Silence is so loud sometimes. The need to scream presses in, but I am unable to break the trance in which I find myself. I am walking and smiling and waving at people I know, and people walk and smile and wave back. They think they know me. If they could look into the window of my soul, they would run when they saw the turbulent thoughts and raging temptations lying beneath my surface. Knowing when to respond and the time to utter the right answers is second nature. I deserve an Oscar for my daily performance. Afraid to share the real me, I learned to act the way they wanted. They directed my performance, without ever knowing I was performing the part that they wanted me to play. People want to observe the smile and ignore the pain. Glimpse the twinkle, but overlook the tear. Hear the laugh, but hush the cry. So, that is what I give them: the me they want to see, not the me that’s me.
But, You, I have discovered, You are different. Even if I smile, you observe the pain. If you see the twinkle, You know it is a tear about to fall. You not only want to hear me laugh, but You want to listen to my cries. Embracing my uncontrolled emotions, You delight in my weakness, and become my strength. No one in the world embraces weakness, but You. You know the unlovely parts of me, and yet You still love me. There is no need for formalities, just the realization that You love me for me. For a long time, I thought if I found somebody who knew everything about me, they would run the other way. You ran all right—straight for me, arms open wide. It is only in looking through Your eyes that I discover the beauty within me. That beauty is You. When the windows of my soul have You looking out, that inner glow draws people. That is when I am seen as a beautiful woman created in Your image, because I know that You make all things beautiful, and that includes me.
People don’t want to know the real, they want the performance. You, however, want the real, and not the performance. That being said, I am getting real. This is the real me. The girl who covets, cheats, slanders, lusts, and lies. But this same girl begs your forgiveness, for falling short of Your glory. This girl wants You to shed Your illuminating light in my darkness. No more pretending with You—because it’s pointless, and no more pretending with other’s—because now I know. Those people walking, smiling, and waving are also performing. They are locked into that infinite, deafening silence. Live within me. When I open myself up to others, I want them to see You shining through. Help me to show them what’s real: You.
*Copyright 2003 Michelle Rocker
4/19/10
4/17/10
The Pity Pot*
I seem to love the “pity pot,” and I know a lot of people, like me, who spend a lot of time there. And yes, I’m going to go there… How deep is that ring around your butt?
Sometimes life brings so many things at once, that finally even one silly thing pushes you over the edge. That is when I break out that ‘ole “pity pot” and plop down.
I started a recovery program to deal with my issues in September 2007. For three weeks all I did was whine to everyone. I whined about the medical issues that three of my kids were going through. I whined about too much month at the end of the money. I whined that we probably were not going to get to take the kids on a little vacation to Disney World for just one day. We live two hours away from Disney, so it would be a cheap vacation. However, we couldn’t even afford that. I whined about my husband and I arguing about the issues. But the thing that pushed me over the edge was that my “enter/return key” on my laptop broke. As a writer, this button is VERY important. I called the computer repair store. They couldn’t just fix the key. They had to replace the whole keyboard for a whopping $150.00. I stuck my butt on that “pity pot,” and whined and cried. I told God how unfair all this was. How dare he put me through so much?
I called my sponsor to tell her my tales of woe, and rather then “ooing” and “aweing” with me, she told me to get off the “pity pot.” I was so offended, even though she was right. So, I decided to gain sympathy elsewhere.
I went to my Wednesday night group, and whined away. As I left, embarrassment began to enter my consciousness. They were probably sick to death of my whining. I know I get tired when someone else is whining away over and over. That picture of me on that “pity pot” became embarrassing.
Two weeks later, I walked into Thursday small groups. My favorite shoes (you know the ones you throw on all the time) broke. I twisted my ankle. At this point, I was like “whatever.” Things going wrong were following me everywhere. I had decided I was sick of hearing myself whine. I’m sure there were many friends of mine that were grateful also. I shared with the group, I was officially off the pity pot, and whenever God decided to work things out, I would just trust Him. Even though I still sported the “ring around my butt,” I was determined to not to return.
