The last day

Today is the last day of 2018, and thus it goes.

In 2018, Shannon got a new job.

David graduated from medical school, matched to a residency program, and moved to Atlanta.  Ashton changed jobs with the move.

Laura earned a master's degree in special ed, bought a house, got a new job and had a baby.  Matthew, as well as being in on the house purchase and parenthood, started his first real, complete (non-residency) job.

Jonathan's apartment building burned down, fortunately while he was not in it (although that also lowered the recovery rate on what he was able to salvage).  He moved a couple of times in the aftermath, and also changed jobs.

Schubert died, and we got a new puppy.

Weird story:  This morning, December 31, 2018, I was driving through pouring rain to a lab for a blood test.  At the four-way-stop at Staley and Windsor, I saw a person, short and squat, dashing from corner to corner under the deluge of water.  This person was wearing dark jeans and a dark hoodie, which were drenched.  On his back, he carried a pink-flowered, little-girl backpack.  For awhile I tried to determine if he were a masculine looking woman, but then he turned his head and I saw a mustache and short beard, dark and pointed, and I figured he must be a man.  He lifted his legs high in front of him when he ran across the street, almost like some jolly sort of dance, kicking forward into the air so as to both move quickly and stay above the splashing puddles.  I believe he was wearing work boots on his feet.  He waved at the cars who waited so he could cross, and he really hoofed it quickly, which warmed my heart towards him.

I waited for him, too, but he didn't look my way, so finally I went, and he choreographed his route such that he departed from his corner just as I turned left across his road, so by the time he reached my lane, he was crossing immediately behind me.  Perfect timing.  I wondered where he was headed.  I wondered if I had ought to have offered him a lift.

Life is so bizarre.

Here we are in this wacky, wet, wild world, welcoming a tiny new baby who has it all ahead of him.

Christmas blessings

This year, Christmas was special and unusual.

Of course, it was neither special nor unusual that I had a birthday three days before Christmas.  That's a thing we are quite accustomed to.

However, on my birthday, my daughter began to go into labor.  It started slow and took awhile to ramp up.

The next day, her baby was born, a tiny blond bundle of Christmas sweetness.

The day after that was Christmas Eve, and then Christmas Day.

There were only four of us this year, and Duffy.  But it was beautiful, with blue skies, golden prairies and 50 degrees.

Christmas breakfast

Jon and Duffy with sunshine on their heads.

Shannon soaking in window light.

A little Christmas joy.

And far away, a baby boy begins to grow in a big, new world...

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas.

A trick to finding joy is this: 

Be thankful for what you have, rather than grieving what you don't have.

In the past, they used to call this counting your blessings.

Count your blessings,

name them one by one --

and it may surprise you

what the Lord has done!

Surrendering to pain

With my baby on the verge of having a baby, I find myself reliving labor, night after night.

I already mentioned how the key is to relax.  You relax by surrendering to the pain, and the good work it is doing to open your body so birth can come to pass.  You do no good if you fight the pain.  You must surrender to the pain.

It occurs to me that this is a powerful metaphor for sanctification.

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds," writes the Apostle James.  "Because the testing of your faith produces perseverance and maturity." (James 1)

Consider it a gift when you have a labor contraction, because labor contractions produce a baby.

"We rejoice in our sufferings," writes the Apostle Paul, "because suffering produces perseverance, which produces character, which produces hope in the love of God, who will never disappoint." (Romans 5)

In this world you will have trouble, said Jesus, But take heart!  Don't worry about it.  It will all be okay, because I have overcome the world.  (John 16)

Pregnancy, labor and and delivery are a metaphor for the painful, profitable work of sanctification in this life, preparing us for the promised reward of eternal life in glory.

Jesus taught his disciples that grief will turn to joy.  A woman giving birth to a child has anguish because her time has come; but when her baby is born, she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.  So with you: now is your time of grief, but I will see you again, and you will rejoice, and no-one will take away your joy.  (John 16)

We need to trust God through the pain, the searing moments, and the excruciating seasons.

God is good.  He is full of love, and full of power.  He says, My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.  (Isaiah 46)

The world is broken by sin.  We live here, in this broken place, so sometimes it hurts more than we think we can bear.  The compounding effects of our sins and other people's sins weigh us down and wear us out.  Ironically, we can only prevail if we surrender to the pain, believing God's promise that He works all things for good for His children. (Romans 8)

Come to me, He says, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  (Matthew 11)

Fighting the pain leads only to separation from God, bitterness and despair.  Instead, we must surrender to the Lord's work through painful circumstances, believing in faith, with hope, that something beautiful will be born of it in the end.  We must endure with patient faith in His love.  Meditating on His great love will hold us together.  God demonstrated His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5).  Perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4), and getting past fear is the best way to mitigate pain.

After the Big Mistake in Eden, God told Eve, I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children. (Genesis 3)

Sin brought pain and death, but the grace of God is this: even as death entered His perfect creation, He instituted new birth, painful though it had to be, as means for the continuation of life.

I've often pondered on 1 Timothy 2:15 -- But women will be saved through childbearing, if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety.  What in the world does that mean?

