my problems are stupid

Really. They are. My problems are stupid.  I don't know how many times I have to be reminded of this, but somewhere between frequently and hourly.

I have what I call "first world white woman problems." Hard drive crashing, muffin top, graying hair, lack of insurance, accidentally backing into my ex-husband's car with my van (yeah...that last one happened last week).

See--stupid problems, right?

Although they don't always feel stupid. Sometimes, a lot of times, they feel suffocating. And numberless. As soon as I can knock one down, another comes up. They start to make me feel bad about myself and my abilities, scared about my future, uncomfortable in my present, and melancholy about my past. And then...the stupid perspective comes:

I see a man with his legs removed at the hip crossing the street in his motorized wheelchair. Otherwise young, healthy, attractive, but unable to walk. And he's smiling, seems in a hurry to be somewhere on time.

A friend's 8 year old son overhears me talking to her about money stresses, stops playing, goes upstaris, and comes back down clutching a dollar and twenty-seven cents in his hand. "I know it's not much," he says, offering it to me, "but maybe it will help?" I pull him into a big hug and weep over his unselfish kindness.

Tonight, I read the news story about the Pakistani acid victim survivor, Fakhra Younus, formerly a beautiful dancer who has lived with her face burned and scarred beyond recognition for over a decade, undergoing one painful surgery after another, all while trying to advocate for other women attacked with acid by vengeful husbands.

She finally committed suicide by jumping from the balcony of her hotel room, unable to endure anymore. And I weep again because I am here, behind this computer, healthy and whole and comfortable and full-stomached; my freshly bathed children tucked safely into warm beds; my dishwasher humming along; my cat asleep next to me. Lights, power, food, vehicle, a closet full of clothes and shoes. Lonely. But safe.

And yes, there is a burdening amount on my mind tonight--huge decisions that need to be made. But they do seem, comparitively, miniscule.

*I do hope one day soon to have a sufficient amount of income to allow me to work less like an insane woman and parent more, maybe have time to start a relationship, refresh some friendships. Stop making people feel like they're squeezed in, despite my best attempts not to.

*I do hope one day to be able to afford health insurance again so when weird stuff happens inside my body, I could actually go see a doctor and not rely on Web MD (which always comes to the conclusion that I am, indeed, as good as dead).

*I hope to be able to repair the roof on my house, update the electrical system, maybe go so far as to remodel my hobo-smelling bathroom once all four boys have proven they can hit the toilet.

*I want a life that can stay settled for longer than six months at a stretch without knocking me down with some other make-it-or-break-it trial.

But know that any complaining/worrying/ruminating I have done and will certainly do on my life's challenges comes with the perspective that I know most of my problems are stupid. Yes, they're bigger than a lot of people would ever wish for, and (frustratingly) due in large part to bad decisions others have made, but I know they were custom-designed for me by a God who knows I'm smart, humble, and faithful enough to handle them. Or, if I'm not, He is.

And He's always got my back.

the chair next to mine

I am an old soul. Not that I feel old--well wait, I take that back. Yesterday I did a four mile hike and trail run, so I'm feeling old and sore and creaky today, but in general--I'm holding together fairly well for my age. But I don't really remember being a child. I felt like I wanted to grow up quickly. Not in that way that makes some kids take up smoking or promiscuity or the family car without permission when they're 12 (I only ever did that last one...), but in the way that I wanted to get smart and old as quickly as I could so I could join the adults in their conversations and decision making. I think, mostly, I wanted to exert some type of control over my world that seemed too often out of control due to those blows life deals. I think I can also point to that old-soulness for the fact I've always loved hanging out with the elderly. And watching Lawrence Welk.

Today in church, my two older boys were singing in the choir and my two younger ones had stayed home with their dad--leaving me a rare Sunday where I was sitting by myself. My eyes kept coming back again and again to the woman a few rows in front of me...

There she was in her paisley silk dress coat, her hair freshly set in curls. I had watched her shuffle slowly in, hunched over, and sit in an empty row. She set her purse down on the seat next to her. And that's how she stayed for the next two hours.