That night, I left to go to Wal-Mart to attempt to find a pair of shoes that were just as comfortable. I tried various shoes on, and finally picked one. I figured I should look at the price: $6.50. I just smiled knowing that God was taking care of me. I moved on to the section where the CD-R’s were that I needed to pick up. Right beside them were attachments for your laptop. Low and behold, there hung a numbers keypunch with an “enter key!” The price: $12.88.
God had just waited for me to surrender my will, and get off the “pity pot.” I called my girlfriends, and we shouted the praise, not just for the new “enter key,” but for my surrender.
I typed this story in 2008. It was the first thing I wrote with my new “enter key.” I did this on purpose, because I always want to remember this lesson. The “pity pot” gets you nowhere. Getting off it, allows God to MOVE!
I’m sure there will be times that I will want to sit back down. But, I don’t plan on staying there long enough to get the ring around my butt!
*Copyright 2008 by Michelle Rocker
Sometimes life brings so many things at once, that finally even one silly thing pushes you over the edge. That is when I break out that ‘ole “pity pot” and plop down.
I started a recovery program to deal with my issues in September 2007. For three weeks all I did was whine to everyone. I whined about the medical issues that three of my kids were going through. I whined about too much month at the end of the money. I whined that we probably were not going to get to take the kids on a little vacation to Disney World for just one day. We live two hours away from Disney, so it would be a cheap vacation. However, we couldn’t even afford that. I whined about my husband and I arguing about the issues. But the thing that pushed me over the edge was that my “enter/return key” on my laptop broke. As a writer, this button is VERY important. I called the computer repair store. They couldn’t just fix the key. They had to replace the whole keyboard for a whopping $150.00. I stuck my butt on that “pity pot,” and whined and cried. I told God how unfair all this was. How dare he put me through so much?
I called my sponsor to tell her my tales of woe, and rather then “ooing” and “aweing” with me, she told me to get off the “pity pot.” I was so offended, even though she was right. So, I decided to gain sympathy elsewhere.
I went to my Wednesday night group, and whined away. As I left, embarrassment began to enter my consciousness. They were probably sick to death of my whining. I know I get tired when someone else is whining away over and over. That picture of me on that “pity pot” became embarrassing.
Two weeks later, I walked into Thursday small groups. My favorite shoes (you know the ones you throw on all the time) broke. I twisted my ankle. At this point, I was like “whatever.” Things going wrong were following me everywhere. I had decided I was sick of hearing myself whine. I’m sure there were many friends of mine that were grateful also. I shared with the group, I was officially off the pity pot, and whenever God decided to work things out, I would just trust Him. Even though I still sported the “ring around my butt,” I was determined to not to return.
That night, I left to go to Wal-Mart to attempt to find a pair of shoes that were just as comfortable. I tried various shoes on, and finally picked one. I figured I should look at the price: $6.50. I just smiled knowing that God was taking care of me. I moved on to the section where the CD-R’s were that I needed to pick up. Right beside them were attachments for your laptop. Low and behold, there hung a numbers keypunch with an “enter key!” The price: $12.88.
God had just waited for me to surrender my will, and get off the “pity pot.” I called my girlfriends, and we shouted the praise, not just for the new “enter key,” but for my surrender.
I typed this story in 2008. It was the first thing I wrote with my new “enter key.” I did this on purpose, because I always want to remember this lesson. The “pity pot” gets you nowhere. Getting off it, allows God to MOVE!
I’m sure there will be times that I will want to sit back down. But, I don’t plan on staying there long enough to get the ring around my butt!
*Copyright 2008 by Michelle Rocker
4/15/10
The Flower
A seed was planted in the ground.
Soon a tiny proof of life appeared.
The stem pushed through the soil.
The bud of a flower bloomed.
Amazing, remarkable, marvelous.
Time worked its wonder.
The flower bloomed.
It blossomed and grew.
True beauty immerging from dirt.
Beautiful, innocent, vulnerable.
The flower was planted in danger.
No protection was around it.
It’s petals were plucked one by one.
It struggled to stay alive.
Sad, unfair, unjust.
Then the gardener came.
