No PT...

No PT...

No PT...No Physical Therapy...

The man was crippled from birth. A forty year old beggar on the temple steps. He had his own spot there. Carried to the temple gate to beg for his living. All he expected or hoped for was a coin or two from Peter.

Peter had no money. But, he did have the power to heal in his hands. Immediate, instant healing. Acts 3
says that Peter pulled him up. 'In the name of Jesus, walk!' Not only did he walk. He jumped and danced.

To walk takes practice. Babies usually crawl or scoot first. Then pull themselves up and hold on to chairs or something. Then the first step. One or two, then a heap on the floor. Even a person who has walked before has shaky legs if they haven't walked for awhile. Many go through weeks or months of physical therapy. They practice learning to walk again. They do not go from 'crippled' to walking, jumping and dancing.

This was indeed a miracle. Jesus working through Peter. A changed life for the beggar. 

Been thinkin'... I'm a miracle too. Not as spectacular as the temple beggar. But Jesus has changed my life just the same. From a crippled unbeliever to a walking, jumping, dancing believer.  

The power of Jesus lives on today...

My Brother...

My Brother...

I have probably the best brother ever...

He loved me - always. 

Even when 'we' (the neighborhood kids) tied him to a chair. 'See if you can walk!' That is when chin met cement. Blood spurted out and maybe stitches were put in. Even when 'we' (neighborhood kids, again) tied the dog's tail to the water faucet and told Larry to run and say 'Here Spot!'. Spot pulled loose, chased Larry and bit him. Still he loved me.

Two years younger, he followed me everywhere. Always nice and kind. I realized that soon, he would be bigger than me. Not that he would ever have retaliated. But, as a precautionary measure, kindness seemed the best idea. 

Knowing the worst me... He still loves me.

AND I LOVE HIM...

Invisiable

Invisible...

Strange word - meaning - not seen. Maybe it should be: unvisible.

There are many things that are invisible -

Smell for one. Come close to a lilac bush. Even if it is not visible, you know a lilac bush is close by.  Step outside our door and you know when food is being cooked at the 'Big House'. Cut grass has its own smell. Diesel stinks. Coffee!!

Sound is another invisible. I awoke this morning to the sound of a humming bird outside my room. Could not see it yet as my eyes were still closed, but I knew the sound. And it sounded like a humming bird. We hear the wind, but only see the result. We hear honking and can distinguish between a car and geese before either comes into sight. 

Breath is invisible. Unless it is really, really cold. Then we can see it. Of course, if someone is laying on the ground, you may have to feel to see if they are really breathing...

Emotions are sometimes invisible. Sometimes visible. Love. Hate. Pain. Despair. Disappointment. Hope. 

God, Jesus and the Spirit are all invisible. But, visible in the world around us. Especially not that it is really spring. Flowers blooming. Trees leafing out. Sunshine. Warmth. The earth is reborn. Also, visible in the actions and words of those who have 'seen', 'heard' and 'know' God is real. That Jesus lived and died and the Spirit lives within, filling us with hope, joy and peace...

Brother...

Brother…

Have you ever thought about having Jesus for a brother? Your parents surely had a special place in their heart for him. You see, they knew who he really was. A secret they kept.

You heard the neighborhood gossip about his birth. At twelve years of age, he stunned the religious teachers with his knowledge. He probably made his bed and took out the garbage without being told to! A wonderful role model. Loving. Kind. Compassionate. The Bible says, He was without sin. Hard to live with a perfect brother!

Then he started acting crazy. Stirring up the people. Especially the ruling-religious. How could he do such unlawful things? Touch the Lepers. Talk to women. Even a Samaritan woman! He was without honor in his own town. Maybe even in his own home. And then miracle after miracle.

And then the end… Captured and drug from Herod to Pilate. Lies! Accusations! Death penalty! Whipped! A cross! And then death!

This was your brother. How would you feel? Would you finally believe that he was more than a brother! He was the Messiah! Your Savior!

Blame us…

‘Blame us… And our children. Just kill Jesus!’ That’s what the crowd, the mob, called out to Pilate.

They had been worked up by the religious leaders. They could only go along with the crowd. Its’ mob hysteria. It is still pretty much the same 2000 years later. It starts small, continues to go to a point where there is no turning back. The mob rules.

Several years ago in Seattle, the Fat Tuesday celebration turned into mob violence and an innocent young man was kicked and beaten to death while others watched.

Five people received new life from his organ transplants. One was his heart. But, that doesn’t make it right.

