Finding Home

 

When I moved to the east of Pittsburgh in 2006, my husband and I attended traditional church for a few years together. I knew there had to be something more to worshipping. Something more to hearing the Word and having it brought to life. Something more to a relationship with Jesus.

In my quest, I began asking everyone in my circle, “Do you know of a different type of church? One where you can really “feel” God’s presence?

A patient in the dental office I worked in at the time, mentioned Amplify Church which was Pittsburgh East Community Church at the time.

Walking up to the doors of this very large building, I felt intimidated. Would people accept us? Would we feel comfortable? What was the pastor like? Would we “get” something more out of the service?

I’d never seen a full band on a stage- type- of set- up before. I’d never heard music like that either. Words were shown on a large screen so that I could see what we were hearing and singing about. And that is when I began crying. I’m glad I had tissues with me, because the waterworks didn’t let up through each song. Each, more beautiful than the last. Each, with a message of how wonderful God was and how loving.

When it was time to hear what the pastor had to say, I was even more pleased. For you see, I had never heard relevant messages before. All I’d known was stories of what it was like in Bible times, and have those same stories read over and over, but not explained in a way that I could understand and apply to my life.

The pastor, Lee Kricher, was soft-spoken and intelligent. I loved his way of preaching, which actually was more like teaching. And that is what I needed. Learning what the Old Testament stories meant in pointing the way closer to Jesus. And the New Testament ones came alive like never before. He said that Jesus loved us unconditionally and knew us personally. He said that Jesus forgave my sins, and I was not the same person I was.

I certainly felt differently after that service. I knew there was more to God’s story and my story. We joined small group Bible studies in the church. We formed friendships and learned even more about Jesus.

I still felt a bit intimidated at times in such a big church, especially around the pastor. Even with his quiet ways, he seemed like a figure larger than life to me. Could I ever approach him and speak to him personally? One day, I bravely walked up to him during a Bible study evening. “Are you Pastor Lee?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “What is your name?” And the way he looked at me showed that he was interested, that he cared. We spoke a little longer and then he walked me to the room our particular group was in, and announced, “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Karen.” I blushed and smiled, and felt incredible. This leader knew me by name. He was kind and understanding to me.

As the years progressed, I found that God has said that same thing about me. “I’d like you to meet Karen. She’s my beloved.” I had that personal relationship I’d been craving for so long. It began with a quiet pastor, someone who gave me his time and attention. He showed me what God was like in how he acted. I knew we’d come home.

 

Divine Appointment

Years ago when I shopped at a Giant Eagle store near my hometown, there was a wonderful African American man who used to bag groceries. He was a retired pastor, and it was a delight to be in his line. His careworn face filled with a roadmap of wrinkles held the clearest, soulful brown eyes I'd ever seen. A baseball cap was perched on his head with silver hair peeking underneath. He always had a big bright smile for the customers and would have something special to share.

"God's a blesser," he would tell me as I reached for my bags. "I praise Him every day." Or, "God bless you, daughter. Have a peace-filled day."

I miss seeing him when I return to my old stomping grounds, but I will never forget this man.

Today I was feeling a little melancholy. Thanksgiving is approaching, and it will be the second one without my parents. My husband has been working so much overtime it is affecting his personality and his negativity is overwhelming. Work has been stressful, television news has been awful. I began to let the blues overtake me.

Wow, it seems nobody cares anymore. People are so indifferent. There's never a good or kind word from anyone. I haven't met a person lately who isn't filled with anger. Everyone is at odds about something.

I wrote a few words this morning on Facebook:

What if? What if today we step out of our comfort zone for another person? What if we don't judge someone who is different? What if we give ourselves and others permission to make a mistake and forgive immediately? What if we treat others with respect and kindness? What if it lasts more than just for today?

After church I stopped in a dollar store. My stomach was rumbling with hunger, so I wanted the trip to be a quick one. I was looking at a few small teddy bears when I heard a voice behind me. "Aw, you like the furry little bears, do ya?"

I turned and looked into the face of someone so similar to the man I'd known all those years ago at Giant Eagle. His smile was radiant, a baseball cap perched on his head over silver hair peeking from underneath. I couldn't see his eyes, as he wore light brown sunglasses. We began a conversation.

It seems this man was a pastor. He, too, is retired and works on cars part-time. The kindness he showed, and the way he spoke, gave me fresh hope. He talked as if we were old friends. He gave me ideas of places to go and the beauty in nature waiting to be seen. He said that if we look, God is in the splendor all around us. I felt drawn to him, and asked his name. He told me it was Richard. And that in itself was special. It's my father's name. He handed me a little purple pin, an Alzheimer's remembrance pin. And I found that odd as well since Mom passed away from Alzheimer's complications only last year.

We chatted at least a half hour, and I didn't regret one moment. Everything I had felt earlier vanished in the presence of this good old soul. Even my hunger. For I now hungered for his words; words that gave me a fresh outlook and something to believe.

His parting words to me were, "God sets up appointments, doesn't He? We just have to look for them."

I'm glad this appointment was right on time.

It Will Be a Year

I'm pretty sure on this day last year, a Sunday, I was sitting with my mom at her care facility. I wheeled her around outside, listening to the chirping of the birds in the trees, and enjoying the warmth of the sunny day. I told her stories about the birds we listened to, the butterflies floating nearby in the little garden of flowers, and the cute dog that was a part of weekend visits there. When we went back inside for her lunch, I sat content by her side, enjoying the time with my mother and learning all the different oddities of the others seated around her.

There was a man who wheeled himself around and around the room as if searching for his lost love. There was a boisterous lady who reminded us of an old family friend with a biting, sarcastic humor. There was a sweet black lady who was blind, and had a marvelous singing voice and a huge sweet tooth for candy. A Chinese lady who befriended me and tried to get Mom to talk more. These people had become a normal part of my life. I'd grown fond of them, and looked forward to seeing them as I visited my mother.

How was I to know that in one week my mother would be gone? How do any of us ever know? No, her health wasn't great, but she seemed stable. It had been easy to picture heading into fall and Halloween at the facility, and then Thanksgiving and Christmas. In my mind I planned all sorts of fun things for Mom and the other residents. I would read stories to them, and make little gift bags. I couldn't wait.

Friday of that week, I got a very serious phone call from the Home. Mom began bleeding, vomiting actually. They wanted to know which hospital to send her. I chose an older hospital that we had used most of our lives; I knew that they knew her history best, and would give her good care. I phoned my work office and told them I wouldn't be in. I told them my mother had another emergency.

By the time I got to the E.R., Mom was doing better, rather quiet and calm. A doctor pulled me aside and much like our decision with Dad, told me it may be time to let the Good Lord intervene if He so chose. She had lost huge amounts of blood. They would only give her a blood transfusion if the family requested it, but in observing her failing health, her passing would be inevitable anyway. My brother and I spoke about it, and as long as Mom was comfortable and not vomiting any longer (they had given her something for that), we would begin the vigil of letting her go.

I remember sitting with my mother back at the care facility later that day. She told me that I looked pretty in the color I wore. She would fall asleep, become agitated, and then awaken where I would reassure her with words of comfort. I sat by her side quietly for hours.