Of course, we are all saved as a result of the birth of Jesus through Mary.  God used a mortal woman to give birth to the Savior of the world.  As Jesus undid the curse of Adam, so in a closely connected way, Mary undid the curse of Eve by bringing baby Jesus into the world.  "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord," she said.  "Let it be to me according to your word." (Luke 1)

And thus, a woman gave birth to the man who would save us all.  As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 11, In the Lord, woman is not independent of man, nor man of woman; for as woman was made from man, so man is now born of woman.  And all things are from God.

All things are from God.  Life is from God.  Birth is from God.  Grace is from God.  Hope is from God.

It could have been all over, instantly, that day in the garden.  Sin, which leads to death, could have resulted in annihilation, the end of everything.  But the grace of God began immediately to cover sin and bring life out of death.  Although Adam and Eve would die, humanity would not.  Life would continue through their children and their children's children, and in the end, many would be saved, an unfolding, multiplying miracle of grace.

God brings miracles out of bad things, out of pain.  We can surrender to pain with faith and certain hope that joy will prevail in the end, because God is in control.

Waiting for baby

Funny how it seems like it never rains, but only pours.  There are babies due all over the place, special tiny bundles, and my friends and relatives are joining me in welcoming new Christmas miracles all over the country.  What a wonderful reminder of Jesus, and a beautiful distraction from materialism.

As I wait and wonder when our little grand will make his appearance, I think back to my own labors and deliveries.

The key, I found, was relaxation.

"Loose jaw, loose perineum," they told us, and it seemed to be true.  If you could focus on keeping your jaw relaxed, the rest of you would follow suit.

"Loose jaw, loose perineum," Shawn and I would say to each other and laugh.

I never read the Dune books, but Shawn told me that in them, the characters talked about dealing with pain by letting it pass through them.  This also turned out to be a helpful concept during labor.  The pain can't hurt me if I don't let it, if I approach it with a confident passivity and refuse to catch and hold it.

It was also helpful to think of the pain as a healthy exercise in opening the body, to (figuratively, of course) grab the pain like a jar, and lean into it, turning into it, like twisting off a lid, as the body opens in this special and unusual way that actually lets a soul pass through.

Loose jaw, loose perineum.

Let the pain pass through.

Lean in and open.

Focus the energy flow down and out, down and out, out through your toes, out through your fingertips, and out with the baby.  Lean in.  Let it pass through.  Relax and open.

Breathe.

The breathing is key.  You have to keep breathing.  If you start holding your breath, you will tense up, intensifying the sensations, and it will be a strenuous endeavor to bring things under control again.  You don't have to do anything fancy with your breathing, just breathe deep and slow.  In through your nose--smell the flowers--for a count of ten.  Out through your mouth--blow out the candle--for a count of ten, leaning in, pushing down, working with the contractions, always with them, never against them.  If you transpose your nose and mouth breathing, don't worry.  Just keep breathing deep and slow.

If your husband is there, and if he is watching a monitor, it is helpful if he can alert you when the monitor shows a contraction beginning.  As the line on the graph edges into a rise, take an extra big, deep cleansing breath and start the deep chest breathing.  Keep going until the contraction subsides.  Down and out, out through the fingertips, out through the toes, lean in and open.  Picture your body opening more with each contraction; this is the work that labor does, and it is most productive when you consciously focus on working with each wave.  Each wave is an opportunity to move closer to seeing your baby.

Walk as much as possible, until you can't anymore (or they won't let you).

Breathe deep and slow.

Keep your jaw loose.

Focus your energy down and out.

Let the pain pass through you.

Lean in and think about your body opening.

Think about the little baby in there, on the cusp of discovering a whole new world that he's never even imagined.  Think how confused and curious he must be, and perhaps a bit frightened.  Tell him, "Don't worry little one, we're going to be okay.  We're going to be okay, you and me."  Think about opening your body for him, so he can come out.  Think about how much you love him, and how wonderful it will be to hold him and marvel at his tiny fingernails and his velvet-soft ears.

Big, deep, slow breaths.

Loose jaw.

Lean in and open.

And when it comes time to push, whether or not you are having an episiotomy, ask for a shot: novocaine, xylocaine, lidocaine, whatever they will give you.  Get this shot, to ease the very end.  You will be glad.

When they've given you the shot and told you to push, push for all you're worth and get it over with.  You might call out a prayer for God to help you, and that's okay.

The prize is coming.

This December

It is a dim, snowy December morning.

I sit at my gray desk in the corner of my room, my study that we cobbled together from a spare bedroom, and I look out the two corner windows, through my white lace balloon curtains.  These curtains are probably silly and out of style, but I like them, so I don't care.  They are particularly pretty with snowflakes floating behind them.  Frilly white curtains, in front of thin, horizontal white mini-blinds, in front of windows with white muntins dividing the glass into eight rectangles per pane.  All this, in front of air full of white snowflakes busily traveling many pathways on their downward route, like so much city traffic.  Layers and layers of white.

This is quite a contrast to my memories of last December, when the sky shone brilliant blue, and we were still raking great piles of golden leaves, and the grass was green.  Last December at this time, we had just finished with an episode of effort towards healing, an effort that incurred more bills than benefit, but isn't that often the way?   I remember how bruised and numb I was, raking, astonished at the beauty of the blue and the gold surrounding me in my personal darkness.