I watched her wipe her eyes as one of the speakers shared an especially touching story. Watched her gaze fix on the wives rubbing at their husband's backs, watch all the toddlers wobbling by in the halls, watch all the young mothers breezing by her with babies tucked over their shoulders. I knew she must be considering her own husband and children, remembering those fleeting days of impromptu back rubs and holding babies. I knew her body must be hurting--sitting on those hard metal chairs. I knew she probably wanted someone next to her to whisper to about what she was thinking and feeling, to take her cold hand in their warm one.

I knew because there I was, two rows behind her, probably 50 years her junior, yet...the same. I was sitting in an empty row, surrounded by families. My dress came from Forever 21 and my purse had a union jack on it, but I, too, was watching the couples and the little ones and the babies. I, too, was experiencing that bittersweet feeling of how quickly time passes and grows our babies up. I, too,  was feeling the longing for someone strong and soft and warm by my side. All the while bawling because I was so proud of my Z and E up at the front, singing so beautifully, knowing (thankfully) that I still had a lot of happy years of mothering ahead of me.

I think too, though, that the woman was also feeling a peace and connection to those around her. A sense of accomplishment and gentle pride that accompanies any life well lived. And I hope when my body finally catches up to the age of my soul, that I will get out of bed even when I'd rather not. That I'll still take enough thought as to my appearance to fix my hair and put on my best dress--even with no one to impress. That I will take my purse and my achy body and go to church, confident I still have things to offer.

Even to that woman two rows behind me that I don't even realize I'm teaching by doing nothing.

I only kick myself that I didn't go sit next to her. Put her purse on the floor and sit in that spot. Next time, I will. And hoping that whole "good intentions" thing counts for something.

I'm holding my 14, 12, 7, and 5 year old "babies" a little closer today. I'm praying a little harder to know when the right man and the right time have arrived. I'm praying to keep having patience and contentment until then. Praying, that at some point, I'll have more than a purse to sit by, but praying that should it never come, I still continue to enjoy life anyway, and never just endure it.

i love you, christmas. but i kinda hate you, too.

It would be practically  unAmerican, maybe even unHuman to say I hate Christmas, right? I don't. Really. I promise. It's just that when you're trying to balance five jobs, and grade final papers, and organize the application processes with various essays to write for 6 different MFA programs--well, Christmas is like one more giant thing stuck on your plate---a wonderful thing like a head-size slab of cake, but still, you didn't  have room for it.

Decorating was the main thing that seemed overwhelming. Even though this is my third Christmas being single, I've had a male figure of some kind to help me with the tree assembling and house lighting the previous two years. This year, I knew there were some guys I could call on for  help, but I really wanted to do it myself. I'm feeling fiercely independent that way as of late.

**Fiercely independent=Stuff takes a while to get done.**

So, I finally haul in all the dusty Rubbermaid totes from the garage on Thursday night and drop them in the family room. And they sit there.

Friday, I opened them up and started to sort out what I for sure wanted to put out and what I could skip this year for the sake of ease and speed. And there were the Spiegel candlestick holders Brad bought me our first Christmas together. And the tin container full of the clay ornaments my mom made with the boys her last Christmas with us. And the reindeer fashioned out of paper hand prints I made with Z and E when I was still homeschooling. All those reminders of what I'd lost brought me to un-Christmas-y tears. So I put the lids back on the boxes and I cut out some paper snowflakes for the front window. That was all my heart could take on Friday.

Saturday, the previous day's pain was softened by the sheer joy my L and J exhibited in the simple act of me re-arranging furniture so the tree could fit in the big front window. It was as if the couch were some *magical play place* now that it faced the opposite direction. And Z grinned from ear to ear when I told him that he could back the van out of the garage so I could get up to the attic.Every 14 year old wants to drive. Even a van... in reverse... for 30 feet :) The tree got drug down from the attic and sat next to the pile of Rubbermaid totes.  And it sat there. This was still progress...

Sunday, the boy squad and I started  up the Jazz Holidays station on Pandora and figured out how to assemble the tree. It was another one of those things that seemed harder to do than it actually was.  We got it done in less than an hour. I put out some more decorations. We even got their smaller tree put up in the family room and all trimmed. We were pretty proud of ourselves.

