Whodathunk it?
One of my little darlings, who has had some difficult days in the past, had a wonderful day last Tuesday. A stupendous day. A red-letter day. She earned twenty minutes of computer time to be awarded during the last half hour of said day. Sounds like the makings of a date to circle on the calendar, huh?
Oh, it got circled alright.
Dad, in his infinite wisdom, decided to pull my little darling out forty minutes early. HE had an appointment. He never thought to call and let us know ahead of time. Oh, no. And so I had a sobbing five-year-old who had jumped through every hoop of the day with alacrity only to be crushed with the injustice of it all.
And if that wasn’t enough, when I knelt to comfort my little kidlett, my knee landed on something—or at least I was sure it had due to the stab of pain shooting up my knee. I quickly moved to see nothing between my knee and the carpet and felt the burn—and not the good kind.
The next few minutes were a blur of getting the child to the parent in tears (both mine and hers) and sending another child to the nurse’s office for an ice pack. Wrong move The ice-pack request generated paperwork and a trip to Occupational Therapy. By the time I was seen (and I have to say my nurse had the best sense of humor) the X-ray department was closing so I had neither x-rays nor MRIs done. However, I was given instructions to stay off it and allowed five minutes per hour to maneuver myself to the facilities should I feel the need. Other than that, no standing.
I teach Kindergarten.
Alrighty then.
First there was Tuesday night (also known as my husband’s birthday—he spent it pushing me around in a wheelchair. I SO owe him big time) when I was supposed to be at Kindergarten Registration. In the wheelchair it felt more like a cry for attention than being there for parents to get to know me.
Wednesday, a team member had called in for a sub already so I knew I could not miss. That day was spent with children vying for the privilege of pushing me in the wheelchair. The above-mentioned little darling had a very difficult day as did a couple of her friends and I left the second I could roll myself out the door.
The good news is I had extra writing time this week (Pollyanna will now return to her corner)
Thursday and Friday I hobbled on a crutch, waiting for the weekend. And now we’re back to that key word in my life—waiting.
I am really getting tired of waiting.
Even things I thought were good to work through while I waited have been stripped away. I was up to walking three miles (count’m T-H-R-double E) and now I hobble. So much for losing a dress size before attending the CCWC in Estes Park next month. There are so many exciting things on the horizon but not here yet. So I keep asking my Abba what am I supposed to be learning in all this waiting?
I may be starting to get it—at least intellectually. Up until now I have been looking forward and excited like a kid at Christmas. All the goodies that might come my way. But I don’t’ think that is the definition I am supposed to be taking to heart. Somehow I’m getting this picture of a waiter, like in a five-star restaurant. The type of waiter who is unobtrusive but always available. One who doesn’t ask how things are the second you have just put food in your mouth but instead knows exactly when to remove the salad plate and bring the entré and fill the beverage glasses without a request.
Am I that type of waiter for my Abba?
As much as I’d love to say yes, I know the answer is no. So, maybe if I can take that head knowledge and get it into my heart, I will begin to appreciate the journey and not be so focused on the destination—the ultimate destination is up there ahead and I am excited for that. But the big oases along the way are only enjoyable if the journey brings about the right attitude.
At the moment, mine needs an adjustment.
Abundant blessings to all!
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Just Fiddling Around
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” I feel sort of like Tevya in Fiddler on the Roof for this post. Today I’m just sharing snippets of interest.
Actually a good one came this morning. My pastor made a confession that rocked the church—to be fair, I’ll put it into context. He began a new sermon series on relationships and is using a driving/rode motif to illustrate his points. Today his focus was that no one likes a road hog. And in the midst of this very spiritual, moving sermon, he asked of the married people in the congregation how many disagree with their spouses on the types of movies they like to watch. Hands flew up all over (mine and Phil’s included). And that is when Pastor Steve confessed. He likes movies where somebody blows up—he’s not picky, he just wants bloodshed and mayhem. However, his wife prefers something to make her cry. He went further. After the last Elder’s Meeting (a grueling one that saw my own Elder/hubby crawl in way after his bedtime) he popped in Rambo First Blood to feel better.
Something about knowing that little quirk about Steve leaves me unsettled. However, the men in our congregation had else to say. Especially when I suggested a good ol’ chick flick comedy (and yeah, Jen, I was thinking about your favorite nail polish at the time) instead of a tear-jerker. Uh, no. Rather it was countered we find one where the hero blows up things, but sheds a sensitive tear in the process. Where’s the chick flick fun in that, I ask you?
So, before I let flashbacks from Steve’s confession and the resulting aftershocks scar me forever, I’ll switch topics.
One of my very favorite people in the whole world—yeah, he’s got a corner on the market most of the time—is having a birthday this coming Tuesday. He will officially be old. But that’s okay, I’m learning to like antiques. Happy birthday, dear husband of mine. I love you.
And with that I will wish you all abundant blessings!
Actually a good one came this morning. My pastor made a confession that rocked the church—to be fair, I’ll put it into context. He began a new sermon series on relationships and is using a driving/rode motif to illustrate his points. Today his focus was that no one likes a road hog. And in the midst of this very spiritual, moving sermon, he asked of the married people in the congregation how many disagree with their spouses on the types of movies they like to watch. Hands flew up all over (mine and Phil’s included). And that is when Pastor Steve confessed. He likes movies where somebody blows up—he’s not picky, he just wants bloodshed and mayhem. However, his wife prefers something to make her cry. He went further. After the last Elder’s Meeting (a grueling one that saw my own Elder/hubby crawl in way after his bedtime) he popped in Rambo First Blood to feel better.
Something about knowing that little quirk about Steve leaves me unsettled. However, the men in our congregation had else to say. Especially when I suggested a good ol’ chick flick comedy (and yeah, Jen, I was thinking about your favorite nail polish at the time) instead of a tear-jerker. Uh, no. Rather it was countered we find one where the hero blows up things, but sheds a sensitive tear in the process. Where’s the chick flick fun in that, I ask you?
So, before I let flashbacks from Steve’s confession and the resulting aftershocks scar me forever, I’ll switch topics.
One of my very favorite people in the whole world—yeah, he’s got a corner on the market most of the time—is having a birthday this coming Tuesday. He will officially be old. But that’s okay, I’m learning to like antiques. Happy birthday, dear husband of mine. I love you.
And with that I will wish you all abundant blessings!
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Dealing With Rejection
I had jury duty this week. I didn’t get picked. Again. I never get picked. Okay, for the first few times I trotted my little self down to one of the courthouses we have around here I was happy to escape the final selection. But now, I’ve done this about six times already. You’d think someone down there would like me. At least a little.
But no, I’m rejected again. Went off to moan and groan to my Abba. Bad move—especially this week. He knows more about rejection than I’ll ever experience. Talk about feeling like a whiner.
But when I got over my little pity party and let Him give me that attitude adjustment I was just begging for, I was reminded once again that it is all Him. Even though he did it for me. And you.
Bottom line, my rejection meant I got to sit in an air-conditioned courthouse, make a couple new friends for lunch, and read a novella without having to deal with kidletts poking and prodding and calling, “Teacher, TEACH-er.” Don’t get me wrong. I love my little rug rats, but Spring Break is long over and there are still six weeks left (count’m S-I-X) until I kiss their dear little heads so-long. It doesn’t even compare to the ridicule and rejection Jesus endured on my account.
Our motives were different as well. Way different. I went for the vacation from school—and to do my civic duty, of course. He did it to give me life everlasting. And he did not allow the rejection, the ridicule, or the pain to keep him from his appointed goal—the original postman living out a love letter from the Father.
So, have I grasped the lesson now that it isn’t all about me? Well, the jury is still out on that one. For the long term, don't know. But for the moment, I’m grateful He hasn’t rejected me. Thank You, Abba.
Have a happy and very blessed Easter.
Abundant blessings!
But no, I’m rejected again. Went off to moan and groan to my Abba. Bad move—especially this week. He knows more about rejection than I’ll ever experience. Talk about feeling like a whiner.
But when I got over my little pity party and let Him give me that attitude adjustment I was just begging for, I was reminded once again that it is all Him. Even though he did it for me. And you.
Bottom line, my rejection meant I got to sit in an air-conditioned courthouse, make a couple new friends for lunch, and read a novella without having to deal with kidletts poking and prodding and calling, “Teacher, TEACH-er.” Don’t get me wrong. I love my little rug rats, but Spring Break is long over and there are still six weeks left (count’m S-I-X) until I kiss their dear little heads so-long. It doesn’t even compare to the ridicule and rejection Jesus endured on my account.
Our motives were different as well. Way different. I went for the vacation from school—and to do my civic duty, of course. He did it to give me life everlasting. And he did not allow the rejection, the ridicule, or the pain to keep him from his appointed goal—the original postman living out a love letter from the Father.
So, have I grasped the lesson now that it isn’t all about me? Well, the jury is still out on that one. For the long term, don't know. But for the moment, I’m grateful He hasn’t rejected me. Thank You, Abba.
Have a happy and very blessed Easter.
Abundant blessings!
Sunday, April 09, 2006
E is for Easter
I just got back from viewing Lee Stobel’s The Case for Easter. It is late and I am tired but I want to share what I learned. To hear and see irrefutable proof of what I hold dear in my soul demands that I share, so here are the basics.
1. Execution—there is no way that Jesus could have lived through the torturous execution he suffered. Medical and historical documents cannot be argued away. Jesus died.
