Tag: my story

Untangling the wwWeb – part two

This is “part two” of the previous post by the same name — you can read it here.  The reason I’ve entitled this and the previous post: Untangling the wwWeb is bcz it truly is a  tangling or entangling web.  Now, what I hope is understood here is that the web or internet or electronic communication is not the enemy — it’s not all bad.  In fact, I readily admit that it’s a profoundly invaluable tool.  But tools are just that: tools.  We utilize tools — and the right tools help us accomplish tasks much more efficiently than were we to not have them.  Tools misused or used in the wrong hands are actually dangerous.   We can think of the internet (or iPhones, smart phones or any other communication device) as a tool — a very useful tool if used properly.   Unplanned or unbridled internet use is dangerous and should, from here on, be evaluated as a properly or improperly used tool.

Here’s an idea for you.  Set the timer for 20 minutes right now or next time you use your computer (or iPhone or whatever).  Bing! the timer will ring and you’ll be shocked just how fast twenty minutes passes!  Now, for amplification, set the timer for that same amount of time before embarking on some task you don’t like doing.  You’ll be shocked how slowly twenty minutes passes!  That little exercise is to give you an idea just how much time you’ve  wasted spent invested online.   You can never get that time back.  Ever again.

In order to untangle from the web — and it is, in intensity and enormity, a world. wide. web. — I believe you must (in addition to answering those questions in “part one” of this post) admit you’re tangled in it (if you are) and then do some fessing up to yourself, to your husband, to your children.  Your fessing up may extend beyond your home.  Think back on days gone by… how were they really spent?  How much time did/do you really spend online? And, as with all addiction recovery, a course or a plan of action and accountability should be — read:  must be — established.   A lack of a plan is a plan to fail and disregarding accountability is a sure plan to cheat yourself.

You may clean the room, clean the space in your life that the net once fully occupied, but unless you fill that space with plans, purposes, activities and measurable accomplishments, that space will be filled with demons of a worse kind.   Those demons might be resentment, regret, shame, anger, self-pity, bitterness, pride, anxiety, frustration, woeful longing and on and on.  Those demons travel in a pack.

Get busy and stay busy.  Look well to the ways of your household and do not eat the bread of idleness.

Wherever you are, be fully there.  Whatever you’re doing, be fully doing it.  Whoever you’re talking with, be fully engaged in conversation.  It may shock you how disconnected you’ve been.  It may shock them how distracted you were and now aren’t! It may be weird for them–  and you — to be doing all the stuff you delegated (so you could be freed up to do all that important good stuff on the internet).  Watch out for personal  resentment if you’re not appreciated for all your hard work.  Determine to live joyfully in your home.  Purpose to change your tomorrows since you cannot do a single thing to change the yesterdays.  You can change — your days can change and in doing so, you’ll be investing in your tomorrows.

Set about accomplishing the things you’ve set aside… maybe neglected.  You know, the stuff you used to do before the the tangled wwWeb got you and your time all wrapped up.  As you do things, you’ll experience delightful appreciation for personal growth and accomplishment — interest and investment in your home and family once again.  You’ll be living all those pictures you’ve been dreaming about.  Try new things.  You sleep better knowing that the greater satisfaction comes in actually doing and accomplishing instead of just observing; reading about things other women seem to be doing or seeing pictures of all that all those other mothers seem to be accomplishing.  Keep in mind each day that the wise woman builds her house but the foolish plucks it down with her own hands.

In time you’ll establish a balance of best vs. good… literal vs. virtual… wise vs. foolish or not-so-wise time investment.  You’ll begin seeing or will begin doing all the things you knew deep down you wanted to do/you should be doing… but couldn’t do bcz you were all tangled up viewing a screen.  Drinking another cup of coffee.

♥ may you always be blessed.

So you’re addicted. Now, what?

When the day of my turning point came, I wouldn’t have been more stunned had a wrecking ball come swinging into my kitchen window.  I’m now not so sure if it was the actual event or the combination of that and a heartrending revelation and my subsequent overwhelming grief that I’d squandered precious time — for years — reading, searching, creating, writing, researching… on the computer.  Good things… so many good things.

There is a silver lining…
Lord has opened His Word to me in many new ways.  I want to be careful not to exceed the context or intent of the Scriptures, so my ‘revelations’ or insights might not seem applicable to this situation — but numerous passages have spoken to my heart in new ways through these last two and a half years.  One, is that the Lord is not willing that any should perish.  Now, this pertains, ultimately, to salvation, but I’ve begun to see His love for life in a new way.  His love for eternal life, His love for unborn life, His love for the downtrodden, His love for obedience in life, and His purpose that we might have life and that, more abundantly.