This year I feel much less alone.  Last year, loneliness loomed in bright silence.  This year, I amble about, blanketed in quiet.  Except when I go out to shop for Christmas.  Then the music is obnoxiously loud.  The mall makes me feel more sad than ever: so much junk, so much desperation to sell it, so few customers.  If I could write the motto for Christmas, I would make it:  More love, less stuff.

More love, less stuff.  Doesn't that sound wonderful?  Time, laughter, meaningful conversation, shared stories and memories, long letters, delicious cups of coffee and tea, beautiful music, prayers of gratitude.

This year, we are waiting for a baby to be born while we think of the Baby who came to save the world, so many years ago.  We wait for a human baby, not divine, just a little fellow dropping into existence whether he cared to or not, because two people wanted to have a family, and God saw fit to grant their desire.  We wait to look into his little eyes and touch his tiny fingers and toes, to wrap him in blankets and shelter him against the cold terrors of the world.  We pray for what he will become; we pray for abundant grace on all of his life.  May God envelop him and prepare him and use him for much good.  May his life bring healing, peace and love to many people, a reflection of that other Baby, whose birthday he might even share.

Lo how a rose e'er blooming

from tender stem hath sprung!

Of Jesse's lineage coming,

as men of old have sung.

It came a flow'ret bright,

amid the cold of winter,

when half spent was the night...

This flower whose fragrance tender

with sweetness fills the air,

dispels with glorious splendor

the darkness everywhere!

True man, yet very God,

from sin and death He saves us,

and lightens every load.

~traditional

Thankful for God's promise of restoration

God uses the rhythms of life to reflect His eternal plan.  As I age, my awareness increases.

For instance, we are now in the season of death.  

The leaves have fallen from the trees, 

most of them, 

and those that have not

hang withered and brown, 

or frostbitten.  

The fields are bare, raked clean after the harvest.  

Flowers have gone to seed.

Here and there, fallen fruit lies rotting on the ground.

Nothing is growing.  Cold has arrived, manifesting in a crystalline coating that sparkles on the lifeless remains of plant matter.  Soon, all the decay will be covered decently in a burial of white snow.

How fitting that this is the season, now when the days are at their shortest and the dark creeps around us before we can get safely home for the evening, now the small white lights of Christmas appear, strung across porches and glowing at windows.  Baby Jesus came to challenge the darkness, a tiny human child, born in a secret place, God's most amazing weapon, cloaked so humbly that hardly anyone realized what was happening.

This tiny baby was the beginning of the fulfillment of the greatest promise, the promise of restoration.

Patiently, God planted and waited
and nurtured and waited
and watered and waited
and fertilized and waited
and waited.

Of course, for God, waiting is different.  For God, a thousand years are like a day.  For us, an hour is like a thousand years.  We have a hard time waiting for God to complete His perfect plan.  But He promises that He will.  He promises that He is making all things new.

Behold, He says, I am making all things new.  (Revelation 21:5)

What you sow

does not come to life

unless it dies.

And what you sow 

is not the body that 
is to be,

but a bare kernel,

perhaps of wheat 

or of some other grain...

What is sown 

is perishable;

what is raised

is imperishable.

(1 Corinthains 15:36-37, 42)

Jesus taught us: Truly, truly I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. (John 12:24)

We will come to life.  We will be raised.  We will bear fruit.  We will be imperishable.  Actually, we are currently raised with Christ, and bearing fruit through His Spirit.  Although our bodies are not yet imperishable, our souls are.  We, who have faith in the death and resurrection of Jesus, are on a triumphant trajectory toward eternal glory.

He is restoring us, and we will be restored.

Joy comes in the morning. (Psalm 30:5)

As through Adam darkness and death entered and permeated creation, so through Christ the flow is reversed and light and life will reign forever.

Every tragedy, every single calamity, every tear, every ache, and every pain will be transformed into a reason to praise Him, a demonstration of the love of God, and the power of God, and the glory of God.

If then, you have been raised with Christ,

seek the things that are above,

where Christ is,

seated at the right hand of God.

Set your minds on things that are above,

not on things that are on earth.

For you have died,

and your life is hidden 

with Christ in God.

When Christ,

who is your life

appears,

then you also

will appear

with Him in glory.

(Colossians 3:1-4)

I am thankful for God's promise of restoration, and I am thankful that God always keeps His promises.

Thankful after all

Today I awoke at home, deeply thankful to be here, in the comfort and quiet of my own bed, in my own bedroom, in my own house.

The sky was very, very white outside my window, behind the intricate bare, black branches of my maple tree.  As I looked out my window at the white and black view, I saw puffy snowflakes slowly drifting down among the branches like particles of grace, white flecks of motion, gentle and lovely against the stark backdrop, yet adding no color.  Sometimes a gust of air would carry them upwards, and somehow, even though the sun was completely hidden behind a thick layer of white cloud, they shone softly with its reflection.

As I write about the beauty I saw, I realize that I am more thankful than I thought I was, because, you see, I was struggling with hurt, a headache and a heartache, and I didn't think I was thankful.  But by the grace of God, I am thankful, and to Him belongs all the praise.