2. Early—the accounts, including the creed passed on from the Apostle Paul in Corinthians, would have been argued or declared shams. Instead they can be dated back to soon after the actual event. Studies show legends and myths take much longer than two generations to generate. Less time is involved with the reporting of the early accounts. Mr. Strobel calles this a News Flash.
3. Empty—this is one of the most convincing pieces of evidence. If somehow Jesus could have lived through the crucifixion and having his lung and possibly his heart stabbed with a spear, and if he could have gotten himself unwound from the linen cloths and seventy pounds of spices, and if he could have moved the stone that blocked the entrance to the tomb, He would have held far more scars than just the ones on his wrists and feet--the only ones attested to in any account. So, he really did die, but the tomb was empty—historical evidence other that the Bible backs that up. The Jewish leadership and the Roman government didn’t want Jesus to be alive. If he was dead, all they had to do was produce the body. For Roman soldiers to admit they fell asleep on the job? They would have been put to death for that. And to be tricked by a bunch of itinerant fishermen? Oh, please! The tomb was empty.
4. Eyewitnesses—over five hundred people personally saw and interacted with the risen Jesus. FIVE HUNDRED EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS! If you produce less than one-fifth that many in any court of law, you will get the verdict you want.
5. Emergence—the birth of the Christian Church is based on the sermon Peter gave at Pentecost. Three thousand people heard him cite information they knew to be true—"Jesus the Nazarene, a man attested to you by God with miracles and wonders and signs which God performed though Him in your midst, just as you yourselves know—" That is verse 22 of Acts 2. Peter is telling them things they knew—they knew Jesus did miracles and had walked among them. The also knew He’d been crucified. And after seeing and hearing the apostles in their own language, they could not refute it—3000 people could not refute and asked what to do, begged to be told what to do. Three thousand people gave their hearts and lives over to the Lord. Mr. Stobel also pointed out that people of all creeds will die for their faith. The difference was, the apostles knew the truth. If they had been making up the story, each would have died a martyr's death for a lie they knew to be a lie. To die for what you hope is true is one thing, but to die for what you know is not true of your own accord when you can easily say “hey, I was just telling a good story to make a point” and live just wouldn’t happen. And it didn’t happen.
So as you go through this Passion Week, it isn’t just a good story that teaches a lesson. It isn’t a warm fuzzy in your heart to help you get through your grief at the loss of a loved one. It is the truth—He is the truth. It is His story in history. And I am overcome with gratitude and love for my Abba.
Abundant blessings!
1. Execution—there is no way that Jesus could have lived through the torturous execution he suffered. Medical and historical documents cannot be argued away. Jesus died.
2. Early—the accounts, including the creed passed on from the Apostle Paul in Corinthians, would have been argued or declared shams. Instead they can be dated back to soon after the actual event. Studies show legends and myths take much longer than two generations to generate. Less time is involved with the reporting of the early accounts. Mr. Strobel calles this a News Flash.
3. Empty—this is one of the most convincing pieces of evidence. If somehow Jesus could have lived through the crucifixion and having his lung and possibly his heart stabbed with a spear, and if he could have gotten himself unwound from the linen cloths and seventy pounds of spices, and if he could have moved the stone that blocked the entrance to the tomb, He would have held far more scars than just the ones on his wrists and feet--the only ones attested to in any account. So, he really did die, but the tomb was empty—historical evidence other that the Bible backs that up. The Jewish leadership and the Roman government didn’t want Jesus to be alive. If he was dead, all they had to do was produce the body. For Roman soldiers to admit they fell asleep on the job? They would have been put to death for that. And to be tricked by a bunch of itinerant fishermen? Oh, please! The tomb was empty.
4. Eyewitnesses—over five hundred people personally saw and interacted with the risen Jesus. FIVE HUNDRED EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS! If you produce less than one-fifth that many in any court of law, you will get the verdict you want.
5. Emergence—the birth of the Christian Church is based on the sermon Peter gave at Pentecost. Three thousand people heard him cite information they knew to be true—"Jesus the Nazarene, a man attested to you by God with miracles and wonders and signs which God performed though Him in your midst, just as you yourselves know—" That is verse 22 of Acts 2. Peter is telling them things they knew—they knew Jesus did miracles and had walked among them. The also knew He’d been crucified. And after seeing and hearing the apostles in their own language, they could not refute it—3000 people could not refute and asked what to do, begged to be told what to do. Three thousand people gave their hearts and lives over to the Lord. Mr. Stobel also pointed out that people of all creeds will die for their faith. The difference was, the apostles knew the truth. If they had been making up the story, each would have died a martyr's death for a lie they knew to be a lie. To die for what you hope is true is one thing, but to die for what you know is not true of your own accord when you can easily say “hey, I was just telling a good story to make a point” and live just wouldn’t happen. And it didn’t happen.
So as you go through this Passion Week, it isn’t just a good story that teaches a lesson. It isn’t a warm fuzzy in your heart to help you get through your grief at the loss of a loved one. It is the truth—He is the truth. It is His story in history. And I am overcome with gratitude and love for my Abba.
Abundant blessings!
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Savoring Satisfaction
I struggled this week with what to write. Somehow I knew the answer would come at church this morning. I was right.
Our pastor, Steve Chiles , is in the middle of a six part sermon series that examines who Jesus said He is. Today Pastor Steve spoke on “I Am . . . The Bread Of Life!” I thought I would share (with his permission) some of the insights of today's three hankie sermon.
To begin, the main Scripture reference is John 6:25-35. I won’t print it here but you can follow the link. Steve made two main points based on those verses: 1.) He (Jesus) wants us to look to Him as the true source of satisfaction; and, 2.) He wants us to learn to savor Him.
Amid an unruly chorus of “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” Pastor Steve noted that most of what we seek for satisfaction is simply medication. We look for Mr. or Miss Right in all the wrong places. We fill our time up with busy-work and “holic-isms” (my word) and miss out on the One Who can satisfy our every need. Remember the verse “Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart.”? (Psalm 37:4 NIV) I thought I had matured when I realized it didn’t mean "love God and He will give you what you want the most,” but instead meant “put God first in all things and He will place within you what your heart needs to desire, longs to desire.” Sounds pretty good, huh?
I had an epiphany this morning when Steve shared how the Lord had opened his eyes. “He (God) is not a MEANS to what your heart is looking for; HE IS what your heart is looking for!” I draw near to Him and HE IS the desire of my heart. He gives Himself to me freely. All I have to do is open the door. Powerful!
The second point--He, Jesus, wants us to learn to savor Him--also hit home. I have my quiet time each morning. My dog, Mack, and I have a routine involving Scripture, a devotional, prayer and yogurt—Mack’s favorite part. I’ve learned my day will not be as it should be, or as it could be if I neglect to begin it with my Abba. This doesn’t make me extra pious, it's just that I’ve learned a few things in my fifty years on the planet. But the savor part, that was new—“to enjoy something with unhurried appreciation.”
And then Steve made this telling statement: “We say Jesus is the Bread of Life, but treat Him like fast food.” Ouch! But I have to work for a living. I have to be at work on time. People depend on me. Then my pastor asked, “What does God dream?” If I knew Him well enough, I would know that answer. The point being, when we savor Him, we truly come to know Him. And the only way to know someone is to spend time with him.
That led to the next point—when we savor Him, we move from salvation to transformation. And we aren’t transformed by walking with Him across the street. We need to walk the whole journey with Him, every step of the way. With that in mind, read 2 Corinthians 3:18. I just love it when familiar Scripture becomes new again.
Steve’s final thought was when we savor Jesus, His life flows in us and through us. Think about how Peter’s mere shadow flowed with healing power ( Acts 5:15-16) My shadow only offers shade.
So, tomorrow morning, I want my first thought to be, in the words of King David, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” No more nibbling at the Bread of Life and hurrying on with my day. That diet is over. From now on, I want to savor my Savior. May you find satisfaction at His table as you linger to savor His goodness.
Abundant blessings!
Our pastor, Steve Chiles , is in the middle of a six part sermon series that examines who Jesus said He is. Today Pastor Steve spoke on “I Am . . . The Bread Of Life!” I thought I would share (with his permission) some of the insights of today's three hankie sermon.
To begin, the main Scripture reference is John 6:25-35. I won’t print it here but you can follow the link. Steve made two main points based on those verses: 1.) He (Jesus) wants us to look to Him as the true source of satisfaction; and, 2.) He wants us to learn to savor Him.
Amid an unruly chorus of “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” Pastor Steve noted that most of what we seek for satisfaction is simply medication. We look for Mr. or Miss Right in all the wrong places. We fill our time up with busy-work and “holic-isms” (my word) and miss out on the One Who can satisfy our every need. Remember the verse “Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart.”? (Psalm 37:4 NIV) I thought I had matured when I realized it didn’t mean "love God and He will give you what you want the most,” but instead meant “put God first in all things and He will place within you what your heart needs to desire, longs to desire.” Sounds pretty good, huh?
I had an epiphany this morning when Steve shared how the Lord had opened his eyes. “He (God) is not a MEANS to what your heart is looking for; HE IS what your heart is looking for!” I draw near to Him and HE IS the desire of my heart. He gives Himself to me freely. All I have to do is open the door. Powerful!