2000 years ago Jesus hung on a cross. A victim of mob violence and a few religious leaders who saw the law only one way.

The crowd called out, ‘Kill Him! Blame us and our children!’

Pilate washed his hands of the matter. However he had Jesus whipped, then turned him over to the mob. Pilate’s name is always connected to the crucifixion of Jesus. The hand washing didn’t work.

Jesus had to die. It was a sin issue. I’m glad He was willing. The crowd was right. The blame is on them and their children. And me! Jesus was innocent. I’m not. Jesus died because of my sin. To set me free. Thousands live because He died. It’s a heart transplant.

S’more thinkin’

Wonder what would I have done, if I had been part of the mob that morning? Would I have washed my hands and walked away? Or would I have been caught up in the mob hysteria - only to realize too late who Jesus was.

What am I doing today? Am I still part of the crowd? Or do I stand away from the crowd and do what God would have me do? What about you?

Junk

Junk...

'Father,' he prayed. 'Thank you for taking me, broken and looking like junk and making me into something worth while. Judy takes junk (interesting and unusual things) and hangs it on her wall for us to admire. She gives honor and value to broken things -- .'

Wearing an ankle 'bracelet' (because he was on parole) out of a job and attending our Home Group Bible Study, I was surprised at his connection to the 'interesting and unusual stuff' I had on the walls and around our house.

He continued, 'But, God... He takes us where we are and loves us with His powerful, merciful and transforming love. He calls us His. And patiently waits for us to become what He always saw us to be. We are not broken, old junk to Him'.

Simple...

Simple...

I like simple - easy - not complicated.

I just read Psalm 116:5-7: 
     The Lord protects the simple hearted.

I have never thought of a simple heart. A simple mind perhaps. And then my mind goes to College English 101. The instructor stopped the class, of about 50+ students, and asked me, "Are you wasting daddy's money?" 

I could have answered, "No, I wasn't wasting his money. I was the one paying the bills". I don't think she liked me...

Now, that my mind has wandered back, I Googled simple. I was right easy - not complicated, but there are more definitions. Uneducated - foolish - stupid - feeble - little value - ignorant - plain - elementary.

Okay. Now, back to the simple heart. The God I know is all about: grace, mercy and love. If he wants a simple heart, or any of the above definitions, HEAR I am. (Did that get your attention?) 

You have to be quiet and listen with ears, heart, mind and soul. Sounds complicated! But, here I am Lord! Ready to hear with a simple heart.

* gramatical and punctuation errors are mine... I stopped listening to her!

Praise...

Praise

Psalm 50:15 (The Message) “Spread for me a banquet of praise, a feast of kept promises.” Psalm 50:23 (The Message) “It’s the praising life that honors me.”

As I sat this morning with God, ready to begin my list of prayer requests (one of the side benefits of several small group membership, is a rather long list of requests)

I read Psalm 50

Psalm 50:15

• God wants.  A Banquet of Praise.  Banquets are not just meat and potatoes - no a banquet is a long table or two of the tastiest foods possible.  Too many choices – our plates runneth over. We also need to save room for the plethora of desserts.  

•  God wants a feast of kept promises.  Now a feast isn’t just hamburgers and fries. A feast is like a banquet – too much food.  All good food.  Again we eat way too much.  

• God wants us to call Him for help.  Help for what?  He doesn’t describe help – but I know when I need it. He wants me to call on Him and He will help.  His way.  His time.  

God doesn’t want our sacrifices, He already has all He needs.

Psalm 50:23  

Praise honors and delights God.  A little praise brings much pleasure to God.  And to others. Promises kept are His desire and He is ready and willing to help.  

We parent our children to become independent.  To make wise choices.  We love to have them ask our advice.  But usually we hear later.  God, on the other hand, wants us to become like children.  Completely, wholly dependent on Him.  

His ways are not our way – nor are His thoughts our thoughts.

3/20/10

Balance...

Balance

The hardest, no the 2nd hardest exercise is balancing on one foot on a four inch piece of semi/stiff foam for a whole minute. That is 60 seconds! Until the beeper beeps.

Someone stands beside me to catch me if I tip or fall and to offer encouragement.  “Almost there!”  “Good job!”

I can grab the bar in front of me when I get too wiggly.  Sometimes, just touching the bar steadies me.  How this helps my new knee is a mystery to me.  There are few times, actually, none, where I have needed to balance for any length of time on a four inch piece of foam.  

It has been explained that the balance centers mostly in the ankle, then moves up the body.  Sometimes putting my arms out helps.  Touching the bar happens often. One whole minute.  60 seconds seems like an eternity. But finally the beeper beeps.