I didn't think I was thankful, because I was experiencing a fear, and it was a fear that sprang out of things I have learned, and things that haunt me from past experiences.  Memories are powerful things, and they center around the Momentous Occasions of our lives.  We remember the Momentous Occasions, and we remember how people treated us.  We are much more apt to forget how we treated others, but we remember our own emotions; ah, how we remember those.

I awoke with a heavy heart and a lump in my throat.  A lump in my throat.  That's such a cliche, and yet, so accurate.  I was thinking about Momentous Occasions of the past, marred by bad behavior, selfishness, obliviousness and misunderstandings, but mostly selfishness.  I had a fear of Momentous Occasions yet to come, and the premonition that they will be similarly marred, cloaked in hurt and darkness and division.  The thing is, where Momentous Occasions are concerned, you don't get a second chance.  They are once and done, and the memory is sealed.  Weddings, funerals, births.  Somebody ought to tell you:  It matters.  Do it right.  Be on your best behavior.  Be gracious.  Please be gracious.  You will never be sorry for having been gracious.

Momentous Occasions are like photographs, and you want to look your best in the memories, because the memories will be made, one way or another, and they will last.  Why isn't this common knowledge, widely shared wisdom, something everybody knows and lives by?  Why does it take so long to learn, and why does the learning of it have to come through failures?  Why, even once we start to learn it, do we focus on "them" and not on ourselves?  They shouldn't wreck the memories, we declare, while neglecting to seek the grace we could extend to mitigate the damage.

We can only control ourselves, and even that is a dubious endeavor.  We need the power of the Holy Spirit at work in us, helping us, empowering us.  Oh, God, help us.  Help us to give grace, even when if feels like it is being sucked out into a black hole.  Help us trust You to use our meager sacrifices for Your perfect purposes.  Help us trust that what we give to You, You will never waste, but instead multiply into blessings that magnify Your glory and bless us with goodness.

Here is a story of a mystery of God:

Our ladies' Bible study is studying 1 Corinthians.  We are studying 1 Corinthians primarily because I wanted to study 2 Corinthians, but felt obliged to study 1 Corinthians first.  I had never studied any Corinthians in context, although I knew a good many verses from these epistles, out of context.  I never knew how it all fit together.

As we began our journey through 1 Corinthians, I was struck by two things:  (1) This is a tremendously difficult book (no wonder pastors rarely exposit through it), and (2) It is all about humility.

Yes, humility.  Right now.  Humility is what I am studying.

All the evils of the world will cease when humility reigns.  Humility.  Humble.  Humanity.  Human.  Do you think God allowed this word etymology to evolve together for no good reason?

In the Corinthian church, they suffered under a plague of pride and competition.  They took the good gifts of God, His word, His teachers, even the gifts of the Spirit to equip each believer, and they perverted it all into contests.  Honestly, they were actually elbowing one another out of the way in order to get first dibs on a hearty serving of the communion elements.  Can you imagine?  They boasted of how free they were in Christ, and displayed their freedom by boldly committing sins, then bragged that their freedom to sin made them all the more praiseworthy (1 Corinthians 5:1-2).  The Apostle Paul told them they were getting things backwards.

They were a sick bunch, and their sickness was rooted in pride.  The cure was to become humble, to empty themselves and let the Spirit of God flow in and fill them with grace.  Do all for the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31).  Look to the interests of others, give up your rights for the good of others, and seek the things that build up the body of believers.  Be humble.

Humility is putting the interests others ahead of our own interests.  Humility is love, and love is humble.  Love is kind.  It is not proud, rude or self-seeking.  It is not easily angered and keeps no record of wrongs.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  (1 Corinthians 13)

Humility is something we must do ourselves.  It is the opposite of humility to insist that the other person be humble.  One cannot say, "You must keep no record of the wrongs I've done to you!"  Rather, one must depend on the Lord to help with the casting away of the records of the wrongs that one has suffered, oneself.  It is very hard.

Yet, how Providential that this is exactly what the Lord is teaching me, right now, as I stand on the edge of the cliff of a Momentous Occasion where, once again, hurts seem certain to spring up into eternally engraved memories.

And then, again by the Providence of God, I recently had the opportunity to listen to some excellent audio books of the Chronicles of Narnia.  As these old, familiar stories unfolded, I noticed, from my ever-aging perspective, how constantly Lewis wrote about humility and pride, and the goodness of the one and the tragedy of the other.  He is a master of showing, not telling, and in my older age, he moves me to tears more often than not.

Humility is love, and love is grace, and grace is forgiveness.  It's all one big, inextricable weaving of virtue into a blanket of godliness that covers and heals.

This is what the Lord calls us to.  This is what the Lord calls me to.  He has lavished grace on me, and I must pour grace out on others, following the example of Jesus Himself, who washed His disciples' feet and then poured out His life on the bloody cross of Calvary.  This is what it is to have the mind of Christ (1 Corinthians 2:16).

I think again of those silent, bright, moving snowflakes among the dark, naked maple branches.  In a scene that would have been stark and depressing, they brought lightness.  It is the season of hope.