That night after the boy squad was in bed, it was time to get started hanging ornaments on the big tree. I plugged in the strand of lights...only to find half of them didn't work. I fiddled with moving and replacing bulbs, breaking two of them, then muttered under my breath as I wrapped them around the tree, half-lit, jokingly telling God that if He wanted to perform a Christmas miracle, He could make my lights work. I got everything up at nearly 1 am, smiled that I had finished and our house finally had a little holiday cheer, then sat down at the computer to sort through my bulging inbox. And guess what?

As I was sitting there--the non-working lights...came on.
Not all of them, but about half of the half.

Yeah.

It was as if God was nodding his approval. And showing me He cares. Even about the little stuff.

So--here I am on December 15. I haven't watched a single Christmas movie, there are no lights on the outside of our house, we haven't decorated cookies, the advent calendar isn't hung, and I still have a lot of presents to buy. But, I'm ok. I'm happy. I trust I'll fit it all in, somehow. And my boys will have all the simple, sweet memories of Christmas they deserve.

 I trust in myself. Because even being "fiercely independent"... I have the best Helper I could ever have.

there is no fear in this dojo

You know that scene in Home Alone where Kevin crawls out from underneath his parents bed and shouts, "I'M NOT AFRAID ANYMORE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I SAID, I'M NOT AFRAID ANYMORE!"

Yeah. That's me.

I think.

I hope.

The tide of my life is turning...again. Blessings seem to be pouring in from every direction. As if all the hard work, preparation, and prayers I have put in are all paying off at once. I fashioned a new bow when the old one broke, asked where to go get food, and finally...I'm eating. Now the trick is to just try and enjoy it without continuing to constantly glance over my shoulder, wondering when it's all going to get snatched away from me again.

So, yeah, I'm still a little uneasy. Maybe a little paranoid. I for sure still experience longing, and frustration, and feeling overwhelmed,and the occasional burst of anger (which I channel into kickboxing and writing "bad guy stories"). But you know what I'm not feeling anymore?

Fear.

I mean, if a tiger (or, if I'm being completely honest...a moth) chased me down the road or whatever, yeah--I'd be afraid. But the unnecessary fear, the worrisome kind that turned my insides to bile at night--It hasn't been around for quite a while now.

No more ulcers bothering me. No more waking up multiple times in the middle of the night. Much less heart cramping and palpitations.

 I think, after almost four years of learning one lesson after another about how God works (generally a sweep in at the last minute, dramatically save the day type guy in my case), I'm finally "getting it."

I have to do my part, of course. I have to wake up every day, and work hard, and build upon my talents, and have faith, and serve and be nice to people. But the rest just...comes. Needs get taken care of or suddenly don't seem like needs anymore. Big tasks may not get done in the timeline I want them to, but they always, always get done. I'm even beginning to see the answers to why some people come in to my life to stay, and why others come...and then go. It all has a purpose. If I just sit back, take a deep breath, and trust, somehow it manages to work out in happy ways.



For now: Living without fear has put me in a powerful place.

I'm not afraid to take chances. To send out work and have it rejected. I'm not afraid of where money is going to come from, even if it means I work my patootie off at five jobs. I'm not afraid of my boys making any worse choices than most kids make at their age. I'm not afraid of being single--in fact, I find the longer I'm left alone, the more awesome stuff I accomplish. And even though I'm not dating right now, I'm not afraid to try again at some point. Even if it means another heartbreak.


Of course, this is a much easier thing to proclaim when it feels I'm nearly to the top of a particular mountain rather than only standing at the base of it--but it really is true. All the time. My heart knows this. And I hope it remembers.

things we do not choose

It's the year 731. Abbess Eusebia and the 40 nuns under her care at the ocean side monastery in Marseille, France receive warning that Saracens of Arabia have invaded. Knowing that they could not escape, and knowing of the infamous cruelty of the invaders, Abbess Eusebia and those women under her make a drastic decision: In order, they hope, to preserve their sacred virginity--which they view as an integral part of their covenant relationship with God--they cut off their noses, believing their disfigured faces would thwart their would be attackers. And do you know what happened?

They were raped. So far as the historical records indicate, all of them were raped. Then killed. And their monastery burned to the ground.

Yup.

