be it ever so humble....

No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my bedroom best.

Well, that sounds good, doesn't it? Before you rush off, thinking I've become someone you shouldn't spend time with, let me explain.

As with most people, home is important to me and I've had what some would consider quite a few of them. When I was small, home was a house in a typical little "Mayberry" town in Illinois. I loved that house, but not because of it's spaces or the way it was decorated. I loved it because our family was still intact when we lived there. It was a place filled with love, safety, laughter and ease.

After that my mom and I lived in a vacation "lodge" in Evergreen Colorado, bouncing around from unit to unit depending on actual vacationers' reservations. (long story-you can ask me about it some time if you're all that interested.)

For one year my mom and I lived in an apartment right across the street from my school. Now I ask you, isn't that every child's dream? To have the joy of staring at your school day in and day out whether school is in session or not?

Later, as a young teen, (for ten months) home was a cabin in Alpena, Michigan and for almost another year I made my bed in a Christian community in Minneapolis.

For 3 1/2 months my address was a manor house in England and I lived with 6 girls in a trailer in a campground in Spain. The beautiful Mediterranean Sea was on one side of the campground and the Barcelona Sewer System on the other. (I'm sure you can imagine the smells that wafted through the area depending on which way the wind blew.)

I had a tiny apartment all to myself in Estes Park, Colorado and I spent one summer living with 11 other girls in an army tent in the Rockies.

After we married we lived in an apartment above a garage, another apartment that stared Rocky Mountain National Park in the face, and we lived in a teeny tiny cabin on the banks of the Big Thompson River. (Our bedroom was literally the size of our bed!)

After 2 1/2 years of marriage we moved to Indiana. We lived with my brother for 4 months, and two different apartments for 8 years. Then, we rented a house. I loved that place, and the Lord used it to bring a lot of healing and wholeness to my heart. But I learned there that it's not the beauty of a home, nor the furnishings, nor the paint on the walls that fulfill me. It's being with the people I love that make a house a home.

And now? We still live in Indiana. Our house is small; tiny some would say. It's only 1200 square feet-we have 3 bedrooms, a livingroom and an eat in kitchen. I've tried to make the house a welcoming place. The kitchen is painted a warm, happy color; it's bright and happy when the sun shines, and twinkle lights make it cozy and homey when it's gloomy outside. The table only seats 4 comfortably. I admit that is a drawback, but that table....the stories it could tell...I'll save that for another day; for now I'll just say if the house burned down, that table would be one of the things I'd miss the most.

I always thought our livingroom would be the place to hang out in this house... I've worked hard to make it a place that is welcoming, relaxing, warm, and friendly. I've tried to declutter it to get rid of some of the visual noise and have made the guys in my life rearrange the furniture til their backs ached, trying to create a space people would love to visit in.

Our bedroom is the last place on earth I thought people would want to hang out in. It's the last space in the house to "finish". My husband just painted the room and we have yet to find a comforter that can be friends with the walls. There is a treadmill, a sewing machine, our computer and a large desk in the room. It has been impossible thus far for me to make it a cozy, romantic place. It's more like a basement bedroom where all the things that don't fit anywhere else get tossed.

And yet, it seems to be a favorite place for the family. Maybe because of the basement type atmosphere? Whatever the reason, for some strange reason, whenever the 9 of us are together, we often end up here, in the "master bedroom", most of all of us piled on the bed. We lounge around, we laugh, tell stories, and hang out here, in this crazy, un-cozy, un-romantic place.

Which leads me back to the beginning. I think our family loves this bedroom, but not because of the way it's decorated. I think they love it because we can relax here. When we spend time here, we are together, with people we love. It's a place filled with warmth, safety, laughter and ease.

a very expensive shelf

There is no eternal purpose to the story I'm about to tell. It's just a story; a story that stares at me every single day. It's about a bookshelf that fills my heart with laughter, contentment, deep sadness, and a shake of its head. (that is, if a heart had a head to shake)

One day, about 11 years ago, I asked my dad to make a shelf for my cookbooks. I had an ulterior motive for this request-not only did I want a place to stuff my cookbooks, I wanted something from my dad. Something he had made specifically with me in mind. Something I could look at every day and picture his large, warm, rough hands creating.

Well, I got my wish, but it came with a price.

When I asked dad for the shelf he asked for something in return. He wanted a pair of slippers crocheted by his one and only daughter. Okay, thought I. No problem. It's a deal.

So, we set to work; dad went to his workshop, found a beautiful piece of oak, and carefully put together my shelf.