These three remain: faith, hope and love (1 Corinthians 13:13).  By faith, we believe in the sovereignty and the goodness of God.  This faith begets hope, hope that He will make it all beautiful in His time, as He promises.  Hope finds its fruition in love, both the growing love that we have now because of the presence of the Holy Spirit with us, and the fullness of love in which we will dwell in eternity.  Love is the healing of the nations, love is the safe place where we neither commit nor endure hurts, ever again.

Let all that you do be done in love.

1 Corinthians 16:14

If you follow this principle,
with the help of the Holy Spirit
who works miracles of grace,
you may even be able to go back
and retouch old memories,
bringing beauty from
the ashes of the past.
For this I am truly, deeply, transcendently
thankful.

Thankful for the Holy Spirit

I am increasingly, overwhelmingly thankful for the gift, the treasure of the Holy Spirit of God.

God is with us today, in our age and time, through the constant, abiding presence of His Holy Spirit.

He is our salvation and our righteousness.

He is our power and our confidence.

He is our comfort and our security.

He is our teacher and our wisdom.

He, the Holy Spirit of Christ, dwells within my body, which is His temple.  He is my hope of glory.  He promises never to leave me nor forsake me, even unto the end of the age.

Of course, at the end of the age, we will enter the fully unveiled presence of God.

But for now, the Holy Spirit carries us through this broken world, reminding us of our hope and enabling us, through His encouragement and His power, to persevere until the end.

Thankful for warm feet

This time of year, my feet are often cold.  They get especially cold when I take off my socks to go to bed, and they can take a long time to rewarm under the covers.

In the morning, however, my feet are toasty warm.  It is the most delicious feeling, the feeling of dry, enveloping warmth running right through to the tips of my toes.  I'm thankful for my furnace, my bed, my soft cotton sheets, my blankets, and my husband, who is an excellent heat source.

I am thankful for the luxurious feeling of waking up with warm feet.

Thankful for these outrageous gloves

I used to lose gloves all the time.  A small black glove slips unnoticed to the low, dark corners of life.  Also, I have wondered if people tend to take nice, understated black leather gloves, like ballpoint pens, useful pieces of property that are often laid down thoughtlessly, and everybody's look the same.  Maybe people don't even pilfer them on purpose.  "Are these mine?" they wonder, as they tuck them into a pocket.

When I lost my favorite dark brown leather, silk-lined gloves that I bought in Paris in 1996, I was really sad.  I decided that something had to be done.

Since it seemed that I kept losing my gloves because of their subtle appearance, I decided to buy a pair that would be hard to miss, visually.  I bought a pair of pink and fuchsia striped, thinsulate-lined humdingers.  They don't match anything.

For over seven years, I have not lost these gloves.  Sometimes, I may be tempted to wish I would.  It is almost (almost?) embarrassing to wear them.  However, they are always there, always easy to find.  And nobody is tempted to steal them.

Yesterday as I suited up to walk Duffy in the bitter cold, I grabbed them out of the mudroom, and I was thankful.

Thankful for my Verse of the Year this year

Every year on January 1, I pick a word or two (and eventually sometimes three) to focus on through the year.  This year I chose the words Power and Glory.

Then, I find a verse to go with my words, and I memorize it.

This year's verse is 1 Chronicles 29:11. . .

Yours, O Lord, is the greatness, and the power, 
and the glory, and the victory, and the majesty,
for all that is in the heavens and in the earth is Yours!  
Yours is the Kingdom, O Lord!
And You are exalted as Head above all!

I truly love this verse, and I feel better every time I say it, remembering who my Heavenly Father is, and how powerful and glorious, with authority over everything.  It is the antidote for sadness, anxiety and frustration.

I think of it when I say the Lord's Prayer, especially the beginning and the end:

Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven . . .
For Yours is the Kingdom, and the power and the glory forever!  
Amen.

Thankful for warm, cozy clothes

It's colder than it was at this time last year.

The chill stiffens my muscles and creeps into my bones.  Walking the puppy is not the joy it was a few weeks ago.  Snowflakes dangle in the air, then alight on the shrubbery, where they stay, thin but determined, a powdered-sugar dusting of white coldness.  They are not melting.

So, I am thankful for warm clothes!  I especially like big, soft, bulky sweaters, broken in and oozing with comfort.  The one I'm wearing today is particularly soft, and has a zipper.  Shawn gave it to me for Christmas one year, and it was a size or two too big, which was disappointing to him, but not to me!

I'm thankful for warm, cozy clothes.

Thankful for an EASY recipe for gluten-free pumpkin pancakes

Lots of gluten free recipes are complicated and putzy, and also full of rice flour, of which I am not a fan.

In the world of gluten free eating, I aim to eat as cheaply, normally and simply as possible.  Thus, I was thrilled when my experiment with gluten free pumpkin pancakes turned out to be surprisingly successful.

Gluten Free Pumpkin Pancakes

For one serving (multiply as desired):

2 eggs
1/3 cup canned pumpkin
1/4 cup quick-cooking rolled oats (GF)
salt (in a salt shaker)
ground cloves (in a shaker bottle)
cinnamon (in a shaker bottle)

Crack the eggs into your blender.  Add the pumpkin, oats, two shakes of salt, one shake of clove and three shakes of cinnamon.  Canned pumpkin varies, so if yours is particularly thick, you may need to add a tablespoon or so of milk, almond milk, or water.  Blend until smooth.