The hardest exercise is the heel slides. I lay on my back.  Hook a belt on my foot and drag it as close to my butt as possible.  Hold. Then release.  10 times.  My knee is really not interested in bending that much.  If I want to walk normally, I need to get to 120 degrees.  Right now it takes a lot of pulling on my part and pushing, massaging on their part to get to 120 degrees. Balance and flexibility necessary for a smooth  walk.  

The therapists and helpers are great encouragers.  Their whole focus is on getting me back to a normal full life and they are ready to catch me if I fall.  They are pushing and pulling and most of all – encouraging.  

God says, “Count it a sheer gift when tests and challenges come to you… under pressure your faith life is forced into the open and shows its true colors – So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely.  Let it do its work as you become mature and well developed not deficient in any way.”  James 1:2-4 The Message.

I want to walk normally without pain.  I have a new knee and will soon have another.  I have a whole team of people helping, instructing and encouraging.  

Test?  Trial?  Or a sheer gift!

I wrote this a few years ago. After my first knee replacement. It seems as though various parts of my body are needing special attention now.

Maybe, my attitude too!! Do these things continue forever?

Plans Change...

The Plan…

Dan and I got married before his senior year and my junior year in college. We would graduate, teach and then start a family

Plans change...

Time to reverse the plan. Surprise! We were starting a family. OK. Dan would graduate. I would finish my junior year. Have the baby and finish college.


               

That plan changed too...

Three babies and four years later, Dan decided to return to college and get his Masters Degree. I would then finish my senior year.

Plans change again…

A mix-up with grades caused Dan’s fellowship to collapse and vanish. He took a long-term substitute position in Spokane. I student taught 1st grade then another student teaching in 7th and 8th grade. I got hired to teach 3rd grade beginning in January. But, I had to finish my BA before I could teach. So, I took a correspondence class and one or two night classes. All this totaled 26 credits for fall quarter and a BA in December.

Again plans change...   

Fast-forward 10 years…
I taught Special Reading for six months. Finished my 5th year of college and began my second year of teaching. The first day of school my principal showed up, “You are one credit short.” Somehow, one credit was earned before I taught a full year. I called Olympia. The Queen and final word on teacher certification, informed me, “You should have taught school instead of staying home and raising kids!". This was said by, the single ‘in’ charge of credentials lady.

One credit! OK! I can do this. I called Central Washington College. I did a directed study, finished in one week (got an A). Done. The credit was sent here, there and nowhere to be found. Lost! My job could no longer be held. Home Again!

Another 10 years…
Two kids in college, Karmen a junior in High School and once again, I began my beloved teaching career.


I would not change all these changes, even if I could. I was able to accomplish my most important job in the world… I was home with my kids…
PRICELESS…

Concealed Weapon...

Concealed Weapon...

The other night on the local news, they reported that the rules on carrying a concealed weapon had been changed. The rules had to align with the state laws.

Then they said “You can carry a concealed weapon, if you have the proper documentation but you can’t shoot it.”  Now that got my attention.

Now, if I want to carry a gun and have the permit to prove it, I’m ok.  Legal.  However, if I shoot it, especially in the city limits, I can be arrested.

My brain kicked in. Ok, I’m in a bad situation. I pull out my gun along with my permit to carry. Since I can’t shoot, what do I do? Throw the gun at the bad guy?  Ask to see his permit?  Does this seem ridiculous to you, too?

Then my thinking moved on.  I have a secret weapon. Available at all times. The Holy Spirit.  I have a permit to carry. Jesus says “I will never leave you. I will send the Holy Spirit.”  Here’s the problem. Do I keep it a secret?  It is not politically or socially correct to talk religion.  But, is it ok to talk about my love affair with Jesus?

And when the really bad guy – satan – shows up, I need to pull out and flash my permit to carry.  “In the name of Jesus – scat, scoot, be gone!”  And the Bible says “He must flee.”  

written 9/3/10

September

This is from my writing class...

September...

Thirty days hath September...

The lazy hazy days of summer are beginning to fade away. Replaced by the cool crisp mornings, sunny, warm afternoons and cool, clear nights.

September brings great joy and excitement. My first granddaughter, Audrey, was born in September. My first great granddaughter, Adeline, was born thirty years later in September.

And then 9/11. A horrifying day. Many died. Many became heroes. The nation drew together. Families checked on one another, 'Where are you?' each of our kids called and inquired. And each year a return to the events of that day.