The second point--He, Jesus, wants us to learn to savor Him--also hit home. I have my quiet time each morning. My dog, Mack, and I have a routine involving Scripture, a devotional, prayer and yogurt—Mack’s favorite part. I’ve learned my day will not be as it should be, or as it could be if I neglect to begin it with my Abba. This doesn’t make me extra pious, it's just that I’ve learned a few things in my fifty years on the planet. But the savor part, that was new—“to enjoy something with unhurried appreciation.”
And then Steve made this telling statement: “We say Jesus is the Bread of Life, but treat Him like fast food.” Ouch! But I have to work for a living. I have to be at work on time. People depend on me. Then my pastor asked, “What does God dream?” If I knew Him well enough, I would know that answer. The point being, when we savor Him, we truly come to know Him. And the only way to know someone is to spend time with him.
That led to the next point—when we savor Him, we move from salvation to transformation. And we aren’t transformed by walking with Him across the street. We need to walk the whole journey with Him, every step of the way. With that in mind, read 2 Corinthians 3:18. I just love it when familiar Scripture becomes new again.
Steve’s final thought was when we savor Jesus, His life flows in us and through us. Think about how Peter’s mere shadow flowed with healing power ( Acts 5:15-16) My shadow only offers shade.
So, tomorrow morning, I want my first thought to be, in the words of King David, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” No more nibbling at the Bread of Life and hurrying on with my day. That diet is over. From now on, I want to savor my Savior. May you find satisfaction at His table as you linger to savor His goodness.
Abundant blessings!
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Word Games
I love words. Even when I’m not writing, I’m surrounded by wonderful, stimulating words. I find humor and pathos in the conversations that fly around me. For instance, one of my little kinder Romeos tried to plant a big wet one on another kidlett. His classmates met him with the rule, “No kissing in Kindergarten!” Don’t you just love that?
Oh, and my class now has a favorite new word: Hallelujah! I kid you not. One Friday when I was longing for Saturday a student asked, “What is today?” I answered, “It’s Friday, Hallelujah!” The word spread throughout the room and I heard Hallelujahs echoing over and over, and smiled at the personal revival they inspired. About a week ago, while writing the Morning Message, I added the word after writing “Today is Friday.” All this week the class asked me to put the word Hallelujah into the Morning Message. I get so excited hearing them praise God—even if they don’t know that’s what they are doing.
After school last Wednesday, I got into a discussion with a friend about favorite movie lines. Her favorite? “Toe pick.” Took me a minute, but I remembered the movie. My own personal fav only illustrates my very warped sense of humor. “Nailed’m.” My hubby’s favorite line is “It’s a good thing your mother died in childbirth ‘caused she’d have died of embarrassment by now.”—that one may not be perfect, as I didn’t go double check the DVD.
I won’t tell you the names of the movies here but will add the answers in the comments tomorrow. Promise. In the meantime, I’d love to know your favorite lines and what makes them your favs. You can comment on your favorite quote, kid wisdom, or even most clever book title—I’ll give you my favorite on that one. James Howe has written a great series of books for kids all about the hare-raising (correct spelling) adventures of a vampire rabbit named Bunnicula. One of the sequels is titled The Celery Stalks At Midnight. Man, I love that title! I know, I know, I’m still a Three Stooges fan after all these years, too.
So, I’ve shown you my words (or ones I wish I’d thought of). Now you show me yours.
And may the words of my mouth (and fingers) bless my Abba, bring encouragement to others, and a smile to all.
Abundant blessings!
Oh, and my class now has a favorite new word: Hallelujah! I kid you not. One Friday when I was longing for Saturday a student asked, “What is today?” I answered, “It’s Friday, Hallelujah!” The word spread throughout the room and I heard Hallelujahs echoing over and over, and smiled at the personal revival they inspired. About a week ago, while writing the Morning Message, I added the word after writing “Today is Friday.” All this week the class asked me to put the word Hallelujah into the Morning Message. I get so excited hearing them praise God—even if they don’t know that’s what they are doing.
After school last Wednesday, I got into a discussion with a friend about favorite movie lines. Her favorite? “Toe pick.” Took me a minute, but I remembered the movie. My own personal fav only illustrates my very warped sense of humor. “Nailed’m.” My hubby’s favorite line is “It’s a good thing your mother died in childbirth ‘caused she’d have died of embarrassment by now.”—that one may not be perfect, as I didn’t go double check the DVD.
I won’t tell you the names of the movies here but will add the answers in the comments tomorrow. Promise. In the meantime, I’d love to know your favorite lines and what makes them your favs. You can comment on your favorite quote, kid wisdom, or even most clever book title—I’ll give you my favorite on that one. James Howe has written a great series of books for kids all about the hare-raising (correct spelling) adventures of a vampire rabbit named Bunnicula. One of the sequels is titled The Celery Stalks At Midnight. Man, I love that title! I know, I know, I’m still a Three Stooges fan after all these years, too.
So, I’ve shown you my words (or ones I wish I’d thought of). Now you show me yours.
And may the words of my mouth (and fingers) bless my Abba, bring encouragement to others, and a smile to all.
Abundant blessings!
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Interview With Jack Cavanaugh
I know, I know, I just posted Saturday and you are used to me posting once a week. There is a reason for this mid-week update--I have a very special interview for you, dear reader. Best-selling author, Jack Cavanaugh teamed up with the late Bill Bright to write a series of books, based in our history but relevant to our today. Dr. Bright has since gone on to be with our Lord but Mr. Cavanaugh has now completed the first book in their series. I am so excited to be able to bring you this interview with one of my favorite authors, Jack Cavanaugh. Enjoy!
Tell us about the conception of The Great Awakenings series.
JC: This series was born out of a shared desire for revival in our country. When Dr. Bright and I learned that we were both praying for revival, it seemed only natural that we would team up to write this series about the historic revivals in America.
There are so many unexpected twists in Storm, were those plots twists made during the planning sessions with Dr. Bright, or were they inspired as you wrote?
JC: The creation of a novel has many stages. Before he passed away, Dr. Bright and I met and prayed and sketched out the broad strokes for not only Storm, but three other stories as well. We knew that unless God intervened in a miraculous way, Dr. Bright would not be alive to see the release of any of the books. My task has been to bring our stories to life.
As you researched the revivals that once swept our country, what most affected you?
JC: Two things: First, that God so often chooses common, ordinary people to be the spark for the extraordinary outpouring of His Spirit. Second, the unexpected nature of revival. Not only the timing of revival, which is wholly in God's hands, but the unimaginable wonder of it all. The historical events that occurred are far more fantastic and wondrous than anything we could have imagined.
Do you consider Storm a character or plot driven novel?
JC: Storm is a character driven novel. But don't mistake that for lack of action. Character driven simply means that readers keep reading because they want to find out what happens next to the characters. Storm is a personal duel between two men. Imagine if you were given the task of leading your greatest rival to the Lord. The one person you can't stand. The person who annoys and torments you endlessly. Then imagine you learned that God had chosen him, a non-Christian, and not you, to start a national revival. That's exactly what happens in Storm.
What do you hope your readers will take with them from this series?
JC: That's easy. When we began this project, Dr. Bright and I got on our knees and prayed that after reading these novels Christians would turn their hearts to God and cry out, "Lord, do it again."
Until next time, Abundant blessings all!
Tell us about the conception of The Great Awakenings series.
JC: This series was born out of a shared desire for revival in our country. When Dr. Bright and I learned that we were both praying for revival, it seemed only natural that we would team up to write this series about the historic revivals in America.
There are so many unexpected twists in Storm, were those plots twists made during the planning sessions with Dr. Bright, or were they inspired as you wrote?
JC: The creation of a novel has many stages. Before he passed away, Dr. Bright and I met and prayed and sketched out the broad strokes for not only Storm, but three other stories as well. We knew that unless God intervened in a miraculous way, Dr. Bright would not be alive to see the release of any of the books. My task has been to bring our stories to life.
As you researched the revivals that once swept our country, what most affected you?
JC: Two things: First, that God so often chooses common, ordinary people to be the spark for the extraordinary outpouring of His Spirit. Second, the unexpected nature of revival. Not only the timing of revival, which is wholly in God's hands, but the unimaginable wonder of it all. The historical events that occurred are far more fantastic and wondrous than anything we could have imagined.
Do you consider Storm a character or plot driven novel?
JC: Storm is a character driven novel. But don't mistake that for lack of action. Character driven simply means that readers keep reading because they want to find out what happens next to the characters. Storm is a personal duel between two men. Imagine if you were given the task of leading your greatest rival to the Lord. The one person you can't stand. The person who annoys and torments you endlessly. Then imagine you learned that God had chosen him, a non-Christian, and not you, to start a national revival. That's exactly what happens in Storm.
What do you hope your readers will take with them from this series?
JC: That's easy. When we began this project, Dr. Bright and I got on our knees and prayed that after reading these novels Christians would turn their hearts to God and cry out, "Lord, do it again."
Until next time, Abundant blessings all!
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Raining and Reigning
I awoke to a familiar sound this morning. It was one I knew but couldn’t place at first. Then, going deep into the recesses of my mind, I found a closet where sensory memories are kept, and dug into the back. Low and behold, I found the memory.
Rain.
Rain tickled my senses and dripped down onto my skylight, pinging a rhythm that told me God still reigned, even over the driest deserts of my life.
Our valley has begged for precipitation now for over 140 days. God heard our prayers and told the clouds, heavy with needed moisture, not to pass us by this time. The clouds obeyed, breaking open with a welcome shower and soaking our parched ground.
I snuggled down into my warm covers. In my mind I sang thank yous to my Abba and danced in His rain.