The next day my husband and I visited with Mom. She did not wake up. Her breathing was shallow, the gurgle in her chest had begun. I laid my head upon my mother's shoulder while tears found their way out of the corners of my eyes. I began singing softly to my mother, silly songs she'd sung to comfort me as a child. Later that night, I received a phone call around three a.m. Mom wouldn't be here much longer. I live an hour away and wanted to leave immediately. My husband was worried for me driving at that hour and in the state I was in. My brother was able to be at our mother's side, and we remained on the phone together for a long while.

My brother later told that a sound like soft footsteps seemed to enter the room though no nurse was there. A napkin blew down from Mom's table, though no breeze created it. And in our mother's hands was clutched her Miraculous Medal necklace though we couldn't imagine how it had gotten there. Mom passed very peacefully.

I remember being strong for myself and other family members during the preparations for her funeral. I remember holding up well and greeting loved ones and friends with my own comfort for them and the words, "I know she is with God and Dad now." And my mother looked beautiful--radiant almost. I had no difficulty standing near her casket and soaking in every last detail that I could of her.

Why is it that I am having such a rough time right now? What is it about this first anniversary of her passing that has thrown me into a black hole of despair? For I find that I am not the same person. I am easily offended, sad and depressed. I cannot find the laughter that was such a big part of my world--of my family's world. Why is grief refusing to let me go of it's ugly grip?

I have many emotions when I think back on all that our family has gone through in these last two years. Two years of losing both parents. Two years of Mom's dementia and failing health. Part of what I feel is guilt, you see. Guilt over relief that a burden has been lifted. Guilt over not being there for my mother's final breath. Guilt over making the decision about the blood transfusion. But what is it that Mom always said?

My mother wrote me many notes and little letters in cards through the years. And one that I found recently said this: All our love always and forever. I want you to know all bad things pass but good thoughts last forever. Hold those good thoughts in your heart.

 And another: My Dearest Karen, I'm not the writer you are, but I speak from my heart. We grew together not just mother and daughter, but best friends also. We had laughs over the years but most of all, love. When you tell me I taught you compassion, you already had it when I was sick in your early years. I have been proud to be your mother. We are human, Kar, the Lord didn't mean for us to be angels on this earth. To me being kind and sympathetic as we all are is what I believe the Lord wanted for us. Don't waste this precious life on past mistakes; live it with joy and laughter as much as possible. All my love, Mom

These tangible reminders of how my mother saw life, are guides, beacons to me,  of how she wants me to live. Would she want me to remain guilt-ridden? I think not. Would she want me to wallow in depression? No. I think Mom is speaking to me through these little notes. I think she always knew how I would feel--how I would take her passing. As always, she is there to teach me and guide me. And in my heart, I know that these feelings will pass.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. (And in the mourning.)

This Is Not Easy For Me

In light of all the recent sadness brought on by so many suicides, I feel I need to share a story with you all. This is not easy to speak about.

When I was a young girl of about nine or ten, my parents took me for a visit to our relatives in the next town. I had cousins almost the same age as me, so I hoped it would be a fun time. It must have been a very hot day, so everyone decided we would head to a local pool for swimming. I was terrified of water, and not happy with the decision. I hated when rough older kids played near me, dunking one another and acting silly, and spent the day popping in and out of the pool to avoid them.

A little later in the afternoon--and this is sketchy--my uncle came to pick us up. It seemed that a little emergency had happened at his house, he'd said. And I found out it involved my mother. She'd been taken to the hospital. By this time, I was used to her hospital visits. Unfortunately, I knew all too well what her depression and mental illness looked like. I was used to the haunted look on her face, the words that didn't make sense sometimes when she spoke. I thought it was just another routine visit.

My father had asked my aunt and uncle if I could spend a few days at their house. I wasn't sure why, but I knew it was important. I was already a backward, sad young girl, not a carefree spirit as my cousins seemed to be, and I felt that I didn't fit in well with them.

When Dad picked me up after a few days, he didn't say much. I was thrilled to be back with him and my grandparents who lived next door to us. I became a bit needy, asking a lot of my father, wanting to spend as much time as I could with him, not realizing what he was going through. Mom still wasn't home, and quite a bit of time passed.

What I hadn't known, was my mother reached an all-time low during her visit with our relatives. In her mind, she felt worthless, unloved, guilty and condemned. Nothing looked right to her. Nothing made her happy. She fell into a pit of despair and decided she didn't want to live any longer.

When I saw Mom again, I had no idea what the bandages around her wrists were. All I knew was my mother was back! Maybe this time would be different and she would become a normal mommy.

As time passed, with the help of a great therapist, the love of my father, and a true miracle, my mother's depression lifted. It was as if the sun began to shine in our home for the first time!

My mother remained strong during my battle with scoliosis only a few short years later. A true steadfast presence and blessing to me, she helped keep my spirits up through frightening, serious surgery and a lengthy recovery. She used humor, great stories and prayer to get me through.

 She got pregnant in her late thirties, and though she was told to terminate the pregnancy due to complications from losing two other babies, she went on bravely to have my brother.

 She became an antique dealer, something she'd only dreamed about, and then went on to run a sweet little Mom-and-Pop grocery store where so many high school kids and others would stop daily for great conversation with her. Mom's infectious laughter, soft heart, and listening ear became known all around. To this day, I still hear stories about lives she touched during her time there.

In my later teen years, Mom had a talk with me about her dark time. She admitted her attempted suicide, and shock resonated in my whole being. Didn't she love me? Would she really have wanted to leave my father and I? Anger simmered within me. I needed time to process what she told me. But as more and more of her story unfolded, I began to understand the lost girl she had been. The child who hadn't been wanted. Who had heard her own mother speak of aborting her. Who had a father who seemed like a monster as he beat his wife and frightened the children with his alcoholic rages. And then losing the most precious person in her world, her dear sister at a young age. All of these things coupled with the sensitive person my mother was, would contribute to the black hole of depression in her life.

It was as if the scales fell from my own eyes. Not only was I able to forgive her, but my mother and I became like best friends during this time. I could talk with her about anything. And I learned compassion, forgiveness and goodness from her. I spent my life thanking God that my mother was still here!

What if?

What if she'd succeeded in her attempt? How many lives would not have been touched, blessed and affected in an amazing way? You see, my mother also had a near death experience when she suffered a cardiac arrest after the depression. She was able to share her story of a glimpse of the afterlife and to describe just how wonderful the feeling of being in God's presence was. Her story would go on to bless countless people throughout her life, giving them a reason for hope when they lost a dear loved one.

My mother's life had a purpose and a reason. Yours does too! Talk with someone. Even one person could change the course of your life. Share your feelings with anyone who will listen. Find a therapist, counselor, pastor, or friend. Be real with them. Be raw. You are needed in this world. Like my mother, you have so much more to offer. There will be someone who will benefit from your life, your very good life. There will be someone who is grateful for you being a survivor.

All my prayers and good wishes for you.

I Am Not What Fear Says

What went wrong today? It was a lovely, warm, sunny day. All my preparations had been done for the upcoming author event. Little gift bags were colorfully put together; a big basket and afghan also completed for a giveaway. People were kind and by all rights, nothing should have been negative.