School starts. Personally, I would prefer an October start. Let school out in June. A sunny, hot, cloudy, rainy, cold month. September is wonderful. Leaves changing color before leaving trees bare for the winter.

Giant V's filling the sky. (This morning 17 V's and long trailing lines heading north filled the sky. I would expect South, maybe I'm confused)

And now the aftermath of Harvey. Water and destruction everywhere. Also the fires, forests and homes gone. Exhauster workers, loss of people and animals.

Disaster... bringing out the best in most and the worst in some. And here the hazy sky reminding me of how blessed I am. Smoke from far off fires and the noise from heavy machinery as our street and sidewalk are torn up to be replaced. It will be a better place in another month.

Thirty days hath September... eight are already gone...

I think September is my favorite month, maybe not this year.

Witness...

God has called us to be His witness'.

Just how does that work?

Most people are opposed to having their faults pointed out.

I saw a sign on a church reader board: God needs more witness's less judges.

Since I watch crime shows on TV, I am almost an expert on what a witness can and should say. I have also been on jury duty a couple of times -- so, I know what I'm talking about...

A witness: tells what he/she saw or heard. First hand information!

A witness: answers the question that is asked. They don't volunteer additional feelings or thoughts or words. Answer only the question?

A witness: tells the truth. They do not make things up. Lie or embellish. Truth and only the truth.

If I am to be a witness for God, I need to live a life, so others will ask the right questions. I need to listen to the question AND answer the question. With my experience. And tell the truth.

To do this, I need to know 'the truth' and trust God to take it from there. 

I am 'the witness'.
God is the 'judge' not me.

But, it needs to be personal. My words. My story. What I have seen. What I have heard. What I have experienced.

Jesus Christ...God's son... My Savior...

Ask...

You have not, because you ask not...

I am a do it yourself person. Whether I know how to do something or not - I try to fix, move, tear down or build up. Many of my 'projects' sit, waiting for completion, because I hate to ask for help.

Several years ago I broke my wrist when I leaned out too far on a ladder. I was then ordered,'no more ladders'. The bent one was removed from the premises. Friends and family do that to protect those they love.

Sometime later, I completed a task that was noticed by a member of our Home Group. 'Why didn't you call me?'

'I didn't want to bother you!'

Leaning out from the circle so he could look me in the eye, Andy said,'Could that be pride?'

'Of course not,' I replied...

My computer was not co-operating with me. I fussed and fumed. Dan couldn't figure it out either.

For a week my computer sat useless. Two reasons: I didn't know who to ask and yes, my pride was there. I began to think about who to ask - An expert. A Geek*. That is when Curtis came to mind. He made no mention of my lack of Geekiness. He patiently explained the 'How to.'

I think my friend Andy was right. Pride keeps me from asking for help.

Pride - ASK! Ask an expert. They are usually happy to help.

And know God is the ultimate expert. Forgiveness? ASK! Directions? or Direction? ASK!

Don't let pride keep you confused, useless or spinning your wheels.

* In todays world: Geek is a good thing!!

Picking' a Pet...

 

Pickin' a Pet...
(through the eyes and ears of the pet)

"They are back. Pick me! Pick Me! I'm looking as cute and cuddly as I can. Oh, pick me!"

'Dad doesn't like black dogs!'


"Did she really say that? Is he a racist?"

'But, I don't want a white dog and a cream dog. We will take the little black one.'

"Did she really say that? That she would pick me!" 

'We will have to watch Piper. He might think she is a rat.'

"Who is Piper? A cat? A kid? Another dog? What is a rat?'

 "She picked me up. She chose me. Ok! We are outa' here. I'm going home. I'll have my own people. And another critter to play with. I hope Dad will like me. Maybe, he won't realize I'm black."

"I have a name now - Cessna. It goes with Piper. Dad is a pilot and loves planes. I hate the name Cessna. Sounds silly."

"Now, I'm in his lap. He is petting me. Giving me treats. He has treats for me! I'm gonna' call him: Dan, Dan the treat man. That is what she calls him."

"He likes me!" 

"Oh, Piper is a dog. A Westie. Seems really big. Now, he is sniffing me, but she is right here with me. She is much bigger than Piper. She will protect me."


'See your new friend. A playmate'

'You know, I don't like the name: Cessna. We are going to call you Jett. J.E.T.T. You are black. You run fast. And it is an airplane name.'

"Jett and Piper. I'm gonna' like it here."

 Jett went to join Piper after Christmas. Somewhere they are watching and waiting. Ten wonderful years she delighted us.