[If you aren't desirous of being particularly healthy, you could also add some sugar to this recipe, but I find that the syrup I pour over my pancakes gives more than enough sweetness for me.]

Cook in frying pan over medium heat for three minutes on the first side.  Flip, reduce heat, and cook for three more minutes.  Your cooking time is where you can customize these to your personal taste.  If you like them moist and almost custardy in the middle, like pumpkin pie filling, cook a bit less.  If you like them fluffy, cook a bit longer.  Stoves vary, so watch closely and don't burn them!!

Serve with real butter and real maple syrup!

I am thankful for quick, easy gluten free recipes made with things I already have in my pantry!

Thankful for a Very Big Deal

Once I had a friend who told me her mother measured circumstances by this litmus: "Is it a life?"  If the answer was no, her mother would declare, "It isn't a life."  And that was that.  No big deal.

In the scheme of things, there are big deals and not-so-big deals.  We are often tempted to measure the magnitude of something by its dollar value.  For instance, it seems like a bigger deal if you get sick and have to miss a vacation in the Caribbean, than if you get sick and miss having coffee with a friend.  Likewise, it seems like a bigger deal if you win a new car, than if you win a free Coke.

When our heads are screwed on properly, we understand that money is not the biggest deal.  Life trumps money, and the biggest deals of all involve life and death.  Life is priceless.

This is why today's thankful post is a Very Big Deal.

I am thankful that we have a little grandbaby who is expected be born right around Christmastime this year.

My mind is boggled at the thought of this new life, who even now pokes funny shapes in his mama's stretched belly, and visibly cavorts in all the space available, ever striving to push for more.

Amazingly, through the wonders of modern technology, we have already seen this baby's tiny face, and it looks remarkably like his mama's tiny face, when she was newly born.

Grandbaby's face

Grandbaby's mama's face

as a newborn

God is the Giver of Life.  I am thankful for this new life, and joy, and hope for the future, and precious memories of the past.  I am thankful for the linked chain of family and love.

I am thankful.

Thankful for walks

I am thankful that I can walk, and that I have beautiful places to walk.

Walking is exercise.  How amazing and wonderful is that?

I love to walk outside, and see the beauty of the trees and the great wide sky.

Looking up, I see blue space, flickering leaves, bare twigs, sailing clouds.  Looking down, I see crunchy fallen leaves, green grasses, stones, gravel, dirt, and various plants, pods and puddles.  Ahead lies a path, beside me a thicket.

I love to walk, moving my legs, rolling my feet, swinging my arms, squinting into the sun and breathing.

I am thankful for walks.

Thankful that it isn't winter yet

There is nothing so gorgeous as the last days of autumn, when afternoon sun comes slanting through turned leaves, gold and orange and red.  The leaves catch dollops of light, juggling bright spots gently in a chill breeze under cold, clear, blue sky.

I want to walk and walk, before the snow falls, soaking in each moment before it is gone.  The days go fast now, especially since we turned our clocks back.  It's dark by 5 p.m.  Another day gone, another day closer to winter.

And yet, it is not winter.  Not yet.

For that I am thankful.  Seize the day!

Thankful for Duffy

I'm just going to go ahead and burn the Duffy card at the outset, because I need to explain why I may be missing some thankful posts this year.

This little dog-baby.

When you are used to old, settled dogs, it is quite a flurry of newness to bring a young pup into the household.  And when you no longer have any children at home to play with the young pup, well.  It all depends on you, yourself . . . and you may be past your prime, a tad tired.

But a cute puppy is one of God's most aesthetically amazing creations, in my opinion.  It is a great blessing to have a puppy, to play with him, feed him, and laugh at his wild tricks.  An uninhibited, carefree, energetic puppy brings a person right up out of the doldrums.

Today Duffy and I were taking a walk, and we noticed a neighbor who used to have a golden retriever, playing in his yard with a small black puppy.  His old dog must have died about the same time ours did.  He and I both got a bit misty-eyed, swapping stories.  Duffy, at four months, is about the same size as this other puppy, who is nine weeks right now.  She is a golden-doodle, and she is very playful, which is exactly what Duffy has been hoping for.  They romped and rolled and wrestled with no signs of slowing, until the school bus dropped off a gaggle of kids and I was able to tear Duffy away amidst the distraction.

I am thankful for Duffy, but right now he is creeping exploratorily around my study, making chewing noises near electrical cords, and I need to go. I've already had to pause once, to rescue some delicate hand-washables that he stole off the drying rack, and ease them from his piranha-like teeth.

So, if I'm scarcer here than I have been in Novembers past, please realize that it is only on account of one of the things for which I am thankful.

Oooops... there goes the wastebasket.  No lie.

And the entire drying rack just crashed.  Signing out.

Thankful for lots of things

I missed a bunch of days of thankfulness,
but not because I wasn't thankful.

I wrote once before that I was thankful for roads,
and I am,
even though I wish I didn't need to be.
Recently, I was feeling
decidedly unthankful
for Wisconsin,
which lies between
my current home and my natal home.

The last few times we have driven through Wisconsin,
blizzards have raged,

and this last time, once again,
Wisconsin sleet and snow assailed us.