Why then did I falter so terribly? My palms sweated, my hands and voice shook. My throat dried up and felt as if it was closing on me. Darn body! I couldn't trust myself to give a good talk. All the other authors did excellent in my opinion. We had been kind and courteous to one another, listening as our fellow authors spoke. But when it came for my own turn at speaking, I completely dropped the ball today.

Life is like that sometimes. No matter the preparation. No matter how confident we feel, how good we put ourselves together, something can sneak in and loosen the best laid plans. The enemy wants nothing more than to rob us of our joy, or hit us at our most vulnerable. For me, it has always been about insecurity. I have often felt I will never measure up to others. They do everything better than me.

It had been a rough work week. Our boss has been on the warpath with several office changes. I had felt stressed to the point of not sleeping well. I had a bloody nose that wouldn't quit the other morning and I scared myself to death with it. Just an all around yucky week. I am the type of person who enjoys having something to look forward to. So it was with happy anticipation that I began planning to make the author event something special. I had all of the perfect words to say. The blog I was going to read from was heartfelt and the writing, good.

But there I stood at the head of a room filled with women and I began the comparison game. If I had stayed in the moment, if I'd have spoken from my heart as I had wanted, I think I would have had the confidence I needed. But the minute I tried to turn the page I was reading and my fingers wouldn't work, the old voice of "you are failing; you aren't good enough; you are making mistakes" kept nagging at me. My own voice croaked like a frog, and I stumbled and stuttered over what I wanted to say.

Did anyone notice? I was sure they all did. I felt certain that they were wondering why they ever invited me in the first place. After all, I only sold one book to top it all off.

Tonight I'm going to pick myself up, dust myself off, and know that I did my best. Though fear stood solidly before me, and lies tormented me, I am NOT what fear says I am. I am bold, confident, redeemed, loved, accepted and worthy. I am what God says.

When you find yourself in such a moment; when fear beckons and calls you nasty names, plug your ears, sing a great worship song, and remember "Whose" you are.

Signs and Wonders

I have a little story to share. Now, to set you up, you have to realize I am not one usually to believe in signs and such. I don't want to get caught up in mysticism and not miracles.

The other day I was missing my parents so much. I talked to God and asked if someday He might share a small sign that they were near with me. I have never asked this. As I folded clothes later that evening in my room, I felt as if someone stood next to me. I looked to my side and said, "Hi Mom and Dad," and went right on with the clothes. I didn't see anyone.

Later that night as I turned in for the evening, I said "goodnight" to a picture of my parents that is laying on top of my nightstand. It isn't framed, only a regular photograph laying there.

The next morning when I awoke, (I'd like to say I hopped out of bed with a spring in my step, but, well....arthritis and all...), but when I got out of bed, I looked over and the picture of my parents wasn't on the stand. I looked and it was laying on the floor on the side of the nightstand, face up with their beautiful smiling faces looking at me.

I placed the photo back on the nightstand. I tried creating a breeze with my arms, with my bed blankets, with the closet door, etc. Nothing stirred that picture at all. I tried to replicate laying there and hitting it with my arms, but it was too far away from me, and I usually cocoon myself like a burrito when sleeping, so flailing arms aren't usually my thing anyway.

 

 "Well, Lord," I thought, "I did ask. The Bible says you have not because you ask not." Perhaps God's gentle breath blew through my side of the room that night. He stirred the picture of my parents to show me a sweet little sign. They're okay, Karen. They are here with me. They still love you, but they've changed, and they don't have the worries and concerns they once did. Be happy for them.

 

When I look at the photograph now, a huge smile breaks out onto my face. For in this picture, they are young, healthy, happy, and so in love. And I believe they are like that right now.

What signs and wonders have you seen perhaps in nature, or in your own home that reminds you of God's existence and love?

This is the photo:

 

 

Keep Your Eyes on Him

Several years ago I read a book by a then unknown author. It was called "The Shack," and it had a feel to it as if I was not only reading a great story, but learning a lesson in the process. The story stayed with me as all good tales do, and I would think of it on many occasions through the years.

Nothing prepared me for the reaction I would have to the movie, however. Seeing such a heartfelt, deep story playing out before me on a huge screen would leave me with many, many emotions. I felt anger and horror along with the main character and what he was going through, yet there were many moments of  humor  and delight. I believe that I learned more about God's love than I ever thought possible while watching it. Deep thoughts and questions began to form. I knew I wanted to share this movie with loved ones who may not understand the nature of God, and I prayed for the right timing.

One of the biggest things I realized is, we all have our own "shack." As the author, Wm. Paul Young pointed out on a television special, there are deep places of hurt within all of us, our own shack, so to speak. A place where unspeakable issues may exist. Perhaps trauma from childhood, rejection, an unfair situation that occurred in our lives. Loss of loved ones too early, physical problems or situations that feel unbearable as we are going through them.

Some of the shacks in my own life were built by me; there were times I went my own way and made the stupidest mistakes, yet other shacks were thrown at me with their splintered wood and rusty nails.

We can think of one instant or several in our lives where we cried out to God for His help and mercy. We had never felt so alone or abandoned, thinking He was nowhere to be found. It was in these darkest nights of the soul that I learned more than ever to keep my eyes focused on Him.

There's a scene in the movie where Mack, the main character is on a boat. Clouds gather, the water turns murky, and the boat begins to fill with water. It was the PERFECT metaphor for what it's like to be overcome by trauma. I loved it when Jesus said, "It's not real! Look at ME, look at me, keep your eyes on ME!" It was then that the storm and the flood waters began to calm. If only we could remember to keep our eyes on Jesus in times of trouble.

Recently I felt overwhelmed by fear and I pictured laying my head against Jesus and holding His hand. I cried out for Him to give me the courage to go through the situation. Peace settled on me almost immediately, and I found the strength to go on.

In the movie, Jesus is an ordinary, likeable guy. Mack feels the closest with Him because He is human. We put Him in a "holy box" sometimes, thinking He is too far above us because He is perfect, good, righteous and holy. We forget that He came as a man for US. We are His delight. It blows my mind, but also humbles me. He calls us friend. 

What is your shack? What do you hide in the secret recesses of your heart? Do you think it's unforgivable?  Are you so ashamed of something you've done, secrets you keep, or hurts that were done to you? Let them go. Free yourself of the bondage. Forgive the person who hurt you, maybe not to their face, but in a letter you may never send. Write, write, write. It's very cathartic. Keep a journal and pray about the things you write.

There was pain in my childhood of times when I wasn't sure my mother would be restored to our family after the stigma of mental illness. There were moments of bullying so bad in middle school that I would cry every day, and retain some of the hurt for many years. There was the betrayal of a husband in my early twenties, a man that I thought the sun rose and set on, and the feeling of unworthiness attached to the fact that he chose another over me. There was a dark time in my son's teenage years that I felt my heart was breaking. 

Keep Your Eyes on Me. Jesus says.

