Prayer in the Laundryroom

I sit here quietly, appreciating the presence of home, as the washing machine spins its burgeoning load and the dryer tumbles its load with freshness and warmth. The aromas of Tide with Febreze and Ultra Downy bring a calming and collected spirit to me. Thank you Lord, for the opportunity to have enough clothing that each one has their size which fits, with shoes to wear for school, play and church. Thank you for providing a chance, a grateful chance, to be able to wash and repair these clothes, so they will last 6 months or longer if necessary. Thank you for fresh clean water, appliances and electricity - I am so blessed to be a servant for my family, and I do this all for you.

I very much appreciate the task of doing the laundry - it is a job which offers so much completion and reward, by seeing messy, smelly, dirty mountains separated by color and textile, washed, dried, folded meeting my eyes with mountains of straight, organized piles. One for each person, their piles await their next trip upstairs"...and don't forget to put them away, not cast them in the closet willy nilly." (I've never met Mr. Willy Nilly, but in my opinion, he's a messy lad who can never find his left shoe or his homework because he is careless with his articles and possessions, dropping them wherever he deems fit to be released.) Thank you Lord, for providing my family a place to call home - your provision is tremendous and full. Thank you, Lord, for an opportunity to teach my children (and husband - oh brother) of the blessing which comes with having a home which has a place for everything. When everything is in its place, they are findable, dependable, retrievable, containable, manageable. Help me Lord, when I encountner the messy parts of life that I don't not snap or over-react, but grab my handy-dandy tiara and become the Queen of Clean to be a servant in these tasks of cleanliness and organization. Help me Lord to be loving, caring, gentle and patient when I serve You as I serve them.

As I retract the dryer load, my youngest daughter K. just happened by - since it was pj time, and her pjs were in this dryer load, I saved her a trip by having them ready for her. And she recognized one of the simplest yet deepest pleasures of life - soft, clean warm clothes straight from the dryer. The toasty feeling doesn't last forever, but you never forget being wrapped in supreme warmth and coziness as when you pull them on and feel surrounded by the toasty hug. Thank you Lord for simple pleasures which can easily be shared, which remind us of how deeply blessed we are.

The laundry is a sign of a trip well spent. We have been away since Monday lunch, traveling to New York and returning. It was a trip which started because I needed to be at THQ for the Holiness Symposium, whose guest speaker this year was Rev. Dr. Samuel Vassel - exceptional! (It will need to be a future blog - good words from the Good Word) But it evolved into so much more because of several factors: one being I haven't purchased a uniform since our Commissioning in 1997. These two uniforms I have been wearing have lasted more than a decade, been worn through training, and have looked not very perky lately. I wash my skirts (and Dave's uniform pants) in the washing machine, line dry and then iron, and I use a home dryer dry cleaning kit for our tunics. It is a very frugal way to take care of these uniforms, and they have lasted so long. It helps that I made a maternity uniform and used that for all it was worth for three of our four children, so my uniforms did get a reprieve for a bit, but needless to say, they have seen the rough side of the war and could use another to help pass around the duty. So a visit to Trade was important for both Dave and I. When Dave lost 120 pounds he got one uniform last year to fit, and had the others tailored down, but they could only be brought in so much without losing their integrity and styling. So he needed a fitting, something which cannot be done from a distance. I need a uniform, Dave needs a uniform, and...the kids have Spring break during the same week I need to travel to New York. Throw in the whipped cream and maraschino cherry on top - K.'s 7th birthday in the middle of it all - and you have all the makings of a Road Trip. Thank you Lord for the possibility to accomplish many tasks with one condensed time of travel and dedicated service. Thank you for every safe mile traveled, for the conversations of faith on the way with other Christian brothers and sisters. Thank you for the power of encouragement , as a cool drink of water for a thirsty soul, when Your Word is read and studied and shared.

These are some pictures from our day in NYC- oh I do love New York in the springtime. In NW OH we left behind a terrible snow dump (we only got 4 inches but some parts of Cleveland got 41 inches - augh!) But here in the sun, and 49 degrees, there are spring flowers a bloom.