One more time my Abba explained, in patience and in love, “All in My time, My child. All in My time.”
I really need to remember that.
Abundant blessings to desert dwellers everywhere!
Rain.
Rain tickled my senses and dripped down onto my skylight, pinging a rhythm that told me God still reigned, even over the driest deserts of my life.
Our valley has begged for precipitation now for over 140 days. God heard our prayers and told the clouds, heavy with needed moisture, not to pass us by this time. The clouds obeyed, breaking open with a welcome shower and soaking our parched ground.
I snuggled down into my warm covers. In my mind I sang thank yous to my Abba and danced in His rain.
One more time my Abba explained, in patience and in love, “All in My time, My child. All in My time.”
I really need to remember that.
Abundant blessings to desert dwellers everywhere!
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Waiting With Elijah
I’m feeling a lot like Elijah these days, though he hasn’t always been the Biblical character I relate with the most. In fact, I generally feel a kinship to Peter and the uncontrollable desire to say the wrong things—especially after I just got something right.
But these days, I’m more like Elijah—I’m in the waiting mode.
Not a fun mode, I have to tell you. And this mode applies to many areas of my life—both collective and personal.
As you may or may not know, our wonderful valley, in the midst of what should be the best season of the year, is knee deep in drought. One hundred thirty seven days, to be exact. Oh, sure, we experienced a wee bit of spittle a couple days ago, but as our weathermen explained, if it doesn’t get the cup at the end of the runway at Sky Harbor Airport wet, we haven’t had measurable rain.
So we wait.
And then there is that Postal Service snafu which is playing havoc with my time and temperament. How long does it take a priority package to arrive from Arkansas? Well, it’s been a week and a half and we still don’t know.
I have work related waiting issues. I have medical related waiting issues. I have spiritual related waiting issues. In fact, I am just now getting over no Internet waiting issues—that’s why I can now update my blog.
I don’t remember praying for patience.
So, like Elijah, I wait.
Only, unlike Elijah, have no one to send to check my PO Box for that little fist of a cloud, er, I mean priority package. So day after day, I faithfully look. I think I’d be happy for junk mail. Or a cloud burst. Or unexpected dark chocolate (I know, it always comes back to chocolate).
One good thing came of this, though. I had time to read two wonderful novels. And in reading them, I realized I was hungry, ravenous even, for good fiction. My appetite was sated with both these books.
The first is actually the third in the Ahab’s Legacy Series by Louise Gouge. I’ve had the pleasure to learn from her--in a cyber class and in person. When reading Son of Perdition, I knew without a doubt, this woman knows her stuff. Even when forced to put the book down by things that wouldn’t wait, my mind continued to check in on the characters as if they were real members of my acquaintance. Though not a suspense, this historical contained enough plot twists to keep me guessing. Even when I thought I could see where she was headed, she led me with such artistry, I was caught unaware. I do not want to give away too much, for this book is so worth the read, but know, you will never look at Captain Ahab or Moby Dick or even the sides of the Civil War in the same light. When one learns and grows while reading well-written fiction, that is the sign of a great book.
The second book I picked up on a friend’s recommendation. I was not disappointed. Christine Schaub’s Finding Anna is the first in the Music of the Heart series that looks at the stories behind the great hymns of faith. She began with a story many claim to know, me included. However, I was so taken by her retelling of H.G. Spafford’s writing of the lyrics to It Is Well With My Soul that the black moment was made very real. Even though I thought I knew what was coming, in reality, I didn’t. I was swept along with the flow, bringing humanity to the tragedy. Ms. Schaub writes in her Author’s Notes “If I did my job and convincingly wove those two elements (history and fiction) together, if I presented you with a really exciting, plausible story, you won’t get caught up in the details wondering, ‘Did that really happen?’ You’ll just believe it.”
I believed it.
Abundant blessings, all!
But these days, I’m more like Elijah—I’m in the waiting mode.
Not a fun mode, I have to tell you. And this mode applies to many areas of my life—both collective and personal.
As you may or may not know, our wonderful valley, in the midst of what should be the best season of the year, is knee deep in drought. One hundred thirty seven days, to be exact. Oh, sure, we experienced a wee bit of spittle a couple days ago, but as our weathermen explained, if it doesn’t get the cup at the end of the runway at Sky Harbor Airport wet, we haven’t had measurable rain.
So we wait.
And then there is that Postal Service snafu which is playing havoc with my time and temperament. How long does it take a priority package to arrive from Arkansas? Well, it’s been a week and a half and we still don’t know.
I have work related waiting issues. I have medical related waiting issues. I have spiritual related waiting issues. In fact, I am just now getting over no Internet waiting issues—that’s why I can now update my blog.
I don’t remember praying for patience.
So, like Elijah, I wait.
Only, unlike Elijah, have no one to send to check my PO Box for that little fist of a cloud, er, I mean priority package. So day after day, I faithfully look. I think I’d be happy for junk mail. Or a cloud burst. Or unexpected dark chocolate (I know, it always comes back to chocolate).
One good thing came of this, though. I had time to read two wonderful novels. And in reading them, I realized I was hungry, ravenous even, for good fiction. My appetite was sated with both these books.
The first is actually the third in the Ahab’s Legacy Series by Louise Gouge. I’ve had the pleasure to learn from her--in a cyber class and in person. When reading Son of Perdition, I knew without a doubt, this woman knows her stuff. Even when forced to put the book down by things that wouldn’t wait, my mind continued to check in on the characters as if they were real members of my acquaintance. Though not a suspense, this historical contained enough plot twists to keep me guessing. Even when I thought I could see where she was headed, she led me with such artistry, I was caught unaware. I do not want to give away too much, for this book is so worth the read, but know, you will never look at Captain Ahab or Moby Dick or even the sides of the Civil War in the same light. When one learns and grows while reading well-written fiction, that is the sign of a great book.
The second book I picked up on a friend’s recommendation. I was not disappointed. Christine Schaub’s Finding Anna is the first in the Music of the Heart series that looks at the stories behind the great hymns of faith. She began with a story many claim to know, me included. However, I was so taken by her retelling of H.G. Spafford’s writing of the lyrics to It Is Well With My Soul that the black moment was made very real. Even though I thought I knew what was coming, in reality, I didn’t. I was swept along with the flow, bringing humanity to the tragedy. Ms. Schaub writes in her Author’s Notes “If I did my job and convincingly wove those two elements (history and fiction) together, if I presented you with a really exciting, plausible story, you won’t get caught up in the details wondering, ‘Did that really happen?’ You’ll just believe it.”
I believed it.
Abundant blessings, all!
Saturday, February 04, 2006
The Hat
I first saw it on a quick run-through trip to my neighborhood Walmart. That oxy-moron should have been the first clue. There is no such thing for me as a quick run-through Walmart.
But, that no longer matters.
What matters is, I saw it, I loved it, I bought it, thrilled at the bargain price.
And since then this soft white, angora Gilligan-type hat has turned into a matter of contradiction for me on so many levels.
From the moment I put it on, I felt fun, sporty, and (okay, I’ll admit it) cute. The one thing I did not feel was fifty years old (but that’s another blog).
Since that moment in time, I’ve had confirmation (“Oh, you look so cute in that hat!”) to confrontation (“I can’t hear what you’re saying. I’m too focused on that white fuzzy thing on your head.”). One person told me, “It makes you look young.” Another said it made me look like an 80 year old person of color.
One of my loving daughters put it this way: “It makes your face look fatter.”
BTW, she’s out of the will.
Even my very own Pastor Steve has expressed repulsion nearly on the same scale as his aversion to country music.
I’m toying with the idea of buying a hat just like mine for his wife.
The crux of the matter is this: I love my hat. When pressure is stressing me, I can reach up and touch the soft fuzz and be instantly transported to my happy place. One would think that is a good thing for everyone involved.
Alas, no.
I love my hat but my loved ones do not. What’s an anal retentive, compulsive people-pleasing codependent to do?
Well, I’ve decided this is where I draw my line in the sand (sand, of course, since if I make a mistake, I can always rub it out).
I love my hat. I will wear my hat. I will enjoy my hat.
Besides, Punxsutawney Phil has said there’s only six more weeks of winter. In Arizona time, that’s only four more days. I think I can last that long.
Maybe.
Abundant blessings!
Jenny
Sunday, January 29, 2006
A Cactus Bloomed in the Desert Today
Not that my friend, Lori, is prickly, but in the desert valley she has lifted her arms toward heaven and stands as a beacon calling all in our state to prayer.
And today, she bloomed. Officially, she was ordained to do what God has been calling her to do—what God designed her to do.
Lori and I go back a long way. We’ve seen each other through the good and the bad. We’ve celebrated together and grieved together. She is my sister, my friend. And now she is officially my pastor (though she was that, too, before it became official).
At her service, our senior pastor, Steve Chiles, made a couple statements that hit home to me. He was explaining this call to ministry had some special facets, among them the call to fellowship and the call to discipleship. And then he said, “God does not call us because of who we are. He calls us in spite of who we are. If God doesn’t show up for our ministry, we are dead in the water.”
The weighty truth of those words still resonates now that I’m back home. God has designed each one of us for a ministry. It is about Him and His plan. He provides the equipment and if He isn’t in it, there is no ministry. Why? Because it’s all about Him.