Well if my eyes are on you, Lord, then they aren't on my problems any longer. If my eyes are on you, then I'm not seeing the past and the breaking of my heart. I'm able to let go, forgive those who hurt me and hurt my loved ones. Forgive myself for bad choices and mistakes. 

What about death? Can we keep our eyes on Jesus then? For we've all lost someone we love. There's another scene in the movie "The Shack" that fills my heart with such happiness, I feel like I could burst. I want to sing and clap my hands. I want to cry beautiful tears of joy. Mack is permitted to see his daughter Missy playing with other children in Heaven. Missy knows her father is there watching, and walks over near him and with the most incredibly joyous glee, she shows her happiness, her contentment, and her love. Her father sees her as she is, not who she was, and his own heart is filled with hope. It is then that he realizes he was not at fault for her death, and that perfect love does indeed, cast out fear.

My mother had a near death experience in the early nineteen seventies. She had a cardiac arrest and felt herself being pulled into an unexpressable love. She could barely describe the feeling of warmth, all-encompassing love as if she was the only person who mattered. When she returned, she told us that she wasn't afraid to die. I think that scene in the movie with Missy conveys that feeling of absolute joy--a joy that nothing can ever take away. Think about it. If our departed loved ones feel that rapturous joy, if their eyes are fixed on Jesus, then even death does not triumph. 

I hope if you have the chance, you will see this life-changing movie. Is it one hundred percent gospel, well, is anything except the Bible? Take from it what the author intended. A story of healing and forgiveness; a story of God's perfect love. I happen to think you, too, will come away changed and with a new sense of wonder, awe, and your eyes on the One who matters.

Dancing With My Father

When I came home from work this evening I had the strong urge to play one of my father's CD's that I had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago and had now inherited due to his recent passing. I slipped "The Emperor Waltz" from its plastic holder and placed it into an old boom box type of player that I have. The first few notes of the classical piece played forth reaching the magnificent crescendos. I reached for Dad's picture from the many photos my husband and I have adorning our refrigerator; photos of all of our loved ones. In this particular one, my father is sitting next to me on our back porch on a lovely summer day from a few years ago. He is smiling sweetly while looking at me as I chatter away, my Italian hands flying from whatever it was that I talked so passionately about.

I held the picture in my hands as tears began to trickle from my eyes. The picture blurred, but I could see something else very clearly--I saw in my heart, my father young again. No longer the bent body, the aches and pains of his older years, my Dad stands handsome before me, black hair, twinkling green eyes and a smile--oh that smile. He beckons to me, reaching out his arms and we twirl together with the music of our favorite waltz. This was the dance we should have danced together at my wedding to Jim, but we dance now, giggling as our feet become tangled and we make up our own steps to the beautiful piece.

My father tells me he is well and that he has been with so many of his friends and loved ones who have gone before him. He asks about Mom, and wants her to know how much he loves her and how he will wait to welcome her home someday.

The music peaks and we twirl once again. I hadn't realized we could waltz so well. I want this moment to stretch on forever, but the music finally nears its ending. I open my eyes, still clutching the photograph of Dad to my heart. The magic is gone, the spell, broken. But I know each time I now hear that special music, the vision of my father and I dancing in the presence of God's beauty will warm me and bless me.

Start a kindness revolution

Wow, not another political commercial. Not another hate-filled rant of one candidate versus the other. It's been shoved down our throats for months now, and I, for one, am caught up in the anger that each of these tirades bring. I am not a political person. I was not brought up in a family where things were discussed around the dinner table that had to do with the government and politics. In our house it was which favorite movie line we could quote, which comic superhero was the best, what piece of music touched us the most, etc, etc.

This is why I think we need to take a step back and bring back positive virtues, good talk, compliments, and kindness. Because after listening to poison, I think we all tend to spew words out in the same fashion. Let's be the change. Start a kindness revolution in our own homes. Let's push back the dark and make way for the light.

Easier said than done? Turn off the television. Revel in the quiet. Or play a favorite piece of music, and better still, let it be classical thunder or a favorite movie soundtrack. Let it permeate your being and see how it makes you feel. Stop reading negative articles and newspapers. Fill your mind with what is good and lovely as the Bible suggests. Read the Bible.

I find this very thing in our home sometimes. My husband has to deal with a ton of ignorance at his job. Then when he comes home, he puts the t.v. on, and watches the news. He asks me all the time how he can get rid of his negativity and anger. I tell him that we need to be the light, the candle in the dark. Keep our own doorstep clean. All the old adages come to mind, but I can see that they worked for past generations. We need to simplify, de-clutter our minds, and become the goodness that we so desperately long for. A kindness revolution.

I found myself grumpy and mean a few months back. Because so much was going on in my own life, I began to take it out on my co-workers and loved ones. I'd forgotten my own words of advice and became caught up in ways that should have been foreign to me. When it was pointed out, I sought God's help immediately. I asked His forgiveness and strength. I began pushing the darkness away and embraced the light. The kindness revolution had begun in my little world.

During my father's recent illness, hospital stay, and passing, I found that I treated everyone kindly and respectfully. Even in our darkest moments, my words bespoke something good, something light to everyone I encountered. It would have done no good to "take out" on others, the turmoil I'd been feeling inside. And I can't tell you just how much it came back to me. Especially when we lost Dad. There was so much given back to us. So many people filled with love and goodness toward my family.

Yes friends, the kindness revolution works. It's real and true. And it comes back to you tenfold. Be the light. Get rid of bad thoughts, words and deeds. Keep on pushing back the dark.

I love the words in this song by Christian artist Josh Wilson.

One million reasons why, you shouldn't even try.
After all you're just one heart, a single candle in the dark.
And there are shadows here, feeding on your fears,
That you don't have what it takes - who are you to make a change?

But oh, oh, don't underestimate the God you follow.

Whatever you do, just don't look back.
Oh somebody needs the light you have.
Whatever you do, just don't lose heart.
Keep on pushing back the dark,
Keep on pushing back the dark.

 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wyockRKo6Q

Quiet Time, Reflection

While visiting my father in the critical care unit of the hospital recently,  I stood by his side when the doctor said the words that every family fears: We are unsure of the outcome if you decide to have surgery. But if you don't, it could prove devastating also.

My dad reached for my hand and held it, carefully digesting the doctor's diagnosis. When she left the room he said, "I don't even feel sick." That's been my father. A man who had a heart attack and didn't even know it. A man who claimed that he never felt much pain. A man who would put others needs before his own, and not really let you know what was going on behind those amazing green eyes.

I excused myself for a few moments, and quietly fell to pieces in a restroom down the hallway. Then I gathered my courage, called my brother, and kept a stiff upper lip while I spent the rest of the day with Dad. A little later I left the room again, headed for the small hospital chapel. A room to reflect in. A room for prayer and God's presence.

Two candles were lit on a small altar. A huge, old Bible sat opened. Several rows of wooden pews stood closely together and the lights were low. The smell of candle wax permeated the air; a kind-of nostalgic, comforting scent, bringing me back to the many Sunday's I attended church with my father.

I closed my eyes and spoke quietly in my heart to my Heavenly Father. I don't know if the words made sense, but the Holy Spirit knew. For a calm descended over me, and loving arms wrapped about me. Though I had thought I couldn't go on earlier that day, I stood and walked from the room to face whatever outcome my father's surgery would bring that evening.