Addictions limit abundant living.

No worries: I haven’t jumped ship here into name-it-and-claim-it-prosperity-(little g) gospel living.  But I do see that we limit God’s work in our lives when we live contrary to His plans and purposes for us. Being a preoccupied and distracted mother leads to all sorts of visible and not-so-visible troubles — but that’s not all — whatever is occupying our thoughts and time must be in accordance with God’s plan and design for our lives and things that hinder that or draw us away should rightly be called sin to us.  Yeeouch.  All the justifications, excuses and reasons for doing otherwise just deepens our problem and widens the sweeping damage done in our homes and in the lives of our family members.

Having the computer set up in the kitchen where it could be accessed and consulted at any hour, any time, for any length of time was like a drug to me — a gotta-have- it drug.  That’s why I can so easily and confidently call unguarded, unrestrained and  unmeasured internet use an addiction.

You know you’re addicted when you pray: Give us this day, our daily bread…  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us [some email]…

So, now what?

When facing and fessing up to and then turning/recovering from addiction, may I say, you’re never going to make it if you try going it alone.  The devil will meet you at every turn (or log-in).  You will make provision for the flesh.  You will justify, minimize your addiction, make excuses for your ‘work’ and need to be online.   And then you’ll remember you made a deal, your regret or shame or embarrassment may come back to your mind — but admissions will not keep you on track.  Your sorrow will not keep you on track.  Your resolve will not keep you on track.  Your best intentions will not keep you on track.  Simply deciding to be done with spending too much time on the computer will not solve your deeper problem and will not prevent you from carrying on just as you had been doing.  I think that’s why the Lord taught or gave the following warning in Matthew 12:

(43-45)  When the unclean spirit is gone out of the man, it walks through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none.  Then it says, I will return into my house from which I came out; and when it is come, it finds it empty, swept, and garnished.  Then it goes and takes with itself seven other spirits worse than itself, and they enter in and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse than the first…”

Walls and fences for wills and fancies!

AA.  Yep, AA!  No, I’m not talking Al-Anon, I’m talking Accountability and Activity!   I have learned over the last several years — and most especially in the last two and a half — that whenever a change — a drastic change — is needed, drastic measures must be taken.  And, believe me, computer addiction is that serious.  Think of the times you’ve dieted.  You don’t leave the delectable foods on the counter, you don’t snack on candy bars, sip on rootbeer floats or munch on potato chips; No, you clear those things away and gather for yourself nourishing vegetables, fruits, lean meats and water.  Additionally, you don’t sit and wait for weight to drop off — you get moving: you get busy and exercise or go for walks.  You track your progress with a scale or measuring tape.  And, better yet, you get a partner to join you: someone to whom you are accountable.  You’ve already proven your ‘self’ is not a good accountability partner.  Sadly.

So, also with computer addition.   You make no provision for the flesh — and, believe me, while simply unplugging may seem like a good solution, it’s not a real solution.  It may stop the activity for that length of time, but it wouldn’t necessarily get to the heart of the matter.   In this, I encourage you (and myself) to begin with acknowledgement and prayer.  Face the truth, look square into the face of the matter and then set up  accountability.  This provides the place to “confess your faults one to another.” (read James 5.16)  That’s a powerful verse — the third part of it tells us that the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.   Did you catch the fervent part?  This is no small problem – computer addiction; thus there’s no casual solution.  Fervency in prayer!  You won’t be fervent in prayer until you grapple with the problem and grasp its gravity.

Here’s a net-net for you.    Make a break — a clean break — you will survive and so will the masses.

Recommit. Reconnect. Re-create. Restore.

You see?  There are many REasons for facing and tackling online addiction.  But then… you’ll never know until you stop…

Next time, something of a new track to run on.


 

Make no provision for the flesh

Lots of times, when a story is told, readers are left wondering: what happened?  This is especially true when specific or pertinent details are intentionally omitted (especially when the topic is of a more sensitive nature or where others are involved and wouldn’t be well served by the telling).

But this blog entry is just a continuation of writings of the last few days — and this one’s a long entry.  If I give details here (or in the last two entries), I’d ask your kindness and lack of adding insult to injury.  This has been a pretty candid recounting of the most painful (relationship-wise) era of my life.  The fallout occasionally reminds me the woods were deep — but I cannot describe the freedom, the blessing and the gracious, loving work of the Lord in and through it all.