And that’s something Lori has run with since the moment she first heard God whisper in her ear. Step by step He has called a music teacher, meek and reluctant to pray aloud let alone before a group of people, to become a strong, courageous woman of prayer. A warrioress. An intercessor who, as one speaker pointed out, no longer takes no for answer—that is, from man. From God, she might not like it, but she accepts it. She knows Who makes the rules.
So, Lori, I am honored to call you friend. I am thankful to know you and have you in my life. And I count you as one of my very special abundant blessings from our loving Abba.
Congratulations, LB! You rock!
Love ya!
JC
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
The Class of ’74 is Turning 50
Okay, so some mornings I feel twice my age. The truth is, I never thought I’d even reach fifty. But I have and can look back with wonder at how in the world it has happened. Definitely a God thing.
Believe it or not, I can even remember not having a radio in the family car. My parents would sing when we went anywhere. (And that explains my infatuation with Rod Stewart’s Great American Songbook collection.) When I began school, little girls had to wear dresses to class. Even in the winter. Snowsuits, or, when older, corduroys under the skirts, had to suffice since no self-respecting young lady would be caught dead in slacks at school. Sometime about eighth grade, dress slacks were allowed and finally by high school, I learned about living in jeans.
I’ll bet you’ve read the e-mails about the good old days and all that has changed over the years. So have I. And I can remember my parents and their friends discussing how much life had altered over the years.
But then, I think of my grandmother. When my mom complained how her kids were getting old, GrammaDear (as she’s called) knew just the answer. “Your kids? What about my kids!” GrammaDear will be celebrating her hundredth birthday this summer.
So what does one do now that one is f-f-f-fifty? It’s just a number, I know, but sometimes it's just hard to get out. I find myself relating to the Roman god, Janus—whose two faces looked both forward and backward.
And I don’t like it.
For the most part, it has been a lovely ride but I’m not at my journey’s end—not yet. I could be very close or just halfway there like GrammaDear. Only God knows. So, I’m taking St. Paul’s advice. Looking forward and leaving the past behind me, I press on. Richly blessed already, I can’t wait to see what’s around the bend—and I’m betting there’s chocolate involved somewhere. My Abba is good like that.
The picture above is of the three members of the class of '74 at our school. Jackie Lowery and Patti Vail, you are the best! And for the record, we don't look fifty. Forty-five maybe, but not fifty.
Abundant lifelong blessings to all!
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Life Should Be Dipped In Chocolate
Glendale glitters.
Not all the time, but at least at this time of year. Last night, my husband and I went to downtown Glendale to see the final night of lights and glitz. The great finale included glowing hot air balloons, imported snow for the kidletts and horse and buggy rides for the romantic.
Walking past one of the vendors, Phil noted how they had about everything under the sun dipped in chocolate. And my quip back? “Life should be dipped in chocolate.”
Now let’s review. In case you are a newcomer to this blog, I am a chocoholic—not a recovering one either. No, I here and now admit, my name is Jenny and I am an active and current chocoholic.
So, my husband wasn’t the least bit surprised at my remark. However, I was. When I say something and have no idea where the thought came from, I must analyze.
And I realized from the start, the whole evening was a chocolate covered presentation. What began years ago as a small town event in the midst of one of the biggest metropolises (is that a word?) in the country, had to have some sweet coating. The original idea was to bring community together and build on a safe family environment. Yet, when you scratch the coating away it is revealing.
Parking has become such a chore cars circle the area for near to thirty minutes hunting for a space within a mile of the festivities. And sadly, the older structures where the latecomers leave their cars aren’t exactly what the historic preservation society had in mind for Old Town. Only blocks from the fun, some of the poorest of our state try to find shelter.
And, of course, what would chocolate be without nuts? The revelers may be families but small town America is learning new definitions of the word.
However, I don’t think so much has really changed. We’ve always put the white wash (white chocolate?) over what we don’t want to acknowledge. We have chocolate covered elephants in the room, I mean park. Is this bad? Well, when it comes to a matter of faith, I don’t want to bite into a candy only to find some filling I would rather trash than eat. But, there are times when a spoonful of sugar—or chocolate—makes the rough days easier to get through.
I’ll bet you can tell where I’m going with this. Yep, back to that blessing thing again. The unexpected hug from a kidlett you wanted to give to the coyotes that melts your heart, or the email that makes you laugh after a day you wanted to cry through, or just knowing your Abba is walking down this sometimes glitzy and sometimes spooky road with you are certainly ways of coating your day in a chocolate hug.
And when we accept that person who looks a little different or help that family struggling just to stay together, we help pour a chocolate sweetness on what otherwise may be a hurtful day or existence. You may be the only delicious thing they will experience. But it may be just what they need to point them to the Source of all goodness.
I thought of saving this for Valentine’s Day but when it’s on my heart, it is time. Besides, the Chocolate Festival will be hitting Glendale in a few weeks. I can do a reprise then.
So, until next time, I wish you abundant blessings and chocolate covered days.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Round Robin Story part 9 - Hey we still need a title!
So maybe I'm starting to like writing suspense. Just don't tell, okay? I've added in another one of the requirements--you'll see it as you read. And, of course, if you haven't read the previous posts, go to Jen Tiszai's blog (the link is at the side--Sonoran Saga)and she has all the links for all the other posts on her part 8. (She's gone to bed and isn't available to help me with html--a language I've yet to conquer.)
So, here's part nine. Enjoy! Oh, and abundant blessings!
So, here she was, dangling like a worm on a hook. Sarah shuddered. What had she been thinking?
“The map we found under Chas, he had apparently grabbed from his sister Emily. Of course the dog had gotten to it before we did. But after we cleaned it up, we got a map of the meeting places. It looked like Emily was listing them for Chas.” Kyle’s voice was a little stactic-y in her earpiece. Not comforting in the least.
“If we don’t get a nibble, we’ll try another spot. There are several on the map. By the way, we think she saw him attacked and that Emily is the target. Chas probably got in the way.”
Way to go, Kyle. You sure know what to say to make a girl feel safe.
Knowing she was wearing a wire and had police all over the place watching her did little to help her nerves.
She crossed her ankles and tried to get comfortable on the park bench. The desert, only a couple hours from the beach, was hot enough to fry an egg. If it weren’t for the fact she was sure she’d have to do a lot of walking, she’d have stuck with her flip-flops.
Though her sleazy romance novel remained open, it was more to hide her talking back to Kyle. He must have contacts all over the place.
Crackle. “Someone is coming up along the bike trail.”
“Thanks for the warning, Kyle.”
The biker went on past.
Pretty soon a mom pushing a baby stroller wandered along. “Mind if I sit a moment?”
What could she say? “Sure, no problem.” Sarah scooted over.
“Keep your eyes peeled, Sarah.” Kyle’s voice made her jump.
“It sure is a hot one. I try to get out and walk with the baby every day to get rid of the last few pounds.”
Sarah nodded politely. She wouldn’t be much good as bait if she sat there talking with this new mother.
“Oh, I love your nail polish. What do you call that color?”
The blood drained from Sarah’s face. This couldn’t be the contact!
“Remain calm, Sarah. The color is” static “Cherry.”
What did he say? Crap! Why did she go to sleep when Lynne was putting it on her? Think!
“Ah, I think it is, ah, Chick Flick Cherry, or something like that.”
The smile vanished from the mother’s face. A gun appeared from inside the stroller. “That’s what I thought. So, if you’ll just hand over the goods, I’ll be on my way.”
What goods? “I’m sorry I don’t know what you are talking about and you’re scaring me with that gun.” All too true.
“Don’t play coy. You’ve got the color and the signature flower. Just give me the stuff and I’ll be going.”
“Tell her you have” static “car. Get her to” static “with you and” static “there.”
What did he say? “Ah, I didn’t know it was you. The stuff’s in the car.”
The gun motioned toward the parking lot. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but get moving.”
Sarah stood. God please help me! She could feel the cold steel nudge at her. “I'm not playing games. Just being cautious.”
The barrel pressed into the small of her back. "Walk"
"What about the baby?"
The only answer was another nudge from the gun. Mommy dearest left the stroller.
Kyle, where are you. Get me out of this.
Her car stood on one side of the lot by itself. Where were the cops hiding?
“Where is it?”
“Over there. I need to get out my keys.”
“One hand, slowly.”
Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring with the clicker, holding it up so the woman could see. She pressed the button.
A guy popped up from her trunk.
Sarah gasped.
An arm went around her neck and the barrel of the gun pressed a bruise behind her ear.
“You set me up!" The arm dragged her backward. "Back off or she gets it!”
“Right now you haven’t hurt anyone. Drop the gun and it will go easier.” Kyle’s voice came from behind.
“I’m taking her with me." Sarah was flung from one direction to the other. "Once I’m away I’ll leave her on the side of the road.”
Sarah couldn’t get enough breath. The arm about her neck pulled too tight.
“You know I can’t let you do that. Just put down the gun.”
The arm pulled tighter. Her earpiece dropped on the ground.
“Of course, you were wired.”
“Just put the gun down.” Kyle’s voice was fading.
Sarah felt the wooziness from lack of air. The cop in front of her became three. Her knees buckled but she never felt the ground.
So, here's part nine. Enjoy! Oh, and abundant blessings!
So, here she was, dangling like a worm on a hook. Sarah shuddered. What had she been thinking?
“The map we found under Chas, he had apparently grabbed from his sister Emily. Of course the dog had gotten to it before we did. But after we cleaned it up, we got a map of the meeting places. It looked like Emily was listing them for Chas.” Kyle’s voice was a little stactic-y in her earpiece. Not comforting in the least.