******

A women's care facility. Cold and sterile. An oversized, cotton dressing gown that hung on my frame making me and the other ladies who were waiting for results of their own tests look like clones of one another. My name is called. The tickle of fear in my belly deepens. After all, I've been called back for more tests on a mammogram. I entered the room feeling more like a computer generated number than a human at this point. And nobody smiles here. I make a mental note that in the future I will find a better facility. I miss the girls I had known back home, hating that insurance companies force you to find places that accept your carrier.

I am called in for a sonogram next. By this time I want to scream. I want to run far away. Don't they know my father is in critical care in another town? Don't they know he still has a ventilator in and we are hoping, praying for good results? Can't they at least look at me and tell me that everything will be alright, or even if not, can they give me a ray of hope?

I lay back upon the table in the low-lit room. I close my eyes and my breathing slows. Once again, I'm drawn into the presence of the Almighty. I don't need to be in a chapel or church. For He is with me wherever I go, and I feel Him now. 

Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

The words are a promise and a truth. Whether the outcome of my tests or my father's surgery this past week had been good or bad, I knew God was real. He is a miracle worker and He adores us. Had we lost Dad, I knew where he was headed. And I had a true peace with that knowledge.

My tests turned out negative, though I had a small cyst. I am to have more frequent mammograms now. And my father: well, he made it through touchy surgery against all odds. At eighty-five years of age and being a heart patient, a quadruple bypass and defibrillator and pacemaker patient, this brave man chose the road of recovery. He didn't throw in the towel or give up. 

I think back to those quiet moments this week. The times I closed my eyes and called upon the peace that passes understanding. The lonely moments where all I had was my God and that was enough.

Yes, my friends, He is more than enough. Let His peace rule in your hearts. Give yourself quiet time and moments of reflection in the midst of your own uphill battles.

Transparency

I've known several types of people in my lifetime. Those who never talk much about themselves, preferring to be private individuals. I think that is their right. Then there are others who share the good, bad, happy and sad, and you feel very close to this type because you realize you have many of the same feelings too.

We learned a little about transparency in church last weekend. I loved the message. I am an extremely transparent person. You can tell by my facial expressions what I'm thinking or feeling. I am not a good fibber. I stutter if I am trying to cover something up. So I am an honest person, and I wear my heart on my sleeve.

The pastor talked about investing in others with transparency, especially if we were wrong about something. Recently, I did a bit of soul searching. I found that several people push my buttons, and I always am ready for a quick fight with them, or I treat them a little differently because I think they feel a certain way, or act a certain way. Then it hit me. This isn't fair. This is not who you are created to be. You are to be a light in this dark world. Treat this person or persons the way you want to be treated, even if they aren't very nice to you.

Of course I went to God first with this knowledge. I asked His forgiveness immediately, and I asked Him to open my heart to love these people. To act toward them in a loving fashion. It's funny, but sometimes God grants our request immediately, especially in regard to this type of prayer. I didn't even have time to debate about it at all with Him.

I remembered when I was a young mother. I must have had postpartum depression. I was nervous and edgy, and my baby had colic and a stomach issue. I was on edge a lot of the time, becoming angry and bitter. I sometimes took out my feelings of stress on those around me with a wicked, quick tongue. I couldn't even warm up to my little step-son at that time. I was not abusive, but my actions and the way I talked made me feel like the typical, wicked step mom. I'm able to admit it now, to be transparent and ask for forgiveness. I was wrong, and I acted badly. Grateful that the Lord gave me a second chance, I became close to my step-son soon after, and to this day, I love him with all my heart. I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful son, but I'm able to come clean and ask for forgiveness now.

If we invest in others with transparency, as our pastor mentioned, we are able to say:
I was wrong.
I am sorry.
I have a long way to go.
Sometimes these things aren't easy to admit, but they show the other person that we haven't "arrived," that we, too, are individuals with issues and we are struggling just as much as they might be.

Transparency builds trust. We are all flawed. I'm on the journey with you...These are some of the things to admit that are very very freeing.

We don't have to have our act perfectly together to reach out to others. Maybe we're still struggling with anger issues, past hurt, feelings of inadequacy or pain. But if we come clean with why we act out the way we do, then it builds trust for the other person. It shows them that there's a reason we're acting this way, and it's not them. I'm sorry I acted that way toward you, won't you please understand what is going on in my life to have made me snap at you that way?

Transparency may not be for you. If you are a private person as some of the people I know are, you may have a difficult time opening up, baring your soul and telling your story, so to speak. But I think it's very valuable and extremely powerful to show others, especially someone we may have wronged, that we are as human as they are.

An Amazing Group of Young People

I think it was the movie "Signs" that said: There are no coincidences. I happen to believe that.

Mom and Dad are up in age, and their house is showing the signs of its own slowing down of sorts. Old, rotted wooden windows, peeling paint and a shower that's been caving in for several years.

My father had always been the type of guy who could repair anything. There wasn't much he couldn't do in his healthy, robust youth. We all looked to Dad as a sort-of super hero, and would call him for any jobs in our homes, large or small. When my father became a heart patient, the tables turned drastically. No longer could me or my brother call upon him for help. It was we who became the helpers, the caregivers.

I learned a lot though: how to cut hedges well, as Dad would sit by while I had the hedge trimmers in hand, guiding me with his words and the rubber end of his cane as he'd point and say "you missed a spot." I learned many other jobs: painting, gardening, grass-cutting, things only Dad could do. I felt a sense of pride.

As the years passed, my own life got in the way, and little by little, my parents house would succumb to the ravages of time. My brother and I had our own families, so we would do the best we could, but so many issues crept up; things we couldn't do ourselves, jobs that got way too big. Especially the bathroom shower.

I asked around. Did anyone know someone perhaps who could be of help? Does anyone do this type of work? As I read my list of home issues. I was always rewarded with the same answers: either "no," or "well, it will cost you a fortune." Rejected once again, I would walk away, hoping and praying that someone, anyone, would step up and give us the guidance needed to begin and complete this job, or some of the others.

I found myself praying on the way to work each day. One of my most recent prayers was: "Lord, I ask that you would let my Dad live to see goodness, favor and blessing on his house. I pray that somehow a miracle would occur to be a help to him." But time would pass, and the shower wall began to give way more and more. Dad tried his own hand at small attempts of repair with my brother, but it looked bad, and worse than that, it seemed unsafe and unhealthy.

Two months ago, my father came back from church with a paper bulletin in his hand. "Kar," he asked me, "what do you think this means? Catholic Youth Heart Camp? Do you think it is something for heart patients?"

I read over the paragraphs, my eyes widening as I saw all the jobs this youth camp allegedly did. There seemed to be nothing they wouldn't tackle. There was a telephone contact number of one of the nun's in Dad's church. I phoned the sister the following day and found out it was true! If a family was in particular need, we could sign up to have work done around the house; inside and out. I filled out paperwork, answered questions, and I got Mom and Dad's house on the list immediately.