But,
I am very thankful for a safe drive.

I'm thankful for my mother,
who turned 86 on Saturday.

My phone camera foreshortens and distorts in the oddest ways.
My mother is a tiny person,
and these golden roses were very large,
but the camera makes the proportions look ridiculous.

Still,
I cannot quite image how I came into the world
through such a tiny person.
A mother is a precious and mysterious thing,
the one who cradled me in her body before I was born.

I am thankful for a mother who
gave me life,
raised me to know Jesus,
and is still here to be visited!

Thankful (it's November)

I finally realized that today is November 1.  Happy November 1!

The tradition of writing daily thankful posts in November has been a huge blessing to me.  I should have been planning a bang-up premiere post, but I've been caught off-guard instead.

There are so many things to be thankful for . . . big things, small things, serious things, lighthearted things.

Right now, at this moment, at 4:17 p.m. in the afternoon, when I haven't started dinner, this is what I am thankful for:

A package of unfrozen ground beef in my refrigerator, which will make dinner much easier than it otherwise might be.  I am thankful for this simple and adaptable ingredient.  I think I will make chili.  A steaming pot of chili would be lovely on this cold, dark, rainy day.

A Halloween fright

This morning, I went to take Duffy out for a walk.

He paused on the threshold of the front door.  Looking down, I tugged at his leash, stepped out ahead of him to set a good example, and then slowly began to close the door, easing him forward.  All the time, I was watching him and talking to him, encouraging him.  Finally he hopped forward.  I finished closing the door and glanced up, only to see a gigantic cat, curled forebodingly in the nearest porch chair.

It was a huge cat with gray stripes, massive back legs, and a long, long tail.  Startled and shocked, I gasped and began screaming.  The cat did not move.  I gripped Duffy's leash and ran, dragging him across the street, screaming all the way.  On the far side of the street, I was able to gather myself and do a deep breathing exercise while I surveyed my situation.  The cat remained contentedly curled up in the chair, thwarting me from any hope of re-entering my home.

Shawn was upstairs in his study, holding an online meeting with a group of people who were assembled in Nevada.  He'd been preparing for this meeting for days, possibly weeks.  Even if he heard me scream, I didn't know if he could break away.

There I stood, in the street, chilly and windblown, shaking, grasping the leash at whose end was my tiny, four-pound puppy, wondering if the twenty-pound cat on my porch was ever going to be finished with her nap in my chair.

Then, like a hero, or an angel from heaven, Shawn opened the door and called out, "Just a minute!"  A few moments later, he appeared with a clear spray bottle, which he sprayed in the cat's face.  The cat rose from its lounge and dashed off, towards me actually, but I ran in a circle down the street and back towards my house.

Yes, it is Halloween.

If this post does not make sense to you, you can read about my cat phobia here.

Humility and polite words

Manners are fading from our culture, which is a shame.

Manners are training that teaches us to put the interests of others ahead of our own interests.

Fairly recently, somebody blew me away with the comment that you should teach your children always to hand someone a cup or a pitcher with the handle extended, so the other person has an easy time taking hold of it.  I had never been taught that, nor had I ever done it, or even thought of it.  Yet, it makes perfect sense.

Think of others.  Care for others.

Here's the thing:  When everyone is humble, caring for others, it frees people not to need to protect their own interests.  When all the people are grasping for their own individual rights and privileges, it is terrifying to think of being the first to let go and lay down your own rights for the good of others.

What are our rights, anyway?

The United States of America has given unprecedented rights to her citizens.  Never before in history have the people of a nation been granted so many rights and freedoms.  However, along the way, we have become accustomed to our rights.  We take them as a matter of fact.  I can vote.  I have the right to a fair trial.  I have the right to a free education.  I can own property, travel basically anywhere I wish, and express myself freely.  I can even run for political office, if I am so inclined.  These things are a matter of assumption, and in the case of the free education, many don't even appreciate it.  They see the blessing as a burden.  I'm not sure how it is in Western Europe, but here in the USA, the prevalent attitude is one of assumed entitlement.  We do not tend to be thankful for our freedoms; rather, we assume that we deserve them.

As this attitude becomes more habitual, we forget to guard our freedom, because we forget that it is precious and that it was won at a cost, at the price of many who died in battles to attain it.  We do not remember life before the Bill of Rights.  We somehow become deluded into assuming that freedom has always been.  We think freedom is simply the natural way, and everyone knows that everyone is free and equal, and everyone automatically ought to be able to do whatever he wants to do, so long as he isn't killing or stealing, and actually, it's okay to kill or steal, too, as long as you are only doing these things to those who don't count because of certain factors, like their belief system or their income level or their age or their abilities (or, more accurately, disabilities).  I hope that you can see that I am saying that these assumptions are crazy and dangerous.

I long for a return to humility.  We used to be ashamed to be selfish and prideful, but now we revere selfishness and admire proud people.  I long for a return to humility.

Humility listens.  Humility wants to know what others think and feel.  Humility cares.  When there is a conflict, humility rolls up its sleeves, enters into the muck, seeks resolution and says, "I'm sorry," for whatever part it played in the problem.