I went to my yarn, found some, and carefully crocheted his slippers. There was only one problem. Dad wore a size 13 shoe. I had no idea how large to make those slippers, but I knew they had to big. As I crocheted, I kept holding them up to my husband's size 10 foot for comparison. I finally decided to make them a couple inches longer than a size 10 and hope for the best. I'd like to tell you now, guestamation isn't a wise idea when you're making slippers for someone. They were not slippers. They ended up looking like small canoes. Dad was sweet enough to say he loved them and he actually wore them.

Okay-so, now fast forward about a year. My dad has lung cancer and is in a literal battle for his life-it was a losing battle.

Early in December of that year I got an email from my dad. He just wanted to say hi and give me an update on how everything was going. He felt fine, had a lot of energy, was still active and busy except for one minor problem-that stupid cast on his foot. I whipped out a reply: Cast on your foot? Dad, what happened to your foot??

Oh, it's not a big deal. Those slippers you made are just a bit too big and I tripped over one, fell, and broke my foot.

Great. Not only is my dad dying of lung cancer, he has to do it with a cast on his foot? Because of me??

Now fast forward to December 21 of that year. I was having a normal, busy day with 4 boys in the house. We were doing school, baking Christmas goodies, crafting and doing all the other normal things a family does as the holidays approach. Suddenly the phone rang. It was one of my brothers.

"Judy, I just wanted to let you know I think...I think dad's dying. He's going fast. If you want to see him before he goes, you better get up here soon."

About 8 hours later my husband and I were at my dad's side. I'm not going to tell you everything about those last few hours with my dad. They were precious, but obviously it was one of the most heart-breaking times in my life. What lightened it up for me was that cast; that silly, stupid cast.

Dad was laying on the bed, not really coherant, but not completely gone yet either. He was literally, carefully balanced between two worlds. Sometimes it seemed as if he was leaving-fluttering away from me....then suddenly that heavy cast would pull his whole leg off the bed and dad would return, growling and grumbling, completely ticked off by the fact that that cast was there, pulling him back, causing pain.

All through that night I sat by dad's side, in the dark, crying, talking to him, praying for him....waiting, watching....and, occasionally soothing his ruffled feathers when that cast would pull his leg off the bed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get that leg far enough from the edge of the bed to prevent the whole falling thing from happening. Dad was just too heavy for me to move.

I don't know how to tell you this, but each time that cast did its thing, I laughed inside. It wasn't a wicked laugh, or a huge laugh. I just knew that was dad's last little thing he had to go through and it was amazing how annoyed he got each time it happened. He liked to be in control, and no one likes pain...and I know each time it happened it hurt. But his face...he looked like an annoyed little boy and I kept thinking, dad, you're about to be ushered into the prescence of God...eternity is literally here, now, in this room with you, just moments from taking you away....life and all it's everything, including that stupid cast, are almost over for you....

Do you understand why I find the whole cast thing amusing? Or am I warped? I wasn't the one dealing with the pain or the dying. I had a bird's eye view of the situation and, along with the heart break, I had incredible peace about it.

There was one bible verse that came to mind that night:

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. (2 Timothy 4:7)

I just kept thinking wow, my dad is going to be with Jesus any second. He's going to see Jesus, finally and face to face....

Thinking about that put the cast and the pain of a broken bone in perspective for me and I was able to be amused.

So, the story is over but never forgotten. I still have that shelf, and every time I go into the kitchen I see it. I see large, safe, rough, warm hands; I see a man I loved with all my heart going Home; I see a cast on a leg annoying the daylights out of someone, and I see a silly pair of slippers and I laugh, but only inside...along with a few tears...

two worlds becoming one

Sometimes I just don't know what to write about or what to say or whether to say it because of this: A few years ago our pastor told us to examine our lives; he told us to think about every single thing we do or say and ask, will this stand for eternity or is it a waste of time?

Do you have any idea how much pressure that question puts on a person who loves to write? Especially one who is not a teacher nor a bible scholar? Sometimes I'm able to ignore the little voice in my head asking that question and just type. Sometimes that question makes me question should I write? I wonder about you-what do you get out of this place in space? Is it a waste of your time? Is it ok to tell you stories about my life, or my thoughts? That's all I have to offer. I'm not Anne Graham or Kay Arthur or Ann Voskamp. I couldn't even begin to string together a bible study or a deep spiritual lesson, but I don't want to waste a minute of your life either.