On K's birthday we woke early and had a birthday waffle breakfast (Is she really 7, can it be true?) and started our day. We brought the kids in across the George Washington Bridge and down Riverside Dr. Every year we pass through New York at least once, sometimes three times, and decided long ago that The Big Apple is too much to bite all at once - it must be savored by many small, deliberate bites. Last years included Ellis Island, the Staten Island Ferry, the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. This summer (August) will include the Intrepid Museum, The New York Library, Carnegie Hall and the American Museum of Natural History . This trip included Ground Zero, Central Park, Rockefeller Center, Saint Patrick's Cathedral and then a separate trip, boys and girls. At noon after sharing a kosher hot dog (kids) and sushi( me) - just love NY: you just can't find that level of variety in such a close vicinity in NW OH - the girls and I leave Dave and the boys as they go to The Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center and we venture to the American Girl Place for a show and afternoon tea. The boys hit Central Park, a few specialty stores (Nintendo, NBA), a real live NY cab ride and then passed their afternoon with the American Museum of Natural History. (I'm rather jealous - the Museum is exquisite, did I really pass it up?) Me and the girls, and their American Girl dolls Molly and Emily get a hairstyle for their dolls, a new outfit for them, see a great show about The Circle of Friends and share tea and scones.

By the time the boys joined us again around 5:30, we had all had a terrific day, ready to go back and just swim.

Thank you Lord, for the chance to spend real time with the ones I love so dearly and share a safe time of learning and sharing. Thank you for my familiarity with this large city which has such depth of culture and need, enough that I can share what I know and still learn again and again. Thank you Lord, for Your presence, for Your provision, for Your beauty and splendor. Thank you that all these dirty, rumpled, stained clothing, this luggage disarrayed and worn, is able to be cleaned so readily, yet the memory of where we have traveled to will remain.

Slowly, but surely

Sitting quietly in the afternoon, my work gloves resting at my feet, I am directly underneath the middle window sill of the chapel getting the best light. Sunlight pouring in from these south facing panes, lightly tinted from the variance of color each pane contains – some amber, some blues, rose and tangerine mixed in. The prism of the window has refracted one sunbeam into a straight rainbow line and I am glad to see him, greeting him to my worship sanctuary. “Why, hello Mr. Roy G. Biv, it is a pleasure to have you with me this afternoon” having been introduced to him in kindergarten by name. Yet I had met him so much earlier, just never been formally introduced, how the placement of red, orange and yellow will always be the same, will always be delineated in refracted light identically every time…ROY. A friend he has been to me, I do so appreciate a cool, calm, collected, consistent spirit. Always showing up after the rain, summer, spring fall or winter, I am confident I have witnessed a rainbow in every season, uncertain which has ever been the most spectacular – how can you choose a favorite when considering God’s beauty? Mr. Roy G. Biv always keeps his colors in the same ordering, one next to the others; I can rely on him being there under conditions I expect. He occupies his place on the carpeted floor stretching the length of the chapel, diminishing his intensity of hue as he moves farther from the window. Exquisite.

Appreciating a fully sunny, spring day, I had taken advantage of the spring weather (it was 74 degrees on Tuesday) to tackle a necessary and waiting job – the weeds in the front portion of one of our corps. They have grown especially well, too well in fact, and the weather has been just sloppy enough for just long enough for me to have delayed this task. Most Tuesdays, Dave and I have a “Muscle Day”, one which has in its agenda the physical labor which needs to be done. Morning or afternoon (sometimes it’s been an all day event, but not very often) is a laser-beam specific push to get some big job done. Ministry is not exclusive to Sunday pulpits or library study, paperwork columns or statistical sheets, miles to travel or committee to adjourn, meals to cook or visitation with tea, little one’s sticky fingers or elderly rheumatic hands. Ministry frequently includes heavy moving, cleaning, lifting, painting, constructing, polishing, hauling, burning, throwing away, and disassembling. This is a fact I say, with my hand up.

These past 10 days have included four “Muscle Days” (chalk it up to spring cleaning, eh?) and my hands have taken a beating. Each job has been achievable enough, and I have worn gloves every time, but still there is pain in every one of my phalanges, metacarpals, thenal and hypothenal muscles, tendons, ligaments and opposable thumbs. My hands hurt, which is why I have placed myself beneath this window sill for its prevalent light. Tweezers in my right hand and magnifying glass balanced precariously upon my knee, I am seeking for fragments to remove. Fiberglass remnants. Thorns. Remainders of thistle. Metal shavings.