Hard to understand, isn't it? It's one of those stories that makes many throw up their hands and say, "there is no God. If there were, how could he let such horrible things happen to those who love and serve Him most?" It's a question we believers have some answers for---but that we can't fully reconcile in our hearts either. We try, I'm certain, but we fall short, knowing that there are so many questions we will never have answers for in this life. But that we have faith WILL be answered one day, somehow, by the only One who can answer them. Perfectly. Usually, that explanation doesn't go over so well with those who don't "get it."

So, it's one thing to hear a story like Abbess Eusebia (now a saint) and think, yeah, well, she was a nun. That's practically like signing on to be a martyr. We reason the same for the apostles who met horrible deaths. But not us, right? We just want to be humble followers. We agree to give, even to give until it's uncomfortable---but certainly God will never try us to the same ends as abbesses and apostles, right?

Well, I am not being asked to cut my nose off, nor being asked to endure torture and imprisonment for my beliefs. But, I do worry God is calling me to pass through more than I am able to, more than I am even able to comprehend passing through. And I am struggling desperately to figure out why?!

Why does God say, Here are things that I have sent to make you most happy: security in a family unit, marriage, the blessing of raising children together as a couple, prosperity in order to be able to help others. Yes, these are the very best temporal blessings I can give, says God. Look around you and see evidence of that everywhere.  But you....you cannot have them. I know you want them more than anything, and that they're righteous desires but they are not meant for you. No you, you will be one who has to walk a different path, a lonely path. I will walk with you, and you will feel my divine presence when you need it the most, but you will also feel terrible, horrible loneliness that you will need to find a way to crawl on top of so it doesn't eat you alive.

And what do you say to that? You can't run away from what you know and believe--you'd forever be a shadow of yourself (ask Jonah!) but how, too, do you find the courage inside yourself to answer, "Well, I've lived my life in faith and devotion to you hoping one day you would deliver me, in a sense, in this life, and set me in a blessed and secure place, but you are now saying you're not going to do that and that this is my 'fate'? Well, that's ok, Lord. I'll still follow you. And be happy about it."

I'm not to that point yet.  I can't answer with that surety. For as strong as my faith is, I'm just not there. I'm like the girl on the pinnacle of the largest hill on the roller coaster screaming, "STOP! STOP THE RIDE!" all the while knowing there's no getting off at this point. Not without a lot of damage. And haunted with the sick feeling that , although it's a roller coaster, I'm not going to 'enjoy the ride' all that much.

Cryptic post? Yes. I'm sorry about that. But even without being given all the specifics of how it relates to my life, can't you feel how it might relate to you? Do you ever ask yourself, what would I really give up to follow my faith? I mean, really , really? And what is your answer...?

an open christmas letter to my readers: the gift of belief

Dear Wonderful Readers and Friends,

This is going to be a very different post than it would have been an hour ago. I was quite prepared to sit down tonight and write about giving up. How I was so physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted that I was simply going to quit with all the stupid hopeful optimism already. It didn't seem to be getting me anywhere. How I felt so ugly and old and scared and especially incapable of the burdens laid on my shoulders.

Christmas is hard. It feels like someone is shining a giant red and green spotlight on the big void in my life--the one caused by the absence of Brad. This is my second Christmas without him, and it's still difficult. I watch the joy in our children's eyes as they decorate the tree ,or visit Santa ,or stick candy on the gingerbread house ,or tell me the story of the baby Jesus being born. I so badly want to look over into the eyes of their father and share that "we done good" smile that we'd shared a million times. To reach for his hand. To lay my head on his shoulder at the end of a hectic but wonderful day. Now, I can't even get him to look me in the eyes during the few minutes he spends dropping off or picking up the boys. In my heart, I still deeply love this man who is there....but not there for me anymore.

With that attitude of disparaging sadness, I was ready to let spill from my fingers what would have been probably the most depressing Christmas message ever! Then right before I did, a friend of mine caught me on the chat feature of my computer. She and her three boys lost their husband and father in September to a massive heart attack. He wasn't even 40. She asked me for some advice on if her life would ever feel normal again....on how to find hope during this bleak period.....on whether or not she would ever find someone to love her again.