I often struggle with the whole idea of living in two worlds-we are eternal beings created to have a deep, intimate friendship with God. I believe there is an unseen world all around us-a spiritual world where God is, and sin, repentance, angels, demons, hell, and heaven....

However, we also live on a planet filled with moose, stubbed toes, music, bad hair days, new babies, and beautiful sunsets. And I know our pastor loves football. That's not eternal. (At least I hope not.)

I also believe the things we experience in life are sifted through God's fingers. That's an amazing thought if you spend time with it; that certainly reconciles the two worlds, doesn't it? God who is eternal and invisible, giving us a planet and experiences that are altogether tangible...

Somehow, we are meant to live straddled between the two. Our noses pointed in one direction while our feet take us in many.

Which brings me back to the question: will this stand for eternity or is it a waste of time? What about the music we listen to or the books we read? What about the pain we experience and those lovely bad hair days? None of those things are eternal.

And yet, think about Jesus.

What did He do? He told stories. He used tangible examples of everyday experiences to bring people to their knees in invisible repentance. Each story He told was like a tiny thread tying this world to the invisible, eternal one. His stories built friendships and showed people how to live and love and have a renewed relationship with God the Father.

Please don't even think I'm comparing this blog to the stories Jesus told! That's not where I'm trying to go with this, although it does sound like it, doesn't it?

What I'm trying to say is this:

stories are good for us. I love hearing about people's lives-what they've seen or done or experienced. Our life stories may not be eternal, but they do help us along while we're here, on a temporary planet, to get to there, an invisible eternal home. Your story is full of experiences like bad hair days, deep heartache, sin, good food, and memories of your childhood. When you tell your story, when you give others bits of yourself...when you are vulnerable and expose your sin or pain or the things you long for, you are tying strings from your heart to another. You're telling someone you've been there, you understand...you're creating a link from a tangible experience to an unseen world, the one that is eternal.

what do you see?

I know you know what I'm about to tell you, but I need to say it anyway, for my own peace of mind.

We are not perfect. Our marriage isn't perfect, our sons and daughters-in-law are not perfect. Our lives are not perfect.

I went out for coffee with a friend yesterday and I noticed something. We hadn't seen each other for a few months so we spent the first hour or so just catching up with surface stuff-we talked about our homes, our busy schedules, and what each of our kids are up to. It was light hearted and relaxing.

However, the longer we lingered, the deeper things got. We shared our hearts with each other and told each other things we don't just tell any or everyone.

This blog is sometimes like a coffee date. Sometimes it's light hearted, sometimes relaxing. Sometimes I go a little deeper and share my heart with you-I tell you things I don't just tell any or everyone. But those things are my things. I can't write about the struggles and stresses and lessons being learned by my family because those things belong to them.

I will go this far-I will tell you my husband and I drive each other crazy once in awhile. There are things I've said or done that have hurt him deeply and he in turn, has done the same to me. There have been times where I've wondered if our marriage would make it, and to be really honest, times where I just didn't care anymore and I've wanted to walk away.

I can tell you I lose sleep over my sons at times, and spend hours praying for them or worrying about them through the dark hours of the night. We have misunderstandings and get annoyed with each other and say things we want to take back.

There are times where I've felt like a failure as a wife or mother or have wondered what on earth I did to deserve these people I'm stuck with. There are times where I've wanted to run away from everything because I have felt helpless or hopeless.

I've tried to look at this blog from a bird's eye view and wondered what you see when you stop by. Do I give you the impression that we are a perfect little family, living a perfect little life? Do you leave here feeling discouraged or wistful?

I pray not. I pray you go away knowing we are not perfect. We hurt each other, we struggle, we annoy the daylights out of each other. It's just that this blog is my blog. It's not my husband's nor my sons', nor my daughters-in-law's. I have no right to share their stories with you-I can only tell you mine.

What I want to show you is our perfect God. No matter what we've gone through, or what our struggles or hurts have been, He has been at our side, walking through it all with us. He is constant and consistent. No matter how hard the things we've gone through or how much we hurt or annoy each other, He promises to bring good from it. I've learned to cling to that and I've been known to remind Him of that promise. No matter what I see my sons or husband going through I cling to that promise. Whatever the state of our marriage or whatever is going on in our family-when I've felt like the only thing holding me together are chintzy bandaids or the only thing holding me up are my fingernails, I've clung to that promise.

That is what I hope you see when you stop by. I want you to see God. I want you to see He is love, He is good, He is able. I want you to know He is all you need and He can be trusted.