Yesterday the nicest group of young people I may have ever met, showed up with their adult mentor/supervisor. As we walked around my parent's property, talking of all the jobs that needed attention, I found their positive attitudes refreshing. It seemed there was nothing they wouldn't be able to do.... and that included fixing the shower.

I am an emotional person. Especially when it comes to seeing a miracle before my eyes. I cried right then and there, right in front of the group of seven young people and their leader. I told them that they were an answer to a prayer I'd been praying for a while. I couldn't believe that God would send this group to my family at just the right moment. Not early, but certainly not late. That's how He rolls. His timing is so different from ours. When I want to give up and throw in the proverbial towel, God is there and has my back. Not only my back, but all of me! And, it seems, my family's back and all of them as well!

The youth group is still working there as I type this, but my parents are in awe of the kindness of the teenagers and their mentor. They are polite, caring, Godly, hard-working. They don't grumble or complain, but work with their whole hearts as unto the Lord. This is what the Bible tells us to do, and I've never seen it more than through this youth camp.

These are young people, from what I understand, who give up a week of their precious summer, raising their own money for a time of prayer, reflection and very hard work. They give of themselves unselfishly, and I believe they get back a generous portion of God's blessings.

I had an answered prayer. And it came in the form of a group of teens. God can use you, my friend. He can use me too. Maybe, just maybe we can be the answered prayer for someone else. It's very, very possible.

The Long Path Ahead

When the I.T. tech on the other end of the phone said these words last week: "I think you have a bad problem," my heart sank and I wanted to vomit.

Our computer at work had gotten what is known as a ransomware encryption, and someone literally scrambled our data, and was holding it for ransom. After many phone calls and one awesome computer genius, we were back up a few days later, albeit a lot more cautious, and unfortunately at a loss for some of our data and appointments.

I cried, I screamed, I bargained with God. I didn't want this problem, and thought I would go insane if I had to face the mountain of work before us to try and retrieve as much old information as possible, and still run business as usual.

The first day back after a long holiday weekend, and I turned my own computer on and stared at the screen for a full three minutes. I think I was holding my breath, I can't be sure, but if I was, then I may hold a new record. I slowly and cautiously typed an appointment, answered the ringing phone, greeted several patients and began a regular work day at the dental office.

I took time to make a list of all the things that would have been lost. It seemed daunting. Not only did we lose patient daily appointments, but we lost every payment made for one month's time; that meant insurance payments, cash, checks and credit cards. How would I find them?

Luckily I'm an old-fashioned type who still writes most everything down, though it is a lot of extra work. We keep a booklet on the cash entered, every patient that had come in during that time had sticky notes in their charts with insurance information, and I actually had printed sheets that showed every single person that came in through the last four weeks of missing info!

Go ahead, make fun of me for not "getting with the times" and loving electronics and going paperless, but in this instance, it was a blessing for our office that we didn't completely change over yet.

Little by little, I began to crawl out of the hole. Our other front desk girl had her hands full with her own duties, and between us both, we began to see a crack of light in the dark, dark tunnel.

I had pictured myself never smiling again. I had pictured this summer being one long drawn out time at work, never enjoying a moment of it since we had so much to do with this issue. Not only are we about forty percent better right now, but my co-worker and I found time to laugh and giggle. What felt like an impossibility became possible.

Is it going to be perfect? Nope. Because we lost the daily patient appointments for the next month, and every time our door opens, we aren't exactly sure who is going to walk through it. Can we do it though? You bet. We can do it with smiles on our faces, a song in our heart, a good attitude, and God's help.

Have me and my co-worker been praying about this? Yes. For I believe God is concerned about everything in our lives. From what we may see as mundane or trivial, or what may feel insurmountable and hopeless, there's always hope. He does care. No, He isn't going to snap His fingers and take this all away, but with His help, we are able to do what we thought we couldn't. I know I would not be anywhere without Him. When I try to tackle anything, any task on my own without first consulting God, when I plunge straight ahead making my own decisions without seeking His guidance, I am lost. He has given me the peace, the intelligence, the drive to push forward with this mountain before me, this long path ahead, and instead of losing my joy over what I felt was impossible, I now can look with hope to each day bringing something new and unexpected.

I Want That

I've been looking at Debbie Macomber's Facebook page, reading more about her in Guidepost magazine and such. I like her face. It's always cheery and sunny. She reflects goodness to me, and when I read her posts, I feel that she really cares about her readers and fans.

I want that. I want to make people happy with my written words. I want stories of the humanness of people, and how they overcome obstacles and find God. I want that. I want to have a face filled with sunshine and goodness. I want to care about each person that reads something from me.

I want to lead people to Christ with my words, show them that there's something bigger than their problems, encourage and give them hope. I want that.

I want my life to be a testimony of goodness, no matter how much I've messed up or continue to do so, I want my words to be seasoned and tempered. I want that.

What do you want? Have you asked yourself that lately? Are you so caught up in daily life, problems and issues you have no control over? Have you long since given up on your dreams and plans thinking that you're too old, or heaven forbid, not good enough. What are you willing to do about it?

I blog, I write stories. I listen to people's stories. I try to live in a way that would make my parent's proud, my son proud. Do I always succeed? Nope. But I'm not sitting there, gathering dust, wondering what if? Or what could be.

I mess up, pick myself back up, and try, try again. I have dreams, goals and desires, and I want to make them come true, if that's what God wills.

Don't be afraid. Step out. Step up. Live your life and try something new. Want something with all your heart? Ask God. Never stop asking Him. And wait for His answer. It may surprise you. Sometimes it's a still, small voice, a nagging feeling you may have. Other times, a door opens wide, and God is there waiting with open arms, inviting you to live the life you were meant to live.

Let's all want that. Let's want to do more for Him. In doing so, we will find the gifts and talents that are lying just beneath the surface. Those things we are good at, or are supposed to do.

May you find yours.

The Best Worst Year Ever

I got the title from a good friend of mine. There was a time in her life that she was going through one of the most difficult events ever, the death of her father. But, she said, there had been so many blessings that year, that she didn't want to look back at it as the worst year of her life. The good events were so abundant, so truly from God, that she told me "It was the best worst year ever."

That got me thinking. I, too, am in one of those best/worst times right now in my life. In early December, my stress level was at an all time high. My husband and I were fighting over pretty much everything. We had four days off together for Christmas shopping and frivolity, but we were both at a power struggle for first place with ideas and "how to do everything correctly." I was at the point that I wanted to go back to work to escape the most wonderful time of the year and the man in my life. My husband's stress level had also been through the roof as well, with extra long work hours and other issues he struggled with. I couldn't find a happy thought toward him, or one iota of compassion. My aging parents lay heavily on my mind at all times, and I felt the joy being sucked right out of me.

But. . . there were several blessings that crept up sneakily. I opened an email one morning from a Pittsburgh publishing company that wanted to feature my new book on their online television show. Now, I must admit, I was more than a little suspicious that this was a fraud. I chuckled about it, secretly wishing it was true. I did a little homework, a bit of research and found out it indeed was a real event! Eight other local authors and myself included, spoke about our books for the television cameras. I'm not quite sure what may come of this, but as I always say: Any publicity is good publicity. This unknown girl who struggles to make a name for herself as an author was given this incredible opportunity. It was a dream come true. But. . .