So, the title of the entry: Make no provision for the flesh… this comes from Romans 13.14  ” But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfill the lusts thereof.”

Essentially, it’s a three part verse that would do well to be broken into three messages.  But, for the sake of brevity, I’ll share with you tonight that not making provision for the flesh is to not fulfill the lusts of our flesh — that types out so easily and is so easily said… but I believe that, in and of ourselves it is not possible.  But! It is possible as we put on the Lord Jesus Christ.  In the flesh we will fulfill the lusts of the flesh — in the Spirit we will  (with the Spirit’s enabling) resist the lusts of the flesh.  It may be a moment by moment resistance, but the Spirit will enable us to obey as we yield ourselves to His leading.

This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.
For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh:
and these are contrary the one to the other:
so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption;
but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.
Galatians 5.16-17; 6.8

When I started a diet, I prayed for a number of days prior to starting the diet — I didn’t want to do it and yet I needed to do it; there was no question that I needed to do it.  My planned thoughts were willing, my sane-mind was willing but my flesh was not willing to give up whatever I wanted to eat — especially caffé mochas every morning.  And mid-morning.  I know, I know… don’t judge. ;o)  I was not willing to do what I knew I must do.  So, I prayed and confessed to the Lord that my spirit was willing but my flesh was weak — I confessed as sin my over-indulgence and tendency to mindlessly do/eat whatever I wanted.

Make no provision for the flesh.  Make. no. provision. for. the. flesh.  Make no provision for the flesh.  It’s a a decision; it’s a resolve: it’s a command.  Have you ever thought of it that way when you’ve read it in the Word?  Or, have you been like me — sort of taking it as a good suggestion.  Sort of the hot tip for the day.

I took time to pray, wait and prepare before I began this diet.  But when I gave my husband my computer a couple of years ago, I wasn’t all prayed up and ready.  And yet, I was ready.  I knew it was right.  So, the making no provision for the flesh there was pretty easy.  And, for quite a while it was easy.  And then it wasn’t.  It wasn’t easy when I was selfish or embarrassed that I’d let myself get carried away each day, stopping at the counter in the kitchen to just read one thing, look up another, browse this or that.   That shame was used of the Lord to help me get my priorities back on track.  And the recalling all the things I hadn’t taken the time to do, make, create, etc., bcz I was too distracted by whatever was on the computer… well, that sorrow was multiplied and used as well.  It continues to be used to this day.

Those first weeks, my husband printed my necessary letters and brought them down to me.  Because I had gone “no mail” for several years on email lists and because I knew I couldn’t/shouldn’t/wouldn’t want to wreck my progress, I didn’t seek computer time of my own — I was content with his decision and happy at all that was being accomplished.  I didn’t know what was going on in the news — and, strangely, I didn’t care.  I stayed busy — I worked hard in our home all day long.  I dedicated myself to what I knew I had neglected.  You know what one of the biggest helps was?   It was a simple request my husband made… and it was this:  When you go gather up the laundry to do each morning, don’t negatively comment that the towels are on the floor again or that this or that wasn’t in the hamper — just graciously gather and take care of the laundry. I knew he was right and it was right to serve them… it was right to be sweet to them all.  It’s what I thought, it’s what I’d taught! and it’s all I ultimately wanted to be! And… may I say, that from that day to this, I’ve done most all the laundry — and gladly so — and rarely have I made a comment about the amount, location or condition of the laundry.  To be candid, I have occasionally reminded them that I’d be coming up to gather the laundry in a short while.  They noticed — it’s now pretty rare for me to mention it.  And with ten kids here, there’s a lot of laundry every day.  That cheerfulness for serving, preparing breakfasts every morning and setting daily and weekly goals helped me to get, and stay, on track.

When this recent diet began, I had to make not provision for the flesh and that meant I had to have a plan of attack on the flesh — I had to make advance plans for the flesh — to get the flesh to comply with the plan.  I had to target the things I would and wouldn’t eat. Eliminating butter-sugar-flour has its great dietary advantages, but for a snacky-foodie, no butter-sugar-flour (or any combination thereof) is practically torture — unless the prayerfully set goals are kept in mind.  Water, planning and lots of busy-ness — O, and  daily entries on the weight chart are very motivating.   The delight for an Americano each morning is a bonus — or a concession — I guess.   When I’m, cooking for the family I first cut up a few carrots into coins and a pepper or snap-peas and put them in a dish by the stove/sink.  When cooking, there’s a tremendous temptation for me to snack and taste everything and so my appeasement for the flesh is the dish of crunchy vegetables.  Make no provision for the flesh, I remind myself.