“If we don’t get a nibble, we’ll try another spot. There are several on the map. By the way, we think she saw him attacked and that Emily is the target. Chas probably got in the way.”
Way to go, Kyle. You sure know what to say to make a girl feel safe.
Knowing she was wearing a wire and had police all over the place watching her did little to help her nerves.
She crossed her ankles and tried to get comfortable on the park bench. The desert, only a couple hours from the beach, was hot enough to fry an egg. If it weren’t for the fact she was sure she’d have to do a lot of walking, she’d have stuck with her flip-flops.
Though her sleazy romance novel remained open, it was more to hide her talking back to Kyle. He must have contacts all over the place.
Crackle. “Someone is coming up along the bike trail.”
“Thanks for the warning, Kyle.”
The biker went on past.
Pretty soon a mom pushing a baby stroller wandered along. “Mind if I sit a moment?”
What could she say? “Sure, no problem.” Sarah scooted over.
“Keep your eyes peeled, Sarah.” Kyle’s voice made her jump.
“It sure is a hot one. I try to get out and walk with the baby every day to get rid of the last few pounds.”
Sarah nodded politely. She wouldn’t be much good as bait if she sat there talking with this new mother.
“Oh, I love your nail polish. What do you call that color?”
The blood drained from Sarah’s face. This couldn’t be the contact!
“Remain calm, Sarah. The color is” static “Cherry.”
What did he say? Crap! Why did she go to sleep when Lynne was putting it on her? Think!
“Ah, I think it is, ah, Chick Flick Cherry, or something like that.”
The smile vanished from the mother’s face. A gun appeared from inside the stroller. “That’s what I thought. So, if you’ll just hand over the goods, I’ll be on my way.”
What goods? “I’m sorry I don’t know what you are talking about and you’re scaring me with that gun.” All too true.
“Don’t play coy. You’ve got the color and the signature flower. Just give me the stuff and I’ll be going.”
“Tell her you have” static “car. Get her to” static “with you and” static “there.”
What did he say? “Ah, I didn’t know it was you. The stuff’s in the car.”
The gun motioned toward the parking lot. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but get moving.”
Sarah stood. God please help me! She could feel the cold steel nudge at her. “I'm not playing games. Just being cautious.”
The barrel pressed into the small of her back. "Walk"
"What about the baby?"
The only answer was another nudge from the gun. Mommy dearest left the stroller.
Kyle, where are you. Get me out of this.
Her car stood on one side of the lot by itself. Where were the cops hiding?
“Where is it?”
“Over there. I need to get out my keys.”
“One hand, slowly.”
Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring with the clicker, holding it up so the woman could see. She pressed the button.
A guy popped up from her trunk.
Sarah gasped.
An arm went around her neck and the barrel of the gun pressed a bruise behind her ear.
“You set me up!" The arm dragged her backward. "Back off or she gets it!”
“Right now you haven’t hurt anyone. Drop the gun and it will go easier.” Kyle’s voice came from behind.
“I’m taking her with me." Sarah was flung from one direction to the other. "Once I’m away I’ll leave her on the side of the road.”
Sarah couldn’t get enough breath. The arm about her neck pulled too tight.
“You know I can’t let you do that. Just put down the gun.”
The arm pulled tighter. Her earpiece dropped on the ground.
“Of course, you were wired.”
“Just put the gun down.” Kyle’s voice was fading.
Sarah felt the wooziness from lack of air. The cop in front of her became three. Her knees buckled but she never felt the ground.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Round Robin Story Part 7
Well, good intentions and all, I thought I would post last weekend. But the time got away and then school started again. Didn't realize just how much I missed my little kinderlets. That being said, my teaching career really cuts into my writing career time. I was the one who was supposed to post part four. So, thanks Jen Tiszai, Sabrina Fox, Mike Synder, and Malia Spencer for keeping things going until I could post.
Please bear in mind, I write Women's Fiction--Historical Women's Fiction. Where Jen and Mike and Malia can all intro their own characters into this little drama, mine are long dead and buried--about a couple three centuries ago. But I'll give suspense a try--and not shed quite so many tears if one of their characters bites the dust.
So now, without further ado, part seven.
Abundant blessings!
“Sarah, please to take seat. I will serve you soon.”
Thankfully Sarah was a few minutes early for her appointment. “No problem, Lynne. I’ve brought reading material.” She waved the newspaper and sat.
“What you read about?”
“I stumbled on to something yesterday and I thought I’d see if there’s any news.” Though if Kyle weren’t so by the book, he could fill her in and she wouldn’t have to read between the lines in this rag. There’s the story, page three. Just a tiny little blurb. Well, that certainly helps—not.
When the other customer left, Lynne motioned to Sarah. “I serve you now. Do you want pedicure, too?”
That’s a no-brainer. “Yeah, please. The sand at he beach is doing a number on my feet.” Sarah climbed into the massage chair.
“What color you want?”
Reaching over, Sarah turned the spinner, a familiar shade catching her eye. Chick Flick Cherry. No, that would give her more nightmares.
“I see you like new color. I just get. Only one person try that. She like very much. I think like, too.”
Could it be Chas’s sister? No, no way. That would be much too much of a coincidence. “No, I think I’ve seen too much red lately. Try Violet Hush. That is wild enough for me.”
Leaning back, Sarah closed her eyes. Sleep had been nonexistent last night. Every time she closed her eyes, Russell Fink would take her by the hand and lead her into a nightmare. Her heart got a great workout considering how many times she frightened herself awake.
But the chair massage felt almost as good as Lynne’s skilled hands on her feet.
Sarah’s eyes flew open, gulping in air as if she hadn’t had a breath in ages.
“You okay, Sarah?” Lynne capped the bottle of Chick Flick Cherry and set it on the tray.
Another nightmare. And in the middle of the day, too. Sarah looked at her toes. “I thought we decided on Violet Hush?”
“This better. You look like model. You will like. I make flower for you on big toes.”
Sarah wanted to tell the tech to remove the color. She wanted to, but acquiesced instead. Why bother. The nightmares came anyway. “Whatever. I’m too tired to argue.”
Lynne finished by adding a rhinestone to the center of each flower.
Something about the shiny dot made Sarah’s blood chill. But she had been wearing the silly things for some time. Her nerves were so fried.
When Lynne started her fingers, Sarah noticed a newspaper. “Oh, if that’s mine, just tuck it there in my bag.” She nodded toward it.
Instead of answering, Lynne shoved it under her stand.
No big deal. All she had to do was ask.
Though not in a hurry when Sarah arrived, now he tech raced through the fill.
The bell over the door rang and a tall woman entered. Dressed to impress, Sarah knew she was looking at money.
“Please to take seat. I will serve you soon.”
That explains the hurry. Lynne booked too tight.
Sarah finished, paid and booked her next appointment.
“See you in two, Lynne.”
The girl merely nodded, not even looking up.
Well, now I know how I rate.
Halfway to her car Sarah realized the stone from her grandmother’s ring was gone. “Blast it!” She turned around and trudged back to the shop, hoping Lynne found it. Not that it was that valuable but to Sarah it was priceless.
She pushed in the door while the bell tinkled above. “Lynne, I lost my…”
Lynne lay in a pool of blood.
The moneyed lady stood over her, crow bar brandished.
Please bear in mind, I write Women's Fiction--Historical Women's Fiction. Where Jen and Mike and Malia can all intro their own characters into this little drama, mine are long dead and buried--about a couple three centuries ago. But I'll give suspense a try--and not shed quite so many tears if one of their characters bites the dust.
So now, without further ado, part seven.
Abundant blessings!
“Sarah, please to take seat. I will serve you soon.”
Thankfully Sarah was a few minutes early for her appointment. “No problem, Lynne. I’ve brought reading material.” She waved the newspaper and sat.
“What you read about?”
“I stumbled on to something yesterday and I thought I’d see if there’s any news.” Though if Kyle weren’t so by the book, he could fill her in and she wouldn’t have to read between the lines in this rag. There’s the story, page three. Just a tiny little blurb. Well, that certainly helps—not.
When the other customer left, Lynne motioned to Sarah. “I serve you now. Do you want pedicure, too?”
That’s a no-brainer. “Yeah, please. The sand at he beach is doing a number on my feet.” Sarah climbed into the massage chair.
“What color you want?”
Reaching over, Sarah turned the spinner, a familiar shade catching her eye. Chick Flick Cherry. No, that would give her more nightmares.
“I see you like new color. I just get. Only one person try that. She like very much. I think like, too.”
Could it be Chas’s sister? No, no way. That would be much too much of a coincidence. “No, I think I’ve seen too much red lately. Try Violet Hush. That is wild enough for me.”
Leaning back, Sarah closed her eyes. Sleep had been nonexistent last night. Every time she closed her eyes, Russell Fink would take her by the hand and lead her into a nightmare. Her heart got a great workout considering how many times she frightened herself awake.
But the chair massage felt almost as good as Lynne’s skilled hands on her feet.
Sarah’s eyes flew open, gulping in air as if she hadn’t had a breath in ages.
“You okay, Sarah?” Lynne capped the bottle of Chick Flick Cherry and set it on the tray.
Another nightmare. And in the middle of the day, too. Sarah looked at her toes. “I thought we decided on Violet Hush?”
“This better. You look like model. You will like. I make flower for you on big toes.”