My husband took a terrible fall during a holiday family get together. It was so bad, he ended up in the hospital. Now, I must admit, the "Christmas Cheer" was flowing pretty freely during the party. So his faculties weren't quite up to par to begin with. But when he broke facial bones and scared me and his children to death, I couldn't help but become angry with liquor and the fact that he'd come from a family that liked to indulge. I was not brought up that way. It's odd for me to see people needing a drink to have a good time. So I haven't been thrilled with this type of behavior throughout our marriage. However, a few great things did come from this. No major problems for my husband. No neck or back fractures even though it was a tumble down outdoor cement steps. And the best part: A complete change of heart. My husband has not touched a drop of alcohol since it happened. This was something I'd been praying for many years.

Another sneaky blessing came in the form of another email one day. A popular cat anthology that I'd submitted a few paragraphs to, had accepted my story! Never before in my writing career have I been "chosen" for anything. I felt as giddy as a child while I danced around my house the day I found this news out.

My brother phoned me two nights ago. He said that our mother, who has dementia, had a terrible bout of diarrhea and was bleeding. He called an ambulance to take her to the emergency room. My husband and I were in the middle of watching the movie "War Room" at the time. I had been completely immersed in the story line and hoped it was only a fluke with Mom, I must confess. She'd mentioned eating a whole box of chocolate covered cherries, and we all wondered perhaps, if it was the "red" of the cherries they were seeing. I got a call later that they were admitting Mom to the hospital to run more tests. It was indeed blood that was found.

Now anyone with a parent or loved one with dementia must realize that a hospital visit can be devastating. Mom had been in the hospital last year, and it had wreaked such havoc with her mind, she truly didn't know where she was and why my father wasn't there with her every moment and sleeping with her at night. She came home depressed from that episode and way more confused than she had been. So I fretted: would this time be like that too? I went on to Facebook and typed a quick status about Mom going into the hospital. And about sixty-five people later, prayers were being offered in a major way.

Talk about the blessing this time. Not only did my family have the stamina needed to be there for Mom, but every hospital attendant, nurse and doctor treated her extremely kind. Everyone took the extra special time to explain things patiently to her again and again, and to comfort each one of us as we awaited tests. The biggest blessing came in the form of the male nurse I'd left Mom with last evening. I stayed as long as I possibly could. The male nurse whose name was Matt, had promised me she was in good hands. But Mom wasn't having a good night. Especially since she'd needed to drink prep for stomach tests in the morning. I had a very rough night, unable to sleep much, tossing and turning from worry. Would the test have to be cancelled if my mother didn't drink enough prep? Was she giving that nice male nurse a rough time?

When my father and I arrived at the hospital this morning, I walked over to Matt the nurse. He admitted that Mom had a fairly rough go of it through the night, but he'd been with her as much as possible, actually spending several hours with her. His demeanor and way that he spoke, assured me that he had been the right nurse for the job. He'd comforted her and reassured her. And when I talked with Mom a few minutes later, she couldn't stop talking about the wonderful young man who'd been with her through most of her scary night.

Mom's tests turned out wonderfully, she went through with flying colors and even had a clean bill of health. A very small issue had caused her problems, and she would be discharged in a few hours.

I sit here tonight thinking back over a full month. From early December when I thought I couldn't take another minute from the holiday stress, to today when I thought I couldn't take another minute from how tired I was. I believe with my whole heart and everything in me that it was prayer that sustained us all through these times. My husband and I have prayed out loud together for at least five years before we go to work every morning. Is our marriage perfect, nope. But have I seen some amazing changes in both our lives, some blessings that only can truly be accounted to our Heavenly Father? You bet. And the prayers of the Facebook friends during these last few days for Mom. They weren't only for her to be "okay." Those prayers sustained every member of my family, gave us the strength, humor and tenacity needed for all that we had to do. Those prayers helped put the right people in our paths, great nurses, good doctors and a positive experience for my mother. She talked with me earlier tonight about how nice everything was. She thanked me for being there and spoke highly of her care and treatment. For someone with dementia, she was acting pretty normal.

Yes, life is hard. I've made some of my own problems, and there are others that come from the natural rhythm of things. But in the midst of some of the worst times ever have come the best ones as well. For God has promised us that He will never leave us or forsake us. He upholds us with His hand. He loves us unconditionally and He is a blesser, my friends. The things I spoke about in this blog may not look to some people like miracles or really great things. But to me and my family, they are answered prayers. And the little extras, the little sneaky bonuses I've been given on top of it all, have really made this time of my life the best ever.

Mistakes are a part of life

I met with one of my oldest and dearest friends today for breakfast. After great, heartfelt talk, I almost broke into tears. I thanked this particular friend for being there through some of the toughest moments of my life. Not only the normal ups and downs caused by regular day to day living, but the moments where I brought grief upon myself.

I thought back to the times in my life where I made some of the stupidest decisions in my dating choices. This friend would patiently talk me through them and talk to me about God's forgiveness, encouraging me to read my bible. During these times, I would feel as if God Himself wouldn't want to hear from me, so I stayed away from Him, feeling as if I was hiding.

My friend once told me that God throws our sins into the "sea of forgetfulness" when we confess. Being brought up Catholic and Italian, guilt and sorrow were the usual motivators. I would beat myself up for the longest time over particular instances. I felt that my sins were the worst in the world, and surely even God would never forgive me. My choices in relationships were volatile, and I fretted many a night over the issues brought on by them.

Looking back now, I wish I'd have done many things differently. I found that I was "addicted to relationships," something I encourage young girls to think seriously about before jumping in with both feet to the wrong person. In my loneliness at times, I would obsess over the next person to date, the next frenzy of hurry up and wait for the phone to ring. And in my loneliness, I would make mistake after mistake many times living with the shame of a wrong decision, hurting only myself in the process.

Take time to get to know and love yourself. I wish I'd have done this many times over. I wish I could erase the pain of a failed marriage, an abusive boyfriend, if only I'd have done my homework a little better and known what was right for me instead of always feeling I had to "have someone."

Oh how much farther I'd be in life and better off if the control freaks wouldn't have monitored my every move. How can I blame them? I allowed it to happen.

I envy people who never loved and lost. Though I believe in true love, I also know now that not everyone has a need to be with a partner. There are people who are perfectly comfortable in their own skin, enjoying their life to the fullest. Their attitude is, "if it happens, it happens. If it doesn't, I'm okay with that too."

It's time to move on from my past. After all, mistakes are a part of life, and I've learned some serious lessons from them. But when I see my son who is well-adjusted, stable and happy, I know somehow, somewhere I made at least one really good decision.

God Bless America

My husband and I sat in the town diamond of Ligonier, Pennsylvania as it was set up for a brass band concert. Along with all the others, we carried our lawn chairs to be set up all over the sidewalks and streets near the town hall. I observed people talking and laughing with one another. I observed camaraderie and pleasantries being exchanged. As I looked around to all the quaint, charming shops nearby, I thought, this is what bliss is for me. An old-fashioned setting, and old-fashioned ways.