Some time passed by… and I had the use of my computer again. Initially, after a couple of months — for a half hour each day.    My husband wisely chose this to demonstrate there was really no need to be on the computer everyday whenever I wanted to be and the world got along fine without my commentary, without my reading each devotional online or checking Facebook — or writing much here.  The make no provision for the flesh included not working off-line either.   Later, a little more leeway was extended.  By this time I was too busy in our home doing what I ought to have been doing all along — working alongside each child — talking with them more, listening to them more, doing things for them more and being more all here instead of partially here mentally.  As this project or experiment has continued and reworked and finetuned, My husband has been so gracious and gentle with me — I share this with you in hopes that you may find comfort in knowing that you’re not alone if you need to make some dramatic changes in your life to “get your home back in order.”  And, additionally, if you’re like me, you probably don’t even realize that your home/family isn’t  the dearest and highest priority it ought to be when you spend too much time online doing good things! Writing good things, reading good things!

The best things are better than good things.  I’ve had to redouble my efforts to make sure I don’t lapse back into doing good things and thus get distracted and sidetracked into neglecting the best things.

If you’re seeking to make changes… pray. Seek the Lord, He is already there.  Commit your way to Him and He will direct your path.

Savouring the Moments

The symphony of birds, buds and blossoms along with the soft greens seem to sing, Springtime’s here; another season’s underway!  With the passing of time, the Lord is teaching me to savour the moments, to watch for the signs of the seasons.  I can’t really recall if , or what, I’ve written much about the passage of a season that taught me this, but it was the slow dawning of the reality that the childbearing season was slipping away that first began to teach me to savour the moments.

I think I’ve told you how (early on) women–mothers–would tell me, “…it goes so fast: before you know it, they’ll be all grown up…” and to those comments I would nod in agreement… as if I understood.  And, I suppose, to a small degree, I did.  Actually, truth be told, I didn’t.  Not really.  And, further, I recognize that I still don’t really know the whole of it.  But what I am realizing this:  time really does seem to pass exponentially faster with each passing year.

On Saturday morning I received a text message on my cellphone.  Three simple words.  Tears filled my eyes as I read and reread those three little words.  Those three little words were packed with such hope and elated joy.  I pictured the smiling face of the one who sent me the text.  I pictured the thrill that must’ve gone into the typing of the three little words.  I closed my phone — savouring the moment and what the three little words would become.  The text read:  She said yes.

Several of us received the same text.  We knew this by the flood of texts that followed.  It’s just what happens in a big family, I guess.

As I savoured the moment, I was grinning with tear-filled eyes.  Standing there, looking out the window above the kitchen sink, I was thinking about that son’s little boy self and how he ran and played out in the yard, roller skated down the lane, did ‘canon-balls’ in the pool, shot things with his airsoft gun and found things to light on fire in the back yard.  As I lingered, I thought of the several years he’s loved this girl… I thought of the many times she’s stood right in the same place, washing dishes or having a cup of coffee or tea in the kitchen.  I thought of her little girl self… her adorable little girl self.  And then, her parents came to mind and suddenly it wasn’t just our boy and bright hopes for tomorrow — it was their daughter and all the memories of her little girl self and times gone by in her life and theirs… many savoured moments, I’m very sure.

Later, walking around our yard and then standing under the lacy green leaves hanging from the giant weeping willow tree, I looked up to see where the branch had broken off — the branch that had, until just recently, held the old tire-swing.  I knew one day that that branch would break and the tire-swing would inevitably have to be put away or maybe even possibly would be hung on from different branch… I just never thought it would be this soon.  I looked at the branch on the ground and the place where the rope had been nearly completely encircled by the bark of the branch where it had hung for so many decades — the process unnoticed, but further embedded with each passing season.  In the theater of my mind, I saw some of the childhood faces of the many, many seasons of the tire swinging from that tree.  Savoured moments.  More so, now.

The interesting thing about savoured moments is that at the time the moments don’t seem all the glorious.  I sometimes think that savoured moments become so — not because of their impact or influence at the time, but later.  Silly things, embarrassing things, surprising things,  simple things, everyday things.  Later on… down the road a bit… that’s when moments become meaningful and it’s those meaningful moments we savour.  Those simple, everyday, unremarkable (at the time) moments that somehow capture our hearts and become the stuff memories are made of — the moments we treasure — the moments we savour.

