there is that feeling of being out of control, nothing you can do to change things, and your life is dependent on someone else making the right decisions. I felt that sense of panic of not being in control, that I could not choose the outcome, that I could not choose to eat or not eat to make it all better. . . And ultimately, what I didn’t want to admit but knew all the time. . . That only the Lord was in control Of my future and what would ultimately happen to me.
And so began the journey of weight loss -- at first, because I knew I would have to face a cranky oncologist with a scale, but later because I knew this would be the only thing I could do to help fight the recurrence of breast cancer.
Eating disorders are as different as each person who struggles with them. Each pain hidden in the heart is different. Some choose not eating, others over eat. Some hide their secret, others flaunt it. Some admit it, some live in denial. But all hurt. I’ve lived long enough and listened closely enough to see and hear the pain behind the masks of smiles and in the hollow laughter.
I am happy to say that for two years now, I’ve been able to control this and have lost 120 pounds now. I took a risk in sharing my heart with a few who love me without strings attached and who encourage me in so many ways. Someday soon, I just may buy a great big mirror --- one long enough to see all of me. I’m not there yet. But I have been willing to take a glance now and then at my reflection in a big window. That’s a start, right?
But ultimately, it is looking at my heart. It is what God sees, not this aging, sagging body. It’s about letting my eyes look up into His and know that He loves me, no matter what. It’s about finding forgiveness and grace without judgment or discrimination at the cross. It’s about new starts, new beginnings, new walks down old paths and good ways. It’s about becoming. . . Becoming a lady who can whisper grace to others just as He whispered His grace to me. It’s about holding out my hand and lifting up another hurting soul. It’s about walking out of darkness into the light of life.
Linking up with:Monday, April 23, 2012
Showers of Blessings: Still Counting. . .
615. Rain. Sometimes slow and steady, sometimes heavy, but still --- RAIN! I love the sound of rain dripping off the roof. We have needed rain for so long, and today was our day for WET. As I sat on my porch and listened to the sound I seem to love best, I thought about that song, what if blessings came like raindrops. . .???? How many do I not see? And if I did, would I be able to count them all?
616. Watching squirrels and birds alike catching droplets of water on the branches.
617. A beautiful reminder to hush into stillness the negative voice I hear speaking back at me in the mirror and rather, to listen to the whispers of grace.
618. Counting the myriad shades of green as Spring lets loose such an abundance of new growth.
619. A male cardinal gently feeding the love of his life the best he can find in the feeder.
620. Two extremely happy flycatchers taking up residence in my birdhouse.
621. Buster’s happy face and his willingness to do absolutely anything I ask if it will get him a fried pig’s ear. I melt every time I see the anticipation and longing in his face!
622. Being encouraged by this wonderful community of bloggers, and being able to pass on that same encouragement to others.
623. A pastor who is willing to open the Book of Hebrews weekly in our Bible Study and go slowly for people like me ----- like, word for word, one word at a time ---- and for the first time, I think I will understand it. I’ve shied away from Hebrews as a whole book study. But it’s time to pull up my big girl panties and grab a good hold of this book and learn it!
624. A homemade pizza (I even made the crust from scratch), with barbecue made from left over pork loin, pineapple, onions and cheese. I know, it’s not diet, but I needed . . . . Something good! And it was. And I’m thankful. No regrets.
625. A cheerful cashier at the grocery store, making it a tiny bit easier to spend so much more for such a little bit.
626. Learning to live peacefully with a loose lizard running through my house. I’m not sure the word “peaceful” is accurate. I did scream and jump on the chair when I saw it looking up at me right there at my feet! It’s HUGE! At least 8 inches long, black, shiney, and slimey looking. Where it came from is anyone’s guess, but it’s lightening fast and uncatchable. Any suggestions?????
627. The brave soul who knocked the wasp nest off my door. I was beginning to feel like I was being held hostage by all these creatures of nature.
628. Hearing whispers of grace in the beautiful song of the whipoorwill -- clear and sweet in the darkness of the night. I pray that I will sing like that when I find myself in the darkest of times -- singing all the songs I learned while walking in the light.
629. Cool, fresh, clean air with soft breezes after a period of much needed rain. Everything looks so clean and perky again.
630. Bloggy friends who are encouragers with their words, warriors of truth, and partners in prayer. I am honored to call them friends.