Sarah wanted to tell the tech to remove the color. She wanted to, but acquiesced instead. Why bother. The nightmares came anyway. “Whatever. I’m too tired to argue.”
Lynne finished by adding a rhinestone to the center of each flower.
Something about the shiny dot made Sarah’s blood chill. But she had been wearing the silly things for some time. Her nerves were so fried.
When Lynne started her fingers, Sarah noticed a newspaper. “Oh, if that’s mine, just tuck it there in my bag.” She nodded toward it.
Instead of answering, Lynne shoved it under her stand.
No big deal. All she had to do was ask.
Though not in a hurry when Sarah arrived, now he tech raced through the fill.
The bell over the door rang and a tall woman entered. Dressed to impress, Sarah knew she was looking at money.
“Please to take seat. I will serve you soon.”
That explains the hurry. Lynne booked too tight.
Sarah finished, paid and booked her next appointment.
“See you in two, Lynne.”
The girl merely nodded, not even looking up.
Well, now I know how I rate.
Halfway to her car Sarah realized the stone from her grandmother’s ring was gone. “Blast it!” She turned around and trudged back to the shop, hoping Lynne found it. Not that it was that valuable but to Sarah it was priceless.
She pushed in the door while the bell tinkled above. “Lynne, I lost my…”
Lynne lay in a pool of blood.
The moneyed lady stood over her, crow bar brandished.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
A Poignently Blessed Christmas
Though I knew Christmas was getting closer by the minute, I still had much to do, much to start. But getting started appeared to be the problem (for one reason, see previous post). I enjoyed shopping and doing for those in true need. And baking bread for my neighbors was fun. But things like Christmas cards and tree decorating just didn’t get accomplished. I did put up a nativity set, but that was the extent of my decorating for the holy day in my house.
The big thought this season has been to go home to my mom. Funny, I’ve only visited the house where she now lives but the peace I feel here called to me like coming home. Finally, last Friday, I had a real heart-to-heart with my Abba. I didn’t think I was feeling depressed but I was longing. I think I even surprised myself when I told Him I miss my Ian.
Ian used to help me decorate. He had an eye for it and made it fun. I remember coming in from work one December day in 1998 to find my 15 year old son hunched up on the kitchen counter by the phone, receiver in hand, with his eyes glued to the TV.
“What in the world are you doing?”
“I’m going to win the contest on that show.” And he did—a family pack to visit the Imax theatre to see The Nutcracker--his Christmas gift to us. I still smile thinking of him there.
But that was his last Christmas. And now I miss my son, just like I do every Christmas. Like I do every day.
But in verbalizing it to my Abba, He reminded me that He also missed His Son that first Christmas. How loving that God would share that intimacy. He truly understands.
He sent his son to a hurting world knowing that world would hurt him. And He did it for me. And you. And my Ian, who no longer hurts. I will see Ian again and I will celebrate Christmas with the angels one day where I can see and touch and hug the guest of honor, my Savior. My Jesus.
In the meantime, I have enjoyed Christmas here today with my family. To you, my husband, my daughters, my mom, my Norman, my 99-year-old grandmother, my aunt and uncle: I love you. To my sister, my brothers, nephews, nieces, in-laws, and friends: even though we're apart on this day, you are still in my heart. Each of you please know, next to salvation, you are the greatest blessings in my life.
And to you, dear reader, may the Christ of that first Christmas live and grow in your hearts, filling all of your new years with Abundant Blessings!
The big thought this season has been to go home to my mom. Funny, I’ve only visited the house where she now lives but the peace I feel here called to me like coming home. Finally, last Friday, I had a real heart-to-heart with my Abba. I didn’t think I was feeling depressed but I was longing. I think I even surprised myself when I told Him I miss my Ian.
Ian used to help me decorate. He had an eye for it and made it fun. I remember coming in from work one December day in 1998 to find my 15 year old son hunched up on the kitchen counter by the phone, receiver in hand, with his eyes glued to the TV.
“What in the world are you doing?”
“I’m going to win the contest on that show.” And he did—a family pack to visit the Imax theatre to see The Nutcracker--his Christmas gift to us. I still smile thinking of him there.
But that was his last Christmas. And now I miss my son, just like I do every Christmas. Like I do every day.
But in verbalizing it to my Abba, He reminded me that He also missed His Son that first Christmas. How loving that God would share that intimacy. He truly understands.
He sent his son to a hurting world knowing that world would hurt him. And He did it for me. And you. And my Ian, who no longer hurts. I will see Ian again and I will celebrate Christmas with the angels one day where I can see and touch and hug the guest of honor, my Savior. My Jesus.
In the meantime, I have enjoyed Christmas here today with my family. To you, my husband, my daughters, my mom, my Norman, my 99-year-old grandmother, my aunt and uncle: I love you. To my sister, my brothers, nephews, nieces, in-laws, and friends: even though we're apart on this day, you are still in my heart. Each of you please know, next to salvation, you are the greatest blessings in my life.
And to you, dear reader, may the Christ of that first Christmas live and grow in your hearts, filling all of your new years with Abundant Blessings!
Monday, December 19, 2005
The Allure of Procrastination
What is it about procrastination that seems to call at the most inopportune times? I’ve been chomping at the bit to have some uninterrupted writing time and now that I do, I find so many other things that need doing. It’s not that I don’t want to write—the Lord knows I do. I guess I feel a bit like the Apostle Paul. What I want to do, I don’t do. What I don’t want to do, I do. Wretched woman that I am! Who will get me off this merry-go-round?
Though misery loves company, I find no comfort in knowing this problem has been plaguing mankind (and womankind) for eons before Scarlet O’Hara announced, “tomorrow is another day.” Aesop’s tale about the hard-working ants and the lazy grasshopper tried to teach industriousness to Greek procrastinators before the time of Christ. The problem’s been around a bit, huh?
And, though I’m a card-carrying member of the club (and I think I recognize a few of you out there from the meetings) I’m going to try something new. An old year’s resolution—only have to keep it a couple weeks. That way I may have a chance. I will read my e-mail before 9:00 a.m. and not again until 3:00 p.m. No AIM until after sundown (sorry Jen and Malia, but at least the sun goes down earlier these days). Blog reading only on Saturdays. And no TV until I’ve put in at least 1000 words (2500 would be better but I have to make this doable).
So, we’ll see how this goes. Now, when to start? Tomorrow sounds good, don’t you think?
Abundant blessings,
Jenny
Though misery loves company, I find no comfort in knowing this problem has been plaguing mankind (and womankind) for eons before Scarlet O’Hara announced, “tomorrow is another day.” Aesop’s tale about the hard-working ants and the lazy grasshopper tried to teach industriousness to Greek procrastinators before the time of Christ. The problem’s been around a bit, huh?
And, though I’m a card-carrying member of the club (and I think I recognize a few of you out there from the meetings) I’m going to try something new. An old year’s resolution—only have to keep it a couple weeks. That way I may have a chance. I will read my e-mail before 9:00 a.m. and not again until 3:00 p.m. No AIM until after sundown (sorry Jen and Malia, but at least the sun goes down earlier these days). Blog reading only on Saturdays. And no TV until I’ve put in at least 1000 words (2500 would be better but I have to make this doable).
So, we’ll see how this goes. Now, when to start? Tomorrow sounds good, don’t you think?
Abundant blessings,
Jenny
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Joy to the World!
The excitement is mounting. Can you feel it in the air? I’m counting the days. How about you? Yep, five more days of school until Winter Break. Yea!
Ever wonder when Christmas Break turned into Winter Break?
So many things are different now.
I went shopping today and found a bell ringer. That made my day. I’ve actually stopped shopping at stores that don’t allow the bell ringers. One in particular carries my favorite candy bar. Dark chocolate with espresso—what’s not to love? But I do without. It’s the principle of the thing, an imagined sacrifice. I’ve been sacrificing for more than a year now. For those of you who think my sacrifice paltry, you must not be true chocoholics. One day at a time, my friend.
Chances are you have also received the e-mail decrying how political correctness has gone too far. I won’t repeat it all here but suffice it to say, my greeting is still “Merry Christmas.” I say it more for myself than anyone else. It reminds me this isn’t about Winter Break or two weeks without five year olds or even large chunks of writing time.
It isn’t even about me.
And yet it is about me.
And you.
And everyone on earth.
God sent His Son to us, to draw us to Him, to save us, to die for us, to live for us. Isn’t that enough cause to say Merry Christmas? Or better yet, Joy to the World! The Lord is come! Let Earth, and all of us, receive our King with gratitude and excitement.
Merry Christmas and Abundant blessings,
Jenny
Ever wonder when Christmas Break turned into Winter Break?
So many things are different now.
I went shopping today and found a bell ringer. That made my day. I’ve actually stopped shopping at stores that don’t allow the bell ringers. One in particular carries my favorite candy bar. Dark chocolate with espresso—what’s not to love? But I do without. It’s the principle of the thing, an imagined sacrifice. I’ve been sacrificing for more than a year now. For those of you who think my sacrifice paltry, you must not be true chocoholics. One day at a time, my friend.
Chances are you have also received the e-mail decrying how political correctness has gone too far. I won’t repeat it all here but suffice it to say, my greeting is still “Merry Christmas.” I say it more for myself than anyone else. It reminds me this isn’t about Winter Break or two weeks without five year olds or even large chunks of writing time.
It isn’t even about me.
And yet it is about me.
And you.
And everyone on earth.