Humility says, "I'm sorry," when someone gets hurt.  Humility is more concerned about restoration and resolution than about defending its own position.  Humility is willing to examine whether or not it was right, and admit when it was not.  Humility says, "I'm sorry."

Humility doesn't presume to deserve things.  So, when humility wants or needs something, humility says, "Please."

"Please pass the salt."

"Please, can you help me find my glasses?"

"Please, could you put gas in the car today?"

"Please listen to me."

"Please forgive me."

When we say "please," we are not ordering or commanding. We are requesting that someone do something for us that we do not deserve, something that requires kindness of heart.  Some people misuse the word please.  They add it to a command, to promote additional obligation: "Please stop hitting your brother."  This is unfortunate, because it warps the meaning of the word.  "Please" means, I know I am asking for something I do not deserve, but if it would please you to do this kindness for me, I would be very grateful.

Speaking of being grateful, the last polite phrase I want to discuss is, "Thank you."  Humble people are much more thankful than prideful people, because they see life from a different slant.  Instead of raking in advantages as a matter of course, humble people accept each good thing as a blessing and a gift, unexpected and delightful.  Humble people recognize grace for what it is: undeserved.  Since humble people do not set out expecting to receive assets and boons at every turn, they respond to blessings with gratitude and joy, wondering why they, of all people, should gain such treasure, whether it be a cozy home, a caring phone call, a faithful spouse, an award, a soft blanket, a check in the mail or a glass of milk.  They are filled with gratitude.

In fact, I think a return to manners in our culture could possibly start with the cultivation of grateful hearts.  If we could learn to feel grateful and say, "Thank you," perhaps we would soon become more automatic at saying, "Please."  By the time we get those two truly ingrained into our hearts, perhaps we would find ourselves enough attuned to others that we would also say, "I'm sorry," when it needs to be said.

I'm sorry.  Please.  Thank you.  When spoken from the heart, these are hallmarks of humility and the building blocks of healthy relationships which, ultimately, form healthy cultures and civilizations.

First haircut

Our little pup is growing and growing.  Yesterday, he went for his first puppy cut.  They bathed him and trimmed his face, feet and hygiene areas.  He came home unbelievably silky and soft, with his eyes free from fur, able to peer up wistfully and melt our hearts yet again.

Here is a "before" picture,

with wild hair, uncut from birth.

And here he is "after"--

a little bit freaked out by the process,

but perfect in his pumpkin scarf.

End of the garden

Blogging and gardening have taken a backseat to puppy training.

A new puppy is a completely different ballgame from an old, settled dog who lives to nap next to you, or on your lap, while you blog or read or study to teach a Bible study.

Joy, chaos, frenzy, laughter, and aching bones as you bend down to put on your shoes, yet again, and take the puppy outside after he rings his potty-bells.  Skin chafing slightly from constant contact with tiny, testing puppy teeth (I know you said no bite, but is this too hard?  How about this?  Or this?).

So, with sincere apologies, the dregs of the garden in unremarkable format.  A day or two ago, I yanked everything out, and Shawn bagged it up for fall pick-up, and just like that the 2018 garden is over, except for some lovely dried hydrangeas that I probably should have photographed instead of what's here.  However, lacking as the pictures themselves might be, I think it is a grace that these plants have continued blooming for so long.  A grace, and a miracle.  I am thankful.

These day lilies have gone on and on, to my complete delight.

Wild cosmos.  They self sow.  I can't get the big pink ones to do anything, but these grow like weeds.  I think that they might, officially, be weeds, actually.  But I love the autumn hues, especially right now.  Well, until a day or two ago when I pulled them out.

The nasturtiums were long lasting, if droopy.  Yes, they were quite bedraggled by the end, but I enjoyed them all the same.

The zinnias were prolific, as usual, and added a whimsical touch to the yard for the better part of the season.  Something about them makes it hard to photograph them satisfactorily.  I think it's because they have such charming details, but you lose the details if you pull out to show how many there are.  I always get drawn in by the detail, and then I don't have any pictures to document the big-picture effect.

The four-o'-clocks were also charming, and they were even all volunteers!  Oddly, I can't get the color.  These flowers are red, not pink.  The pink ones are a pretty, pale pink.  I do not know why my phone turns all the red four-o'clocks into fuchsia.  I can capture a red zinnia . . .

The cleome, also a plant that readily reseeds, was unremarkable this year.  I used blossom booster too early, and the foliage suffered.  I think plenty of seeds were set for next year, notwithstanding.

A bonus blossom on my obedient plant, long after the main bloom had finished.

A totally unexpected rebloom of snapdragons!

A stunted white petunia in a pot.  Even the simplest things can be so pretty, can't they?  It is an encouragement to all of us, that we should bloom wherever we are, and someone will be blessed.

The cosmos might be weeds.  These are definitely weeds, but I appreciate how they brighten the shade under a grove of trees.

Now for some photos I actually like:

I had no idea hibiscus would continue so long!

Here is the furry fluffball who keeps me out of my garden.  Did you know that four-o'-clock seeds are very bad for dogs?  And did you know that small stubborn dogs are wont to hunt four-o'-clock seeds at every possible opportunity?

A rose from my husband, to keep the joy going indoors, even as it fades outside.