In the last couple of days I’ve had more time to reflect on those three little words… I’ve thought of the inevitable hardships, trials, heartaches ans sorrows they’ll necessarily face.   I’ve thought of the memories they’ll make, the home they’ll make together — the joys and laughter they’ll experience and the hopes and dreams they’ll share; and I marveled at the thought of the surprising ways of God they’ll surely encounter as He writes their story.  And so for all these things, I can only say, Praise the LORD and pray they’ll savour the moments that come with the passing seasons along the way.

 

Captivated

You know I’ve written about internet addition… e-mail… group list mail addiction… AOL… Geocities… One-List… eGroups… screen addiction… information addiction… whatever could be looked up… early on: Ask Jeeves. Bling.  Ask him… ask him anything.  Then Yahoo, then Google… click, click, click… Bling.  You’ve got mail… Bling!  Click, click, click… Blogs! Bling!  Facebook. Bling! Pinterest. Bling!

I write what I’m learning… I share what I see, what I experience, what God is teaching me.  You know; through a series of trials, disappointments and losses I was presented face to face with the reality that I was/am an internet addict.  By the grace of God and through the love of my husband, I had to face this reality and, after some time had passed, learn to make changes — and when it was obvious I could not be self governing, I had to have boundaries — literal restrictions — placed on my computer.  Like a drug addict, I am powerless over media.  And… like a drug addict, I didn’t realize what was going on around me, nor did I realize I was causing others to resent me — the time I was spending online and the time I  was not spending with them.  And guess what the fruit of this was/is?  Yes… in many ways, family and friends addicted to media.  That is not sweet fruit.

So… I implore you today.  Get fences.  Get restrictions on your media.  Get pruned.  Get staked.  Learn to live within the boundaries so that you will be more fruitful, more fragrant, more productive… You’ll see.  And you’ll be amazed.

Two years ago, when I handed my computer to my husband, I knew I had to come to grips with internet addiction/family hurts and my walk with the LORD.  Then, months later, when I had worked through and walked through where I was, what I’d done and what I needed to do: my one hour’s use per day almost seemed like a worse prison than no computer use per day… but that time was actually a school of prayer and more repentance, more revelation of what had happened (and why it happened) and what needed to happen.  What I thought was a punishment was a blessing.  What I thought was too hard was actually a marvelous mercy.  What I thought was too restrictive has become my greatest freedom.

Now, as in this little window of allocated/measured time, I have freedom — permission — blessing — to use this computer and I can choose to use the time to browse,  listen to sermons, to research,  to read/write devotionals, blogs, connect with my children and friends… bcz I’m in step with the plan for my days.  It’s freeing.  This humbling limitation has given me so much assurance and freedom.

It’s joked about sometimes around here — this restriction — and it reminds me of people’s comments to me early on when we only had one vehicle for many years and my husband was gone all day.  I could walk to the store for my groceries — returning with what could be carried or hung on the stroller.  It was freeing to me to not “run around” in the car — to plan my days and outings, to live within those boundaries.  I didn’t always know it and probably couldn’t appreciate it.  But I know and appreciate it now.  These things affirm to me that God never wastes a thread.

A Year Ago…

A year ago… it was cold.  A year ago it was rainy and dark clouds loomed overhead when the drops weren’t falling.  I thought Springtime would never come as I looked out the chilly windows.  And though the willow tree had just begun to show signs of lacey spring-green leaves, it was hard to imagine the nearness of Springtime as I looked out at the leafless branches of the walnut, hazelnut, apple, pear and plum trees.    Today’s much the same.

But as I mull this over, I have to also give thanks and praise to the LORD who only does all things well.  I must praise Him for His order, for His creation, for His perfect timing and for His gracious provisions.   For who could give such a scent to Hyacinth’s or beauty to Snowdrops & Crocuses?  And though there are few signs of beauty in the rose garden, how loving of the LORD to create the dazzling beauty to the serene Daffodils and Jonquils.  As I gaze out the windows and see them ringing the willow tree or in clusters in the rose garden, I cannot help but stop and thank the LORD for His majesty and grace.  For who else could’ve created such loveliness?  As the Daffodils look like teacups swaying in the breeze or bright yellow-faced smiling dancers — dancing before Him.  And for me.  Promises of brighter tomorrows.