Linking up with all those who are also counting their gifts moment by moment:
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Whispers of Grace
Yesterday, I was blog hopping and read the most beautiful post about listening to the whispers of Grace instead of all the negative voices that shout back at us from our mirrors. I don't know where I was, or I would direct you back there. The post ended in a question, asking what we were hearing today. And this is my response to that heart searching question:
Whispers of Grace
Grace opens closet doors and reaches far
As far as it must take to find me there,
Hiding, scared, and fearing all that hurts,
But Grace embraces, whispers words of care.
Grace sees the soiled dress, so ripped and frayed,
Stained, and far beyond a needle and a thread,
But Grace redresses me in robes of white,
And whispers, This is all you need instead.
Grace sees the dying embers of my dreams,
Ashes of the bridges I have burned,
But Grace with sweetest breath fans life anew
And turns all my mistakes to lessons learned.
Grace sees my feet, as I would start to stray,
Leaving paths that lead to good and right,
Grace picks me up, and points me in the way
And places in my hand a guiding light.
I listen to the voices in my soul
Not Good Enough is knocking at my door,
Unloved and Left Alone would stay too long,
But Grace, in whispers, says, I love you more.
Grace rebuilds the bridges I once burned,
Leading back to Him who loves me so,
How can such love be mine, I humbly cry,
Grace whispers, And how much, you’ll never know!
So loud the voices, chasing from behind!
Words that tear and rip my soul apart!
So quiet, soft, a whispered breath of Grace,
And all is calm again within my heart!
--Cora Eelman
Lord, show me where I can whisper a breath of Grace today!
Monday, April 16, 2012
She came into my life about a year ago, this breath of fresh air, bright and breezy, cheerful and loving. She was getting ready to (re)marry her true love in life, a guy from my church. We hit it off over dinner one night which was supposed to be a time of discussing building a website for his new CD and his music ministry. Instead, it was a time of sharing our life stories, where we had come from and where we had been brought to --- and we just clicked. Strange that this would happen! We are as different as night and day. The roads we traveled are from different ends of the world -- as far apart as any two roads could be. Here’s me, the goody-goody-two-shoes, raised in church, a Christian as long as she was old, and never knew anything about the streets, drugs, alchohol, abuse, etc. And there she is as low as a person can go. . . Never hearing about God and Jesus and what He did for her until one day someone told her she needed to be saved. Her response??? “Saved????? Saved from WHAT?????” I remember smiling but in awe of all of this. Was there ever a day that I did NOT know what being saved meant? I went to Sunday school from the cradle roll department on. And I’m looking into the bright eyes of one dear soul who had never heard, who was confused, hanging on to the last thread of life, crying out to God to somehow get her out of this hole. A God she never knew, didn’t know how to find Him, wondered if He was there, and would He even listen.
To follow her through her story left me awe struck. How these two came through the pits of Hell, rescued by God, picked up and dressed in robes of white, and now sitting here in a restaurant full of people telling me all this just left me with no words. And since then, we have been close friends. Vanessa has enriched my life, caused me to grow, to dig for answers to questions that I did not knew could be questions, to find reasons and a basis for my faith.
Yesterday was a glorious day as I was invited to share her day --- her fifth anniversary of being sober. Nothing better than a surprise party, a whole bunch of us churchy people, a whole bunch of other victors who are heros in my eyes, pizza and cake. But deep within me, the question came up: If this were me, would I have made it? Is there ANYTHING in my life that I have wanted and craved so badly but have given up for 5 years? I can hardly stick to a diet!
And so, the next thing on my list of gathered blessings is
606. Vanessa, and her victorious fight and celebration of sobriety.
607. Her friendship with me, though we are so different.
608. Her nonjudgmental ways of treating people around her.
609. Her willingness to walk with you through anything and everything.
610. Her honesty, risking asking the hard and deep questions.
611. Our dinners together, staying so long and late, being the last ones to leave.
612. Knowing every day is a struggle for her, but seeing her plug on through, clinging to Him for strength.
613. Learning that I was so privileged to hear the Gospel from childhood. Something I always took for granted.
614. Seeing that the Lord never gives up on someone, even though the world would just turn away.
Linking up the Ann VosKamp and so many others who are counting their gifts and sharing them each Monday. You can click on the banner here and find everyone who is doing this and read their beautiful lists:
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