What really caught my attention, is the fact that nobody was on a cell phone. Nobody ignored another by being coldly impersonal with an electronic gadget attached to their ear, or their fingers furiously working the screen of the newest I-phone or gadget. It struck me in its simplicity that this is the very thing we lack nowadays. And this is the very reason I'm writing my futuristic tale about a society where we no longer communicate by speech.

The brass band began practicing their notes, warming up for the patriotic Fourth of July weekend concert. Smiles emanated from every member of their team. You could tell they loved what they were doing. Local cops came by and closed off the road from the rest of the world, and I felt like we were in a cozy cocoon of peacefulness.

Right before the concert, a pastor approached the microphone. A handsome, older gentleman with twinkling blue eyes. I could see by his face that he loved a good laugh. I could see by his demeanor, he had something important to say. He began by telling us all that he was there to give the invocation. He explained that prayer is so necessary in our "new world." God has been taken out of the equation all over our country. And he, the pastor, is one man that is not ashamed to stand up for his beliefs and not afraid to speak the name of God out loud in our society. He prayed for us all, and for our world. He spoke bravely from the heart and you could have heard a pin drop. Applause resounded all over when the man was finished, and as he walked back to where he was going to sit for the concert, many of us wanted to reach out, shake his hand, and tell him just what his words meant to us. I couldn't help but think once again of the dystopian world I'm writing about. How one brave man isn't afraid to speak out in a society which has outlawed words, privacy, and even religion.

I sat in awe as the band played marching tunes, patriotism abounding. Songs with God's name proudly uttered, and a feeling of pride in who we all were at that moment. It is an evening I will not soon forget. Let's be so brave. Let's not allow today's society to take away all that we hold dear. Let's continue to fellowship with one another, boldly proclaiming the name of God. Let's put aside the latest gadgets in hope of reaching out to another human being. What if we change the world one person at a time?

 Yes, God bless America! Please...

Fifty Shades of Wonderful

Love yourself unconditionally.

I'm not going on a rant. I'm not going to lecture anyone. This isn't your typical "Fifty Shades" bashing.

I've read many books and seen many movies. I've thoroughly enjoyed horror, love, literature and other types of reading pleasures. One of my favorite series is Diana Gabaldon's "Outlander" books. There's plenty of everything in these books, yes, sex too, but I think we are all missing the point here.

I am no one to judge. Please carry on with your day and feel no regrets. I'm speaking today to our young girls. In that category I mean our very small children and young teens. In today's society, they are exposed to so much more than I was back in the dinosaur era. I grew up with television, movies, records and books. And yes, some of it influenced me very very much. Especially the lyrics to many songs. I became curious and began to wonder about such things that were extremely explicit at the time.

The main problem with "Fifty Shades" is simply this: it's teaching young ladies that it's okay to let a man dominate you even to the point of telling you how much you should weigh and how your body should look. I read a few chapters of this book at the suggestion of a friend, waiting for the love story that eventually blossoms. But as someone who has been in verbally abusive, controlling relationships, it sickened me. I cannot for one minute advocate a man telling a woman she MUST work out, she must be a certain "type" if she's to be with him.

Our poor young girls have enough with the razor thin models gracing the covers of our magazines and blatantly pasted all over the internet and television. So now they must believe that the only way to "get" a man and keep him is to totally obey him? Especially where it comes to looks?

Give me old-fashioned values and manners. Give me conscience and morals. Yeah, I've messed up, perhaps a lot in my life. There are times I'm not proud of and relationships I wish I could erase from memory, but please, young people, open your eyes. I'm not just another grandma lady preaching at you. Love yourself for who you are. Love your weight, your face shape, your eyes, your nose, your ears, whatever it is you think needs changed or worked on. Be content with who you are, who God made you to be. And never let a man abuse that confidence.

In a marriage in my early twenties, I was with a "pretty boy" who constantly made me feel less than. When we'd first met, it was all compliments and love. But a change began to occur. I had never known at the time what a manipulator he was. I hadn't known that there were multiple affairs and women calling the house, hanging up. I hadn't known he'd eventually leave me in the dust for someone "better looking." Oh yes, it happens every day.

My self-esteem suffered for years because of this. I never lived up to the distorted reality of what I should be, or what I should look like. I punished myself for years thinking I deserved this, and it was my fault, and if only I was prettier, thinner, whatever. I wasted precious, valuable time with this lifestyle.

The bottom line ladies is this once again. Love yourself. Be proud of who you are. Find healthy relationships with men who adore you, who want to see you grow. Don't let anyone make you feel less than. You are God's beautiful masterpiece, and remember, He doesn't create junk. You are who you are for a very special reason. And that is fifty shades of wonderful.

Sharing

I believe we are on this earth to love and uplift one another. I think it pleases God, makes Him smile when we do a kindness for someone. It isn't easy as we go about our daily lives to feel this sort of "love" especially with the sandpaper people we encounter daily.

When was the last time you really took the time to put aside the cell phone and listen to that person who's talking to you? When was the last time you made that phone call to a loved one who might be lonely? I, too, am so very guilty of this. I can be typing away at my computer, lost in a story I'm writing, and my husband is asking my opinion of something. I haven't heard a word he said. I must close the cover of my laptop, look him straight in the eyes, and really listen to what he's saying.

As for calling or visiting a lonely loved one, the other day while sitting in the nursing home with my husband's Uncle Hubert, thinking of all the other things I should or could be doing, the dear elderly man looked at me and said, "Thank you so much for coming today. I really miss you guys." Wow, lump in throat, and convicted! What did it take, only an hour out of my precious schedule to give this man a little happiness?

Having said that, it is with great pleasure I share another author's work with you on this page. For I think in loving others, we must build them up, help promote them. I believe this makes our Heavenly Father smile. Take a moment, or two or thirty, and think about someone you can help today. A phone call, a post on Facebook, a little card sent in the mail. And when you encounter people, close your laptop, turn off your cell phone and really listen to them. You'll make their day and perhaps, in the process, your own day will become one of the happiest in a long while for you.

http://www.amazon.com/Lets-Talk-Dementia-Caregivers-ebook/dp/B00CTAW7MS/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1376265397&sr=1-1&keywords=carol+howell

Carol Howell is a Certified Dementia Specialist and Endorsed Life Coach with an emphasis on Music Therapy. After her husband's brain injury in 1992 and her mother's diagnosis of Alzheimer's in 2006, Carol felt the need to learn about the brain. As her knowledge increased, she became more intrigued and determined to become an equipped and prepared caregiver. Her company, Senior Life Journeys, was born from this desire to learn and help others.
Carol is the author of IF MY BODY IS A TEMPLE, WHY AM I EATING DOUGHNUTS? It tells of the "amazing miracle" that helped her lose 100 pounds. The book is written with the humor and sincerity Carol is known to display in her own life.
Carol also authored LET'S TALK DEMENTIA - A Caregiver's Guide. This easy to read book is full of helpful tips for caregiving, information about dementia, and 23 SMILES that will brighten your day.
Carol resides in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, and they are the proud parents of a daughter who is a physician assistant in Florida.