So, a year ago I was listening to that song: Spring Time’s Coming… and listening to it again today reminded me of God’s great grace and mercy on us from that time to this.  I remember writing specifically about this song that Wes played for me each morning as my “wake up music” _here_ and I have to smile today as I think back on one year ago and the Co-incident of the fulfillment of that song.  Springtime indeed came and with also, “right before our eyes God had the sweetest surprise…”

A year ago I was sitting at the table and the UPS man came and brought a package — well, I wasn’t expecting anything so I thought maybe Wes had ordered something — but that, too, seemed odd bcz the very seasonal swimming pool business hadn’t really started for the year yet.  So when I called Wes to ask him about the package, he asked who it was from and when I replied that it was from UPS, he said, “Open it, open it!”  As I propped my phone between my ear and shoulder, I removed the outer wrapping to fine that the box contained a wrapped package.  Again, “Open it, open it!”  As I unwrapped the package, the pages I found on top began to detail a puzzling story… each page more confounding than the previous.  A beautiful letter.  Itinerary.  Accommodations.  A comprehensive guide book and car rental.  “What?!?!”  “Are you sure?!?!”  Nearly speechless and rereading in stunned disbelief I wondered how could this possibly be?!?    Fully and completely anonymous — how could they know that was our dream honeymoon plan that hadn’t ever been possible?   How could they know the song?  How could they…. but God?

Even now, one year later — knowing what I know now — I’m still rather in stunned disbelief over the glorious trip that package detailed and then was gratefully experienced for two weeks in Hawai’i.  That God in His sweet mercy would have me hear a song for many weeks to the arrival of that package — right before my eyes… the sweetest surprise… all the new things He had planned to colour our world.

Through this year as we’ve fondly looked back on the sweetest days we’ve ever spent together, we’ve chuckled that we both would jump up at this very moment to go there again  — but at the same time, we don’t really even hope for such a surprise as that again for the amazing gift surely seemed to be a once in a lifetime dream — a lovely dream  — one we treasure and will never forget (with love and forever thanks to Aloha-for-reals).

The Quilter’s Apprentice

Quilts.  Old quilts meticulously stitched by great grandmothers… store bought, machine pieced quilts and ones made by different friends.  I love to look at them — studying the patterns and pieces, but I didn’t know I’d come to love them in the way I have.  I’ve always loved the kinship of customers and clerks in a fabric store, but I didn’t really understand the incredible and instant camaraderie that nowhere else seems to be experienced quite like what you’ll find in a quilt shoppe.   The instant “sisterhood” is unique.

As I walked with my friend,  I began to develop a love and appreciation for quilting I’d never known previously — actually, as each day passed, I became more and more intrigued by quilters themselves.  Quilting is not just the stitching of complimentary fabrics and pieces — it’s much more than that.

It seemed that the sheer anticipation alone of spending time in a quilt shoppe seemed to propel my friend and me to walk further and faster — her love for the craft was infectious. And I’m the grateful recipient of her understanding.

Imagine the shocked amazement of the ladies in the quilt shoppe when they discovered that not only were we from out of town with their shoppe as one of our primary destinations, but that we’d also just walked literally ten miles to get there!  Now, mind you, we didn’t originally set out knowing that it would be ten miles or that it would take us hours and would include traversing  through questionable or shady neighbourhoods.

Our husband’s were working on a job in a distant state and we were invited to come along for the week.  It would be one of the most delightful weeks we’ve ever spent anywhere — and for reasons I couldn’t have ever imagined.   Each day we’d set out on an adventure to find a quilt shoppe… my friend had a list of shoppes to visit. Along the way we came to several points — street names with which we were familiar, having seen them on “Mapquest” earlier in the morning in our hotel room.

Though we weren’t in the hotel room ninety seconds before I flushed my cellphone down the toilet, the rest of the trip was nothing but delightful.  I even began to enjoy the gentle ribbing I’d get from time to time — both from our friends, my own self and from some of the hotel employees who didn’t fail to greet me with a snicker… at first, with comments or questions such as,  Are you the one who flushed the cellphone down the toilet?!?  Later in the week some would greet me with a chuckle… and some comment that had to do with ringing pipes or someone leaving me an indistinguishable gurgling message.

But the most endearing things to me now are the reflections, instructions and memories I have from that week in Wichita.  Having never been to Kansas before, I had a great deal to learn about the land, the people and the notoriety of Wichita.  To that point, I only had an inkling of the depth and breadth of the aerospace industry there — and that, only because of one of the Northwest’s biggest employers: the Boeing Company.   Some years back, the Boeing Company decided to move part of its manufacturing operation to Wichita.  Other than that, I knew very little of the vast number of companies based there.

But even with all that and all that our husbands were doing there, my friend and I weren’t all that phased by the local economy or industry.  It was quilts — or quilt shoppes, rather, that we were interested in.   I’m not a quilter.  I don’t know quilts, I don’t know fabrics and I don’t know many quilters even.  But I do have an appreciation for sewing, crafting, creativity and now, for quilts.