All of these have traveled through my work gloves from these different jobs, not felt at the time, but they remained in place from the activity several days before. No amount of lotion was helping: my skin wasn’t dry or raw; it was covered with this tiny, minuscule fragments of toughness. The only way to relieve the pain was to remove the pain-makers.
So slowly, but surely, I was removing these splinters my hands feeling slightly better already. There are no infections or injuries, swelling or scratches. These tiny pin-pricks of pain will cease screaming their protest. These hands would be fine in no time.
Slowly but surely, the natural passage of time has allowed the sun to move in the sky, casting its sunbeams of gentle light from one window to the next, my rainbow dissipating but in its place a substantial shadow of our Lenten Cross.
My heart resonates with its intensity:
Jesus felt pain, deep intense pain, suffering as a sacrifice on a cross of execution.
Jesus carried His mission, without interruption from beginning to end, without an interruption to remove the painful reminders and careless attacks upon Himself and His Father. His mission remained, no matter how painful:
: To cleanse His Father’s house
: To seek and save the lost
: To be Water of Life, the Sacred Vine, Bread of Life, the Door, and the Gate
: To be an ultimate, ever-given sacrifice for sin.





Slowly, but surely, I find myself kneeling at the base of this Cross, the faint fragrance of opened lily pods gracing the air I breathe, in and out so serenely. So emphatically.
Just above a whisper, the prayer of my heart,

Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus

I surrender my life to Your blood. Make me holy, keep me holy. I want Your holiness.

Therefore, when Christ came into the world, he said, “Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, O God, but a body You prepared for me; with burnt offerings and sin offerings You were not pleased.” Then Christ said, “Here I am – it is written about me in the scroll – I have come to do Your will, O God.” And by that will, we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once and for all. Hebrews 10:5-7; 10

'Tis a Puzzlement

This link above is for a puzzle web site that I use to just rest my brain. Jigzone.com - and you will get a timed opportunity to configure this lady bug puzzle. (I found this on some one else site and fell in love!!) It also provides you will chances to have a different cut - oh, do I like the bulbs - and in those cuts you'll fit squares, bricks, large and small. There is even a US states cut, forming the 48 continental states, one is California, one is Massachusetts - you get the picture!

Some people enjoy tv, some like sports, some video war and destruction or car driving and racing, some reach for spider solitaire, some need constant simulus from music or video - we all got our something. For me, when I want a chance to just chill, I reach for a puzzle. I have one on our dining room table as we speak, a large lion on a starry night with glow-in-the-dark patterns strewn throughout it. Its been an interesting project.

Puzzles - I love 'em. Big and small, round or tall, I haven't met a puzzle I didn't like. Cool 3-d ones - I never even want to take them apart. Or puzzle companies who reserve one piece that you have to send a picture of your 99.99999% completed project before they release the last piece through the mail (What's up with that power trip anyway?) The hardest one I ever met, so far, was 2500 round of an overflowing pile of Oreo cookies and all the pieces were exactly the same size cut. except for the middle cookie which was an OREO itself. So cool! IT TOOK FOREVER, and I loved it. I might have only been able to get three pieces connected at a time, but it was an engaging and challenging.

And no matter what kind is sitting in front of me...I do the same thing, everytime. Stinkin' everytime. The edge pieces are supreme - they have always and will always get my attention first and foremost. Defining the parameter, everything else will fall into its place. Finding the pieces that fit and moving them slowly together.

I love finding the pieces that fit in situations - the pieces that help you understand someone or something so much clearer, more intensive. If I was a superhero, I might be The Puzzler (but I would secretly want to have Mrs. Incredible's costume with those amazing thigh high boots and all!)

And a note for today - we all have days that are written in infamy for us. Days we know are coming - excited or dreading - and they will hit is with their fervor and strength. A birthday (Am I really going to be 40 this year?) Special anniversary (Have I really been married for 17 years?). Amazingly public event of effort and unity for your community and ministry. (Will it all come together with everything, with everyone?) For all of us there is a day we are looking into the future A day of infamy that is calling our name. Sure all those listed above are important to me, the spring is a big deal.

Yet for me...I just don't think I'm going to be able to wait all the way until... July 21.