God sent His Son to us, to draw us to Him, to save us, to die for us, to live for us. Isn’t that enough cause to say Merry Christmas? Or better yet, Joy to the World! The Lord is come! Let Earth, and all of us, receive our King with gratitude and excitement.
Merry Christmas and Abundant blessings,
Jenny
Sunday, December 04, 2005
I've Been Tagged
I’ve Been Tagged
Okay, I’m not sure who started this but I blame Mike Snyder. Doesn’t have to be fair, I just blame him. And Jen Tiszai. I blame her, too. And now that I’ve been tagged, I’m passing it on. Here are my seven sevens. Enjoy! And be sure to go back and check the other blogs for their info, too.
Seven Things I Want to Do Before I Die
1. Finish writing all the books in my head—and write them well.
2. See my daughters happily married to good and godly men and have children of their own—best revenge;-)
3. Play with my grandchildren (none of which exist yet)
4. Return to Ireland and really see it for more than 3 days.
5. Go to my grandfather’s home in Sweden
6. See more of London than just Heathrow and surrounding area
7. Tour Versailles
Seven Things I Cannot Do
This is hard. I really subscribe to I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. But if I think about what I can’t do without Him?—then there’s way more than 7. OK, I’ll come up with something.
1. Organize or Plan in a quick, methodical way
2. Make my loved ones surrender to Jesus
3. Lose weight and keep it off—this is really posturing. I know I can lose the weight if I put total focus on it and let the rest of my world fall apart
4. Go more than a day without some form of chocolate—again, I really could but it wouldn’t be pretty
5. Retire from teaching and work full-time writing
6. Stay away from my computer
7. Resist my husband
Seven Things That Attracted Me to My Husband
1. His blue eyes
2. His sense of humor
3. His intelliegence
4. His long legs
5. His compassion
6. How he makes me feel safe
7. Oh, yeah, and his kiss (OH, yeah)
Seven Things I Say Most Often
1. Knock it off
2. No kissing in Kindergarten
3. I’m never going to get this book finished!
4. Can’t type worth beans
5. lthtt –laughing too hard to type
6. what meeting?
7. Man, I have to cook again? Didn’t I just do that last week?
Seven Books I Love— Like Jen, this is besides the Bible. And I know I’m leaving out lots I really love but am too tired to think clearly at the moment. And these are only including books that have been published or I’d have to make the list longer.
1. Anything written by Liz Curtis Higgs
2. Randy Ingermanson’s City of God series
3. My Utmost for His Highest
4. Les Miserables--yep,I read the unabridged version but in English
5. Jane Austin books
6. Martha Grimes’ Richard Jury series
7. Anything written by Linda Windsor
Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again
1. Fools Rush In
2. Wonderworks version of A Little Princess
3. The Sting
4. The Philadelphia Story
5. Rear Window
6. It’s a Wonderful Life
7. Last of The Mohicans with Daniel Day Lewis
Seven People I Want to Join In Too
1. Randy Ingermanson
2. Linda Windsor
3. Allison Bottke
4. Tiff Miller
5. Greg Williamson
6. Cheryl Wilford
7. Phil Cary
By the way, I do not plan to post more than once a week but this crept up on me. In the future, I want to continue to have a new post on Saturdays. Hope this brings a laugh.
Abundant blessings,
Jenny
Okay, I’m not sure who started this but I blame Mike Snyder. Doesn’t have to be fair, I just blame him. And Jen Tiszai. I blame her, too. And now that I’ve been tagged, I’m passing it on. Here are my seven sevens. Enjoy! And be sure to go back and check the other blogs for their info, too.
Seven Things I Want to Do Before I Die
1. Finish writing all the books in my head—and write them well.
2. See my daughters happily married to good and godly men and have children of their own—best revenge;-)
3. Play with my grandchildren (none of which exist yet)
4. Return to Ireland and really see it for more than 3 days.
5. Go to my grandfather’s home in Sweden
6. See more of London than just Heathrow and surrounding area
7. Tour Versailles
Seven Things I Cannot Do
This is hard. I really subscribe to I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. But if I think about what I can’t do without Him?—then there’s way more than 7. OK, I’ll come up with something.
1. Organize or Plan in a quick, methodical way
2. Make my loved ones surrender to Jesus
3. Lose weight and keep it off—this is really posturing. I know I can lose the weight if I put total focus on it and let the rest of my world fall apart
4. Go more than a day without some form of chocolate—again, I really could but it wouldn’t be pretty
5. Retire from teaching and work full-time writing
6. Stay away from my computer
7. Resist my husband
Seven Things That Attracted Me to My Husband
1. His blue eyes
2. His sense of humor
3. His intelliegence
4. His long legs
5. His compassion
6. How he makes me feel safe
7. Oh, yeah, and his kiss (OH, yeah)
Seven Things I Say Most Often
1. Knock it off
2. No kissing in Kindergarten
3. I’m never going to get this book finished!
4. Can’t type worth beans
5. lthtt –laughing too hard to type
6. what meeting?
7. Man, I have to cook again? Didn’t I just do that last week?
Seven Books I Love— Like Jen, this is besides the Bible. And I know I’m leaving out lots I really love but am too tired to think clearly at the moment. And these are only including books that have been published or I’d have to make the list longer.
1. Anything written by Liz Curtis Higgs
2. Randy Ingermanson’s City of God series
3. My Utmost for His Highest
4. Les Miserables--yep,I read the unabridged version but in English
5. Jane Austin books
6. Martha Grimes’ Richard Jury series
7. Anything written by Linda Windsor
Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again
1. Fools Rush In
2. Wonderworks version of A Little Princess
3. The Sting
4. The Philadelphia Story
5. Rear Window
6. It’s a Wonderful Life
7. Last of The Mohicans with Daniel Day Lewis
Seven People I Want to Join In Too
1. Randy Ingermanson
2. Linda Windsor
3. Allison Bottke
4. Tiff Miller
5. Greg Williamson
6. Cheryl Wilford
7. Phil Cary
By the way, I do not plan to post more than once a week but this crept up on me. In the future, I want to continue to have a new post on Saturdays. Hope this brings a laugh.
Abundant blessings,
Jenny
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Peeves and Blessings
This past week I discovered a running topic—at school, on a writer’s loop—and it has me thinking. A dangerous thing to do, as my husband would tell you. The topic wove through different categories but the central issue rested on pet peeves. A few of mine cropped up and I’d like to vent…I mean share.
One of my pet peeves has to do with those who are in the spotlight, speaking from a platform of intelligence and authority (evening news, politicians, experts) and they can’t even pronounce the word “often” correctly. It’s not that hard. I know it comes up as a fourth grade spelling word when studying words with silent letters. So why do adults, who surely have gone to school for longer than a high school diploma, insist on pronouncing the word as if the /t/ is vocalized? Huh?
And why must teachers, who have taught for decades and have more certifications than you or I can shake a stick at, need to prove they have enough credentials to be allowed to pay $100+ for one more certificate just to be allowed do the job they were already doing? (Long, ugly sentence—longer, uglier story)
And why is it that when I finally get a chance to work on my writing, I have an inbox overflowing with e-mail just dying to be answered, or unexpected company, or even more unexpected illness. Not fair.
I’ve caught myself feeling peevish about these and other things this week. Funny how once you get started it kind of snowballs into an avalanche of peeves.
Thankfully, I’ve found a solution.
Remember Paul’s instructions to the Philippian Church? “…whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” If I put my mind on the things of God, I can start to be grateful for living in a time where information can be provided so easily, that I have a job where I can touch so many lives (hopefully in a way that lifts Jesus up), and for the stories in my head, the visitors in my home, having a home and relatively good health. That is way more than many can claim and I’m seriously remiss in thanking my Abba for His abundant blessings all around when I focus on the irritants.
So, what to do when you come down with a case of the peeves? Do what I’m learning to do, count your blessings—old song, better idea.
Here’s wishing you lots to count.
Abundant blessings,
Jenny
One of my pet peeves has to do with those who are in the spotlight, speaking from a platform of intelligence and authority (evening news, politicians, experts) and they can’t even pronounce the word “often” correctly. It’s not that hard. I know it comes up as a fourth grade spelling word when studying words with silent letters. So why do adults, who surely have gone to school for longer than a high school diploma, insist on pronouncing the word as if the /t/ is vocalized? Huh?
And why must teachers, who have taught for decades and have more certifications than you or I can shake a stick at, need to prove they have enough credentials to be allowed to pay $100+ for one more certificate just to be allowed do the job they were already doing? (Long, ugly sentence—longer, uglier story)
And why is it that when I finally get a chance to work on my writing, I have an inbox overflowing with e-mail just dying to be answered, or unexpected company, or even more unexpected illness. Not fair.
I’ve caught myself feeling peevish about these and other things this week. Funny how once you get started it kind of snowballs into an avalanche of peeves.
Thankfully, I’ve found a solution.
Remember Paul’s instructions to the Philippian Church? “…whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” If I put my mind on the things of God, I can start to be grateful for living in a time where information can be provided so easily, that I have a job where I can touch so many lives (hopefully in a way that lifts Jesus up), and for the stories in my head, the visitors in my home, having a home and relatively good health. That is way more than many can claim and I’m seriously remiss in thanking my Abba for His abundant blessings all around when I focus on the irritants.
So, what to do when you come down with a case of the peeves? Do what I’m learning to do, count your blessings—old song, better idea.
Here’s wishing you lots to count.
Abundant blessings,
Jenny
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