My friend seemed to move effortlessly through the different areas in each quilt shoppe — she knew the names of the fabrics, the designer’s names, the types of quilts and techniques.  She easily connected with the shopkeepers and customers… and that’s when that revelation hit me regarding the “sisterhood” of quilters.  There seemed to be no competition — only praise for accomplishments and fabric choices and piecing.  In fact, in each shoppe we visited, there were groups of women gathered around a table working on quilts — individual quilts, group project quilts or assembling fabrics to place in kits for future quilts.

I was humbled and amazed… actually, I guess I might’ve even been envious at the fellowship they were obviously experiencing.  My friend, taking my arm, would continually guide me to another area to see some more patterns, more fabrics, different styles of quilts.  All the while I enjoyed our conversations and felt as though I had a walking wealth of information — my instructor and friend — as I made my way through the aisles touching bolt after bolt of fabric with deep appreciation for the groupings of patterns, textures and hues — my friend’s obvious love for whole process and product of quilting made me fall in love with them, too.

♥ May you always be blessed.

 

The rest of the story

I’m going to write a part of the rest of the story today.  You know how Paul Harvey used to close his commentary — just before that seemingly eternal pause before he’d say (or seem to say it in the form of a question):  good. day.; he’d say: And now you know… the rest of the story.

Nearly 6 years ago I wrote a letter to the father who raised me… the man who married my mother, adopted me (and my brother) and two years after that, he took me down a road that would, on many levels, totally change my life.  I would eventually receive salvation in Jesus and I would marry and move far from that home and decades would pass.   The letter I sent him was returned to me.  It was not the first letter I wrote to him, nor the first to be returned.  It was, though, the first letter I wrote to him in which I detailed the many painful events of sexualabuse and sincerely sought to offer him my forgiveness (even though, generally forgiveness is given to a repentant person) and prayer for his salvation & faith in Jesus.  I posted the contents of that letter online [3/19 edit, the website: imtellingonyou . org is no longer active] when it became apparent to me that he would not read mail I sent him.  Later I would send him a postcard with the address for the letter.  Though others acquainted with him responded, he never responded.    With the passage of time I found myself wondering how I would react if/when he did respond.  I recall gasping one day, a year ago, when a business acquaintance of his emailed me — and through some exchanges, I would learn that there were other people seriously and negatively affected by the man I once called, Daddy.  I wondered how I would react if he called.  I wondered how I’d react were I to hear news of his death.

Now, I want to say that I recognize that whenever a person tells their story, they’re telling someone else’s story, too — and some stories are painful.  Some are intended to inflict pain.  This blog entry is the former and most certainly is not intended to be the latter.  Through the years I’ve come to realize that God has used my life, my experiences and my candidness to relate to other women, to encourage other women and to offer hope — encouragement that there is hope and healing in Jesus, hope that others have passed this way, too, and hope that there are brighter tomorrows after tragedy, loss, rejection or failure.  I have experienced all of these to some degree or another and I know there is hope and joy and life on the other side of mountains and valleys.  There is  hope in Jesus.

Over the years I’ve wondered how I would react to the news of the death of the father who raised me.  You know… I always thought I’d be relieved.  I always thought I’d have “closure” (whatever that is).  But whatever I thought, I didn’t think I’d have the reaction I did.  And, I’d never have believed I’d respond as I did  — I responded by calling his wife ( this is not my own mother, to be clear, he and my mother were divorced 33 years ago) — to simply ask if he had been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb.

I had the wonderful privilege to join my husband on a business trip last week — a trip I now know was part of the masterful handiwork of the Lord.  I needed that time.  I marvel that my husband would have a week of work in the winter in a distant location and I would have the opportunity to spend the week walking and talking with one of my oldest, dearest and most loyal friends.  I believe it was marvelous preparation for me as I would receive a couple of letters first thing the next morning after returning from that business trip.  Many, many times in my life I’ve experienced an unusual or strange working of the Lord — God’s remarkable work or provision — just after or just before a trial.  Never the same work… but always unmistakably the work of the Lord.

Such was the case this past week.  The subject line of both email letters was the same… the  name of the father who adopted me as a little girl — the man who, for twelve years, I called: Daddy.   I was not prepared for what I would read.  The first I read, was in the form of a sort of arresting statement.  The second, a question.  Both would convey he had died — kicked the bucket was the phrase one writer employed to tell me the news.  Not surprising, really, for that man had experienced great loss, as a business professional, years ago.  The passage of time hadn’t softened his opinion nor dimmed his view of the man.   The other letter would contain the obituary — the incomplete obituary.  In death, as in life, truth was covered over.  I should not have been surprised, but I was.