He is the perfect One. That's what I pray you see.

oh those phone calls....

My daddy was the most important thing in my world when I was small; he was my anchor, my hero, my comforter...I trusted and loved him more than anyone else I knew.

I know I've told you that before, but I love saying it because I love/d him.

All that changed when I was 7 or 8 and my parents divorced. Dad moved to Michigan and I moved to Colorado. From that point on our relationship was sporadic and required actual work to maintain. I was only able to see my dad twice a year-the rest of the time we communicated via letters or his phone calls.

Those phone calls...they were intensely bittersweet and always left me feeling lonely, hungry for more of him. On the other hand, I always felt treasured and missed; I knew he was lonely and hungry for more of me too.

The worst part of each phone call was saying goodbye. At first, when I'd hear his voice on the other end of the line, I was thrilled. My daddy had called me! He'd ask me about school, my friends, what I was doing for fun, and then he'd tell me about his life and what he was up to. After a bit we'd come to the end of the conversation and dad would say, "Well sweetheart, I love you. I miss you. I'll call again soon, but for now let's hang up."

"OK daddy. I love you too. Bye..."

Silence. Neither one of us hanging up.

"Judy, are you still there?"

"Yes daddy."

"Sweetheart, we need to hang up now, so hang up the phone."

"OK daddy. I love you..."

Silence. Neither one of us wanting to end the delicate connection we had.

"Judy, why don't you hang up?"

"Because I miss you daddy...."

"OK sweetie. Let's hang up together. I'll count. 1, 2, 3..."

and then I'd hang up. I wouldn't leave the phone for a long time though. I'd sit there, staring at it, waiting, wondering if he had actually hung up. Was he still there, on the other end of the line, hoping to hear my voice telling him I love him? Telling him more than I already had? Was he longing for those tiny phone wires to keep me there, in the room with him, as close as we could be under the circumstances? Sometimes I'd doubt his love, and would wonder, did his heart hurt like mine did, or was he off and running, on to the next thing?

I'd sit there, staring at the phone, aching to hear his deep, comforting voice cradling me, making me feel loved and safe....so thankful he'd called, relieved to know he still loved me, regardless of our circumstances.

There are so many spiritual parallels here...so many. A Father's love, a deep connection, sin severing that, work that brings it back, work that maintains it, doubt, time spent together that heals it....

I think, if this were my last blog post...if I never put my fingers on a keyboard again, my last words to you would be Romans 8: 38-39. Unlike my dad's availability, God is always, always, always available. We can talk to Him and pour out our hearts to Him incessantly. (I think He'd actually enjoy that.) His love is constant and there's no reason to ever doubt it.

I used those 2 verses yesterday when I wrote, but they are perfect for today as well and I pray you would get it. I pray I would get it...

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all of creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(not even severed phone lines...)

The Rock

Sometimes my husband overwhelms me with his love. It has been constant, regardless of my words, my actions or my state of being. He has never, never, not ever said a cruel, impatient word or lost his temper with me. He has never said that I was anything but beautiful in his eyes, regardless of how I looked. He has never made a nasty joke at my expense. He has patiently been by my side for over a quarter of a century, consistent, trustworthy, gentle and loving. My steady man.

My husband is my rock. I know, the bible clearly states that Jesus is our Rock. I don't mean to imply that my husband has become God to me. He's not that perfect. Here's what I mean: imagine a forest full of deep green pine trees. Then imagine a huge boulder sitting there in the midst of all those trees. It's larger than a minivan but not as big as a semi. Got the picture? Now imagine a curly haired, hyperactive, fearful, emotional poodle running pell mell around that boulder. It can't leave the vicinity of the rock because it's leash is stuck under it. It cannot get away from that rock. If that were our marriage? Well, let's just say I'm not the boulder. My husband has consistently been there, allowing me the freedom to be an emotional, fearful-at-times, typical female, while steadily keeping me in line with The Rock; with Jesus.

The other night we went to our son's house for dinner. I'd had a rough day pain-wise and was feeling weary of it. As we were driving home that night I asked my husband if he was getting sick of taking care of me; I asked him if he was sick of helping me with the mundane little things I can't do; I asked him how he'd feel if this turns out to be the new me. It still hurts to lift a wet blanket out of the washer to put it in the dryer, I still can't scrub the tub, (I learned that the hard way) it still hurts to clean the floor, and I can't climb up on a chair to put something away or dust "up there". I still need so much help.