You want me to do what?

"You want me to do what?"

 The sermon was about Jesus as a shepherd. A shepherd was the lowest of the low. Looked down upon. Couldn't even testify in court.

At Bible Study, I learned that bramble bushes were gathered and stacked to make the sheep pen. The shepherd slept at the opening. Anything: sheep rustlers, wolf, lion or bear had to get past the shepherd to get to the sheep.

My mind flew to heaven. I pictured God and Jesus discussing his 'trip to earth'. "You want me to be what? A shepherd? Keeping them safe. Sleeping on the ground? Keeping them calm, so they can eat? Going after the ones that won't stay with the flock? Giving up my life for even one wayward lamb?" 

"Why do I have to go as a Jew? Most of the world hates Jews. Jews think they know it all. Their leaders will not want to give up their ideas nor authority. They are certain who God is and how He works and what his plans are. You, dear Father, have to be kidding!"

"You want me to ask for water: From a Samaritan, A women? Come on, I invented water. Jewish men don't talk to women. And certainly not Samaritan women. And her? Good Grief! Do you know what kind of woman she is. What if someone sees me? You're kidding?"

"I'll spend nine months where? Oh, NO! then thirty years just hanging around Nazareth. Then three years wandering around Israel with a dozen unusual, arguing misfits. Crowds pushing and demanding miracles. Come on, Dad, can't we come up with a better plan?"

"A cross? A CROSS! A long painful death. And naked! With people mocking. Spitting. Jeering. And to top it all off, You won't be able to stand the sight. All of the evil, hurtful wrongs of the world will be piled on me. Just as if I had really committed them. Father, just when I need you the most, you won't be there. Are you sure this is the only way?"

"Remember, they have chosen to walk away from us. They made the choice. Then followed up with actions. Hurtful evil. Sin after sin. They don't deserve mercy or grace."

God said, "Will you do it?" Jesus said, "Of course!" 

 And He did.

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A Work of Art... A Gift of Love

       A Work of Art... A Gift of Love...


       Our wonderful friends, Kathi and Frank, came for a visit on Monday.  They came
       bearing gifts --

       Frank brought a bottle of wine - Sweet Peach wine. Wine he made in his own 'Lab'. 
       In his basement. From the fruit on his farm.  

       Kathi, the multi-crafter, brought  a 'portfolio'. Homemade from her crafting, sewing, 
       quilting place upstairs. Describing this portfolio is difficult. You really have to see,
       hold and page through it to get the real 'feel'. It fits perfectly on my lap. Soft but sturdy.          Filled with STUFF. A holder for a note pad and cards. There are several writing                      notebooks. These are removable, so I can put new ones in as I fill them with 
       Thinkin's,Thoughts and Randomness. Finishing off is a booklet with grid paper 
       for ideas, plans and whatever.

       Works of Art - their kind of art.

       Gifts of Love - Time spent. Knowing that I love sweet wine, writing and
       sometimes thinking and dreaming.

        Best of all - their presence. Which was way, way too short.

       But, as I write and drink the wine, they are here with me.

       Gifts of Time.    Love in action.   That is what friends do...
              

Here I Am...

  

     Yep… Here I Am…

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        Again.  Finally.  

     So many times, I have tried to POST to my blog. I sit in front of my BIG MAC. Pull      up juju-beenthinkin’ and search for New Post. It is nowhere to be found. Next Blog      leads to a How to Page. I search and search. ‘Doing the same thing over and              over’ expecting different results. (Is that called, insanity?)

     Finally, I give up. Ignore the whole Blog thing. Shut down the computer with                various descriptions of my mental capacity running through my head. I then go            play Spider Solitaire, it is more user friendly. I even stop Thinkin’ and writin’. A few      weeks or months later, I try again. Same results. An empty cycle of non-                      blogging.

    Today, while face timing with Karmen, she suggested that, “Maybe, I was in the           wrong app, or something like that. I went to the blog. Dan held my iPad so                   Karmen could see the blog on the BIG MAC and I moved the cursor! (do you know     why it is called, the cursor?  @#$%! That’s why!)

    And, together we figured the whole confusing mess out. SIGH… I was in the wrong     place to write and  post to my Blog. I was in the reading place. Not the writing             place. Didn’t know there was a difference.

    I needed help. But, I didn’t ask the right questions to the right person. Therefore, I       made zero progress.

     Been Thinkin’

   Others are willing and even happy to help. I need to ask! Now, I can start Thinkin’         and writin’ again.

          Keep checkin’…