In my letter to him six years ago, I wrote:  You’re where you are today because I never told on you.  The letter didn’t garner the reaction I hoped it would — and news of his death didn’t bring the consolation I thought it would.  I’m still glad I wrote the letter.  I’m sorry he never answered it.  I’m glad my story has given so many women the courage to face their abuser.  I’m sorry I’ll never know if the abuser repented or if he spends eternity in heaven or in hell.  Child sexualabusers die. Memories of child sexualabuse does not die.

I never thought I’d react the way I have.. to the news of The Rest of The Story.  You might think I’m wishing ill on him — But I assure you, I am not.  God’s worked such a work in my heart that I sincerely hope that, in the end, he chose eternal life — that in the end he chose Jesus — though I doubt that was the end of what seemed to be such a pitiful man, I sincerely hope that  salvation was the rest of the story for him.

 

Vision

A dear friend recently wrote a letter regarding losing vision and had several thoughts regarding the danger of lacking vision, and the importance of having vision or purpose.  I’ve mulled that over.  And over.  I empathized and I actually sort of felt sick at the thought, the tragic thought of losing vision.

And then it struck me (but it wasn’t the first time) that I’ve lost vision.  If you’ve never “lost vision” before, then it’s probably hard to understand how someone could go along, have a great track to run on and then suddenly lose vision.  But it happens.  And if it’s happened to you, you understand. You totally understand.

I started losing vision a long time ago.  For some things — not for everything, for some things.
I got off track — or was rolling down what I see now was a sort of parallel track — thought I was going along fine.  But a parallel track that’s off by 1 degree soon is off by a gaping distance.  In the beginning it’s not so noticeable.  And, maybe for quite a while it’s not so noticeable… but down the way a bit — it’s very noticeable.  Usually to everyone except the one who’s in the car on the now-not-so-parallel track.

I’ve been very tempted to stop writing.  You know… listening to enemy’s voice: why do you write, you don’t have anything to say, you’re worthless, you don’t have any wise words and on and on.  I was tempted to stop accepting invitations to share with women in different venues.  And I did — I did stop altogether.  For a time.  And then I thought: wait a minute — everything I believed I still believe. Everything that was previously important is still important. I may have made a mess out of a lot of things.  I should have done so many things differently.  But I didn’t — and time went by. I’m thankful for the Lord’s great blessing of encouragement and re-creation!  By His grace, many — if not most — of the trials that I thought I’d never pass through have been redeemed and used for my good and His glory.  I wait on Him for finish the work He’s begun — for I know that I know He will complete the work.

Some of my experiences may seem like failures, or circumstances may have changed, but the Truths I stand on, the Truths that guide and inspire me have not changed.   I was tempted — have been tempted many, many times to drop commitments, drop the website, drop this blog, drop other writing projects and move on.  The website’s antiquated.  This blog’s out of date.  The many writing projects are unfinished.  The vision for all these things seemed lost.

The best thing about space and time is that perspective is gained in the passage of time and vision is gained from distance to an object.  For both, clarity is a great blessing.  My indecision has turned out to be a blessing  — I don’t really want to dump the website — it took twelve years to build — it can be redone, it can be redeemed.  And I don’t want to quit writing — I love to write.  I’ve been redeemed.  The Lord has given me a great opportunity. And I really don’t want to miss opportunities to share messages with sisters in the Lord — because He has given me so much.  He has turned my messes into messages.

So, now…
Some of the messages have become messes.
Some of the messes have become messages.

And thinking on this has given me a new vision.  The messages that have become messes?  I’ve decided not to just dismiss them entirely for they are part of who I am and where I’ve been, but I hope to turn them, by the grace of God, back in the messages.

So, now…
My new vision is to clean up some of the messes, give them new meaning.  Share some of the messages that have come from the messes and, again, by the grace of God, be a vessel He can use.  I might add, I’m sure thankful for the husband the Lord gave me — why the Lord blessed me so, I will never know but I’ll be forever grateful!  His insight, his perspective is a gift.  I know, we women tend to see things as all or nothing sometimes — and it takes a wise husband to point out the anchor is still holding… that the ship may be tossing or listing to one side or the other — but the Anchor holds.  The Anchor holds.

Only God can:
turn a MESS into a MESSAGE;
a TEST into a TESTIMONY;
a TRIAL into a TRIUMPH;
a VICTIM into a VICTORY.