It can't get here soon enough, I'm holding back the reigns as it is. The midnight release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows. After seeing the release of the book covers (which share so much of the story if you are willing to inspect and deduce) it has whetted my thirst to be able to get my hands on a copy...

...I'm dyin'.

I'm Watching you, Mom

I'm Watching You, Mom

I’m watching you, mom
Everything that you do.
You don’t feel it, but
My eyes are trained in on you.
When I make mistakes,
When I try to hide
You help my heart ache
Pain subside.

I’m watching you, mom
It might not always show, but
I watch everything,
As I silently grow.
Patterned in my heart-
Your movements, your smile,
Your reactions, your love,
Your unstoppable style.

I’m watching you, mom
It is no easy thing:
When a problem arises
Family justice you bring.
You don’t look for who to blame
Or mean punishment give
But instead…
You tell us how we should live.

Having God in my heart
Will make it clean
“In the Arms of Jesus”
Is your favorite scene.
The rooms of my heart
Need attention each day
Just like things in my bedroom,
Everything put away.
(And not hidden in the closet,
Piled, lurking behind the doors,
But carefully folded and placed
Not crammed in the drawers.)

I’m watching you, mom
Every minute.
Every day.
Do you really say what you mean,
Mean what you say?
Do you really, really mean it
That - no matter what I do,
That you love me, really love me,
Heart and soul, through and through?

I’m watching you, mom:
Everything that you do.
Do you really believe
What God says is true.
That He can sustain all our needs,
His power He shares.
That I can cast my anxiety on Him
Just because He cares.

I’m watching you, mom
Everywhere that you go.
The kitchen, the backseat
All these places, your faith shows.
I hear what you say,
There’s no guessing about it,
I see this faith of yours
You don’t have to confess or shout it.

‘Cause I’m watching you, mom,
And I see when you pray.
In your Bible, I read
The words that you say
To God when your heart
Is full – Hey, is that my name?
You prayed for me, its true
I see the date right there, plain.

I'm watching you, mom
I've learned alot, don't you know?!.
How to make panckaes, fold towels,
How and why mold will grow.
How to live. How to laugh.
How to love, even when its hard.
To apologize. Forgive.
How to let down your guard.

I’m watching you, mom
For the love that you show,
For the words that you say,
Everywhere that you go.
I study you, yes I do…
I’m not a peeker,
Or a sneaker
But a deep secret keeper.

I’m watching you, mom.
jsi

It gave me great joy to have some brothers come and tell about your faithfulness to the truth and how you continue to walk in the truth. I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.
III John3-4

Oh no, its her

The backstage door closes slowly, dramatically with telltale screech, its sign of neglect and desperate need of attention with WD-40. The brilliant scarlets and burnt tangerines from the setting sun approaching the horizon announce the time of day - the shadow-lengthening, breathtaking lightshow of the evening sunset. Its close to time, but I have to turn and admire the melting orb as it disappears below the dark line, holding my breath, "Can I see the moment it actually all goes...now...no, now...no, this is it..." Day is done.

Between the door posts and rails and window arch, my profile is 12 feet long, caught within the perspective of distance and darkness, cast forth into the waiting contrast. The wind rustles my hair, and it shows in the shadow, "Well, hello there" I speak in my mind to this constant friend with me (Me and My Shadow don't you know?!.), "You're looking slightly stretched today, everything alright?" My mental conversation includes time for response, and without surprise, returning in my own voice, the answer hesitant but plain, "No its not."

The screeching door eliminates the outside brilliant light and I stand still, allowing my eyes a chance to adjust to the impending darkness of the auditorium. My shadow leaves, centimeters at a time with the closing of the door, as I make the mental note "See ya later" with enough time to hear, "You can count on it" in her low voice. Standing still, the quietness of the room was unusual. Stark. Intentional.

I swear, you could hear the Navajo Indian flute warble the soundtrack for "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" with the sound of spurs with every step I took.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo.

"Oh no, its her!"

The chink of the spurs is with my every footstep, and I am slightly confused as I look around..."Hey I know I left the house in pumps. I'm still wearing my uniform, I wouldn't have casually thrown on a pair of cowboy boots to finish off the outfit."
But those spur steps were mine, and continued with my procession through to my seat.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo.