And there I was--answering her questions while answering my own at the same time. My life was put into perspective in the act helping her to find some. It's true---It is not easy. There will always be that scar, that pain, that yearning for those we love who leave us--in whatever capacity that might be--but there will always be hope. It reminded me of some of the words penned by Francis Pharsellus Church, editor of the New York Sun, in 1897. A young girl named Virginia had wrote him to ask if there was really such thing as Santa Claus as her friends had told her there wasn't. To this he said:

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge......

......You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

So, this Christmas I have decided to give myself the gift of believing just a little longer. I don't know when or in what way I am ever going to get over the great pain inflicted on me in this life by the person I loved most, but I choose to continue to believe that I will heal. That there will be a time of sweet peace in my life again and even a type of innocence to be rediscovered. For now, I cling to the blessings I have. I breathe in the joy of the little moments. I take time to acknowledge my pain and cry through it, then to put myself back together and push on.

The future is as bright as your faith: May you grasp that message as I have and be showered with all that is good and bright this holiday season. Merry, Merry Christmas!

With all my love,

~Jennifer P.

i could always take to gleaning the fields, or taking in boarders, but hopefully not prostitution

Can you believe I used to lecture on blogging?! I think in these past few months I have broken every single rule of running a good blog that I used to speak about: sporadic entries, not doing much reading myself, making my posts longer than a 3 minute read. My hit counter looks like a seriously angled slippery slide!

And yet, I know there are some of you who still keep reading...so I keep writing....knowing that one day I will have a span of down time where I can come back and engage in your lives again. At least I hope I will....

I've been feeling awfully afraid of my future lately. I met with my school advisor last week who suggested I add a Business minor to my English/Writing major, as there isn't currently a lot of paying work outside of teaching for English majors. A business minor with some careful internships could get me into Advertising/PR work (in competition with the Communications graduates, of course). Adding a minor would mean at least another year, more than likely two, to my school commitment....and I just don't know that I have that much time. I have about three and a half more years of "funding" in me before I will have to go to work. And--as many of you are experiencing first hand--"work" is the new four letter word. People with multiple degrees and Masters degrees and years of experience are still ****ing in stock rooms at Target right now.

If I spend too much time thinking about it, it almost makes my heart seize. I want nothing more in this world than to stay at home and raise my boys. I KNOW I am smart and creative and talented and capable and hard working---but I would still rather apply those talents to my mothering, not in some bedraggled form of gainful employment.

Do I sound gloomy? I suppose I am-- a bit, but my faith is still strong and bright. I am certain that God will take care of me and these precious children he has entrusted me with. That doesn't mean He isn't going to ask me to do hard things though. I CAN do hard things....I just don't want to. Might it mean losing my house at some point? Possible daycare for my little ones? I don't know. I don't want to know.

For now, I'm just going to keep doing the best I can. Be a careful steward of that which I have, and keep the prayer in my heart that I have offered up every day for 19 months now. The prayer for Peace, Patience, Inspiration, and Ability.

Wishing you all the same.

grim reaper-ing....in an upbeat, happy kind of way

I have been thinking a lot about mortality lately. Mostly when I look into the mirror and see these vulnerably soft eyes staring back at me. I think: I could go at any minute.

Maybe it's because people in my family do not seem want for long lives. I have outlived my father by a year now. He was killed in a car accident when he was 33. My mom's mom died when my mother was an infant--slipped into a diabetic coma. Her next mother (a step mother, but the one she always knew as a mother) was hit by a train 40 or so years ago. Another grandmother had a stroke. One grandpa with a heart attack at 50, two that choked to death (we have a lot of second marriages in my family...so I have a large assortment of relatives here). An aunt killed in a rollover accident. My mom dying of cancer. It's still strange, or sad, or whatever adjective you want to insert there, to think that I was more or less an orphan by the time I was 30.

I'm not afraid of dying, mind you. I got over that fear long ago. I know my days are known to God and he isn't going to take me until my purpose on this earth is deemed finished and not a second sooner. And if it's not a quick kind of death I am blessed to have...well, I know He will help me to bear whatever slow, painful thing I'm asked to endure and that that trial is part of my life too. With that faith, I feel free to live my life without fear--or very little of it anyway.