When I asked my husband if he was getting sick of it all, he said, "What?? What are you talking about?? I love you. I married you and promised to love you in sickness or in health til death do we part. I'm not sick of it or you. This is how it is now and I love you no matter how you are because I love you." He said a lot of other sweet things and blew me away, really. He was truly dumbfounded that I could even imagine him being sick of helping me.

In turn I was dumbfounded that anyone can love like that. I'm not sure I could. If the tables were turned I'm not sure I'd be as patient, as unconditional, as selfless. I'd be so ready for "this" to be over...

Then my happy little thoughts turned to how deeply painful it is to be this vulnerable. To actually need constant help. I hate it-I have never liked being dependent on people and I sometimes wonder, what if this never changes? What if I'm never able to be independent again? What if this is the new me?

When I voiced those thoughts out loud, My husband said he wondered if that is why I'm still healing. He wonders if God is wanting to whittle down (even more than He has) my independence. My pride. He wonders if God is wanting me to learn to be vulnerable and allow myself to depend on others. (All I had to say to that idea was yuck which probably proves his point.)

And that's where the boulder/poodle thing comes in again. That poodle is vulnerable. It is so dependent on that rock to keep it safe and grounded.

And that's where The Rock comes in again too. God's love-it is perfect. It is even more consistent than my husband's. He is even more patient, more trustworthy, more steady.

Romans 8:38-39 says, For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Don't those verses take your breath away? Don't they make your heart skip a beat? Don't they make you want to fall on your face and lay there, worshiping, in awe of Him? Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing can separate us from His consistent, trustworthy, patient love.

Psalm 48:14 ...for this God is our God for ever and ever; He will be our guide even to the end.

He is faithful and He loves. He is our Rock. Our giant, consistent boulder.

getting through the winter

I am sometimes a rebellious, sometimes sneaky person. I've been known to take the last 2 cookies from the cookie jar and hide them just so I can have them in the morning with my coffee.

(Yes, I know, "breakfast is thee most important meal of the day", but this isn't breakfast, it's pre-breakfast. There is a difference-at least that's what I tell myself every morning.)

Anyway, a few years ago, when I decided to lose weight, I kept my weight loss efforts a secret. For some reason, in the past, whenever I'd lose a few pounds and someone would comment on it, I'd stop trying. Rebellion? I wonder.... when I got good and serious about weight loss, I didn't tell anyone and I did it during the winter so my big, comfy sweaters would hide the fact that I was shrinking until I'd shrunk. That idea worked.

Well, about 2 weeks ago I told you my how-to get-through-an-Indiana-winter plan, remember? I pick a major goal to focus on and race the winter months to see who wins. Can I accomplish my goal before the first crocus blooms, or will dandelions be pushing up through the ground before I finish what I started? (Please note, this is not the same thing as daisies pushing up...)

This year I'm in big trouble. I think I have what may be too many goals, even for an Indiana winter. I have not 1, not 2, not even 3 goals. I have fourteen. I've decided to go ahead and share them with you-at least some of them. The really, really important ones I'm keeping a secret, just like my weight loss, because I know me. If I told you what they were, I wouldn't work on them. (Can you explain that aspect of my personality to me? If so, I'd be most appreciative)

Anyway, here's my list:

spiritual goals:

-Barrett and I want to finish memorizing Hebrews 11:1-12:13. We are almost done with this and hope to have it completed by Christmas time.

-there are 2 more here, but, well....those are the most important ones

physical goals:

-exercises that will strengthen my back, arms and stomach muscles. I have a granddaughter I want to hoist around and play with and I've become quite wimpy over the last year.

-cut way back on sugar. I've noticed an increase in the size of my sweet tooth and I want to shrink it down to size.

relational goal:

-another secret-my husband says this one's impossible for the time being, but I'm stubborn enough to keep stewing on it and will at least be praying about it

miscellaneous goals:

-make and send out birthday cards ON TIME

-scrapbook some random photos that have been floating around

-do some fun science experiments and other projects with Barrett. My days with him are numbered and I want to soak up any time I have with him.

-Barrett has asked me for a granny square blanket-I have the squares made, I just need to put them together

-finish another granny square blanket I've started for our bed

-another secret. This one is huge, but I'm really excited about it-I just may share it with you in the spring, depending on how it goes.

-scrapbook my husband's pictures from his childhood

-begin sorting and organizing our sons' photos so I can scrapbook those maybe next winter?

So, there you have it. Realistic? I doubt it, but I also doubt I'll notice the grey this year!