"I told you it was going to happen again, it's her, she's back" (I wish there was a script writer for this, I wish I could mention these are my words, my reactions. But no, they are verbatim quotes from someone offended, and I have to find a way to fix it.) The not-even-trying-to-veil-her-rude-ostentacious-and-brash comment person was directly in front of me, practically shouting to the entire wind section.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo.

She has arrived early and staked her claim to the area she will sit. Her 5 minute trip to my 35 minute trip insures that her first-arrival status is safe as gold in Fort Knox. I am unaware of the reason why she is so bold and specific and intentional about my "wrongness" to whatever her "rightness" is. This High Noon meeting has caught me entirely by surprise, but it had been working in her mind for more than 10 days and it just spilled out in its attack.

My crime: 14 hours earlier I used Sweet Pea Bodywash in my shower, Secret Fresh Powder antiperspirant, and after three pumps of Eternity, I used a hair spray and mousse for my hairstyle; when I washed my uniform last week I used Tide with Febreze and Downy Mountain Spring fabric softener which smells fresh and clean to me, and since I hang them in my closet with my other uniforms, there is a clinging of Eternity from being near other Eternity outfits; my car has a cucumber melon air fresher in it. Add this all together, there was a fragrance to my presence, a gentle wafting which by this time of day has all but disappeared.

But to someone who is ferociously allergic to all things fragrant as she is, I was a deathtrap to her, a necessary situation to require her to need added medication, an air filter/purification system and spray bottle. I was unaware of her condition, but it was plain from her reaction that we needed to face this like adults. I wasn't going to be small minded, and remind her she wasn't attacking Mr. Trumpet player right next to her who was wearing Drakaar (Oh do I like Drakaar) or point out that Mr. Oboe, sitting right in front of her, smokes likes a chimney and still has the remnants from his 10 minute outside cigarette break in a cloud of fog around his head. No, even though all of these other people are in the same boat as me, I am the only one who is wrong. So by meeting her in the center of the abandoned road where the saloon doors are still turning and tumbleweeds are blowing by, we can see the whites of each other's eyes. All these other people are her friends, or friends of her husband, I am the only one she doesn't know so the very public launching is at my expense. Everyone else takes mental note and now we know - for the remainder of our time together, we need to be as fragrance free as possible. A difficult, yet not impossible task. So we do our best, work very hard at it and everything turns out okay and she is, in the end, very thankful for everyone's efforts to help make her presence in this group possible.

This happened over a month ago, but the traces of the encounter linger for those are words I keep hearing again and again.

"Oh no it's her."

I hear it at wrestling practice. In the grocery store At the library. In the school gym for PTO functions. When I pick up the phone at work. In the school parent meetings. Community church functions. At the oral surgeon. At Starbucks. At agency presentations. On the phone calling people and hearing them in the background not wanting to come to talk to me. At Scouts. Not hidden or whispered at all, but boldly delivered, to assure I know their disapproval. I hear it also from the silent motives: those who won't answer phone messages, respond to mail, withold their cooperation and input to "let you know" where they stand.

The embezzlement lawsuit regarding the previous officers has been worked very deliberately and circumspectly within the court system and will continue in its snail's pace, but it the court of public opinion has been ruled and executed against Dave and me very decisively.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo

And I have to admit, I don't want to go into that street with the saloon doors swinging to face another person to speak their mind, to launch their barbed and spiteful opinion at us in vulnerable and public ways. To be their target so they can make a show of their power or inclusiveness. I just want all the tumbleweeds to blow away, aching to hear the simple proclamation,

"Hey, its her"
and know that someone saved me a seat because they knew I was coming. How long will it take before it changes? Before I am not the whispered about, gossip fodder for anyone and everyone? Only God knows, and He has to protect my heart especially when hurt and lonely and not seeing the big changes we hope and pray for. No matter how isolated it can become, I find the words of Habbakkuk 3:17 powerful tonight, from The Message translation:

Though the cherry trees don't blossom and the strawberries don't ripen, though the apples are worm-eaten and the wheat fields stunted. Though the sheep pens are sheepless and the cattle barns empty, I am singing joyful praise to GOD. I'm turning cartwheels of joy to my Savior God. Counting on God's rule to prevail, I take heart and gain strength, I run like a deer.

I know we are not alone. I just don't know how long this has to last.