But today...today I just want to feel more alive. I want to walk feeling the pressure in my feet as I move forward--the weight shifting from the heavy ball of my foot, through the arch, and spread across the length and width of my toes. I want to feel my tongue form sounds in my mouth as I speak. I want to feel the square of my knees as I bend to sit. I want to shout "I am alive! I am here! I have another day to learn and grow and become and help! What do you want me to do today God?"And I want to hear the answer. And I want to obey.

As one who feels she is often living on borrowed time--take some advice from me: Kiss your spouse, kiss your kids. Don't go to bed or walk out the door angry. When something about a loved one starts to bother you, think about how you would feel if they weren't there to do that bothersome thing. Throw your arms around the present and don't let fear do anything but motivate you to have more faith.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

What are you going to do today to show your gratitude for being alive?

a little lesson from my life

You know when you look at a post and my fonts aren't all BIG and small---that I'm doing some deep thinking, right?! :)


In the midst of the various trials I am still trying to work my way through ---I often feel simultaneously surrounded by divine love on all sides... and completely, totally alone. It's like Heavenly Father is RIGHT THERE--close enough I can hear His peace whispered to my heart--but sometimes I just reach that point where my physical body longs to be held and comforted too---then who do I turn to?

When Zane (my first) was a baby--he had his days and nights all mixed up. At 6 months, he was still waking up every hour and a half..... all night long.... EVERY night. We'd tried a pacifier, tried white noise machines, tried putting him in his car seat on the dryer, tried anti-gas drops, tried pre-emptive feedings, tried EVERYTHING! His pediatrician recommended a book called "Teaching Your Child to Sleep" by Dr. Richard Ferber, and I ran right out and bought it. Anyone heard of it? "Ferberization"? That's where you let your child 'cry it out' for increasingly longer intervals until they finally learn to put themselves back to sleep. You can go into their room, comfort them verbally--but not physically--and then continue to let them cry. I would never have considered doing this before, but I was soooooooo tired-- and poor baby Zane was too.

I can remember those nights so clearly. It was heart-wrenching to hear your innocent child crying for you and KNOW that you had the power to make it all stop, but knowing that what you were allowing them to go through was for their own good. I would sit outside his room with my head leaning on the door, listening to that pathetic cry--and crying along with him. I found myself whispering over and over: "I'm here little one. Don't worry. I love you. I'm sorry you have to cry. I promise it's all for your good. I'll be there in the morning and you'll smile at me and I'll feed you and we'll just have the best day ever!".

I come back to that scene often--when I feel that gnawing alone-ness and need for comfort; that God is right outside the door of my spirit saying : "I'm here little one. Don't worry. I love you. You know I have the power to make this all better. I'm sorry you have to cry. I promise it's all for your good. "........."...weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning. Hear, O Lord, and have mercy upon me: Lord, be thou my helper. Thou hast turned my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness." (Psalms 30: 5, 10-11).


I look forward to that joyous morning that my Father will be there-- and smile at me, and comfort me emotionally, spiritually and--finally-- physically......and it really will be the best day ever!

sufficient for the day

My dishes are done. My floors are swept and mopped. My checkbook is balanced. The vomit covered car seat has been shampooed for the fourth time this week (concussion=lingering nausea---- that seems to show itself every time we get in the car). My children are read to and kissed and tucked safely in their beds. My house is eerily quiet.

This use to be the time of day I so looked forward to. A time for re-connecting. A time for the day's reflection. A time to laugh and be close. Now, I usually invent a hundred things to keep me busy between the boys' bedtime and when I finally fall into bed exhausted--but they all got done too quickly tonight. And I find myself still and lost in my thoughts. Mostly good ones thankfully.

There is a story in the scriptures that really fits how I've been feeling these past few weeks. I know I have shared it with at least one of you before. It is the story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath. Because of the drought caused by the sealing of the heavens, there is a famine over all the land. Elijah, following God's counsel, goes to Zarephath and finds a widow there gathering sticks. He asks her for water, and she immediately starts off to go get it. As she leaves, he asks also for a morsel of bread. Her reply: "As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse: and, behold, I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it, and die".

Oh! how many times I have felt like that lately. As though I am on my very last emergency reserves of stamina, of patience, of forgiveness, of peace, of happiness, and of ability of every kind. That I am trying my very best to serve God (fetching the water), but I simply can do no more for Him (bring bread) because it feels as though I barely have enough strength for myself and my children-- and if I have to give any more or endure any more--I'm going to die. Elijah's answer is God's answer to me too:

"Fear not; go and do as thous hast said: but make me therof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son. For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth".

First--I have to serve God. I have to read, study, ponder, pray. I need to think of ways to serve my family and others. I must give a little more of my anger, of my fear, of my pride, of my will over to Him each new day. He doesn't ask for the whole loaf-- just a little cake. But his promises are immense.

"And she went and did according to the saying of Elijah: and she, and he, and her house did eat many days. And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail according to the word of the Lord, which he spake by Elijah".

It never said that one day her barrel of meal was full and her oil cruse overflowing and she never had to worry about being hungry again--she merely had sufficient for the day. She had to have faith every morning that when she put her hand in that meal barrel-- there would be enough-- as was promised her.

And that is the story of my life currently. While I want to have everything restored, in a sense, to the point of overflowing it was just a few short weeks ago--it is just not what is meant to be for me at this time. For now, I have to have faith that there will be enough of whatever I need to feed myself and my children for the day. Sufficient stamina, patience, forgiveness, peace, happiness, ability. Sufficient for the trials, large and small, that continue to come. Sufficient to recognize the many blessings that are still mine.

Most joyful of all is that I know that one day the Lord will send fullness into my life again, the same way he finally sent rain to the earth of Zarephath again. Things simply cannot stay this difficult forever when I and so many others are praying with such faith for them to pass eventually. And until that blessed time, I feel my faith can sustain me for "many days" as it did the widow, her son, and God's prophet. I know it can because I am doing things in the order I'm suppose to. As my father in law once told me: "the scriptures tell us 'and it came to pass', not 'and it came and stayed and stayed and stayed.....'. " Makes me smile :). I am certain it is true. (and in case you're interested, the story of Elijah and the widow is found in 1 Kings 17:1-16)

So grateful for answers I find...... and a happy place to share them.

Wishing you all sufficient for your day as well.

good-bye old friend

Say what you will about my religion, you could never dispute the greatness, meekness, and kindness of this man. Gordon B. Hinckley passed away Sunday night at 7:00 due to old age. He has been a constant inspiration and example to me and to my family. Our prayers go out to his children-- and we are certain he's having a wonderful reunion with his wife of 67 years, Marjorie.
"I don't worry too much about the future, and I don't worry very much about the past. The past is gone, and you can't change, you can't correct it. The future, you can anticipate, but you can't necessarily do very much about it. It is the present you have to deal with . Reach out for every good opportunity to do what you ought to do."

-Gordon B. Hinckley




Good-bye old friend!

Gratitude

I thought I'd give a little 'sermon' in honor of Thanksgiving--just my thoughts on gratitude and its role in our lives.

As we think about civilizations in history that have prospered and been blessed because of righteousness, there are two ways they can go. The first is the pride cycle. Righteousness leads to blessings, and because of their abundance, they become 'respecters of class' and prideful, which leads to wickedness. The wickedness grows until they put off those things which made them righteous in the first place--namely God and keeping his commandments, and begin to trust in their own strength until they are finally destoyed from inside and/or out. Stripped of all their pride, they then become humble and repent, bringing them back to their previous state of righteousness. Do they then repeat the cycle of pride? What is the key to a lasting change?

It is the second way a people can go and that is the cycle of humility, and the keystone to this cycle is gratitude. Righteousness leads to blessings, and then-- instead of becoming prideful of those things they have-- sincere gratitude is expressed. They realize the source of their blessings is God. With their abundance and with their service, they give to those who have less. They realize they are nothing unto themselves but that "with God all things are possible". This leads not to destruction, but to further humility and continued repentance, and they are able to continue on in righteousness and receive further and richer blessings.

So whether in the life of whole nations, or in your own life, remember that gratitude is the great preserver.

"And now I would that ye should be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need, both spiritual and temporal; always returning thanks uno God for whatsoever things ye do receive" (Alma 7:23).

Hope you all have a wonderful and happy Thanksgiving!