He carefully dug around the struggling flower.
He lifted it out of the path where it was planted.
He placed it in his protection.
Broken, gloomy, hopeless.
He coaxed the flower into the new soil.
It struggled, he watered it.
It drooped, he held it up.
It gave up, he fed it.
Hopeful, encouraging, promising.
The flower grew stronger.
It learned to stretch toward the sun.
It thirsted for the water.
It grew and grew, taller and taller.
Better, bigger, recovered.
The gardener admired his little bloom.
The bloom had blossomed.
No longer limited to one flower,
It was a rose bush covered with blooms.
Miraculous, phenomenal, astounding.
It was beauty from ashes.
Copyright 2005 by Michelle Rocker
Soon a tiny proof of life appeared.
The stem pushed through the soil.
The bud of a flower bloomed.
Amazing, remarkable, marvelous.
Time worked its wonder.
The flower bloomed.
It blossomed and grew.
True beauty immerging from dirt.
Beautiful, innocent, vulnerable.
The flower was planted in danger.
No protection was around it.
It’s petals were plucked one by one.
It struggled to stay alive.
Sad, unfair, unjust.
Then the gardener came.
He carefully dug around the struggling flower.
He lifted it out of the path where it was planted.
He placed it in his protection.
Broken, gloomy, hopeless.
He coaxed the flower into the new soil.
It struggled, he watered it.
It drooped, he held it up.
It gave up, he fed it.
Hopeful, encouraging, promising.
The flower grew stronger.
It learned to stretch toward the sun.
It thirsted for the water.
It grew and grew, taller and taller.
Better, bigger, recovered.
The gardener admired his little bloom.
The bloom had blossomed.
No longer limited to one flower,
It was a rose bush covered with blooms.
Miraculous, phenomenal, astounding.
It was beauty from ashes.
Copyright 2005 by Michelle Rocker
4/14/10
God's Lay-z-boy*
How do you react when an unexpected experience lands in your lap? How do you keep going when you are completely overwhelmed? When do you let your burdens weigh you down until you feel you can’t handle anymore? There is an answer. Once you learn this secret, you will know how to handle anything that comes your way.
I went to meet a friend at Starbucks for us to catch up and talk about the Bible study class we were in. We settled in with our coffee and no idea what was about to happen. Her cell phone rang and I excused myself to the bathroom. All of the sudden, I heard her screaming and crying. I hurried out of the bathroom to see her wailing while hanging onto her phone. I was able to pick up that her son had just been in a horrible car accident. He was in the process of being air lifted to the hospital with head injuries. We had no idea which hospital he was headed to, and no more information was given. My friend was hysterical, and I stood there with no idea what to do. In that moment I concluded, all we had to rely on was God.
I stopped her and grabbed both of her hands and said, “Let’s pray.”
I immediately witnessed the calming effect. We put our heads together and started furiously dialing information and police headquarters to try to figure out where her son was. Within fifteen minutes we had the name of the hospital and the phone number. He was in critical condition, but the doctors said he was going to make it.
When you find yourself in a difficult situation, recline in God’s lazy-boy. You will be amazed when you watch God at work, rather then you. My friend’s son was ejected out the front window. The car rolled five times and stopped right beside his body. God protected this child before we ever uttered a prayer. We found out after the fact, but God knew all along.
We all have burdens that fly into our lives unexpectantly. The secret is crawling into God’s lazy-boy and trusting him to handle your burdens. It is hard to do, but we cannot control our circumstances, no matter how hard we try. It is futile.
One of my mentors is a lady I greatly admire. She has three sons, and two out of the three are drug addicts. They have been in countless rehab centers and in and out of hospitals. Before they discovered how much they were enabling and trying to save them on their own, they had to file bankruptcy. Just last year, she was forced to remove her three grandchildren from the dangerous situation. During the same time, her mother became very ill, and had to be put in a nursing home. Her and her husband handle all of this with very demanding jobs. She shared during one of her devotionals that she wakes up and tells God she cannot do it, but sets up and hands everything over to God. If you met her, you would have no idea of all the pain and chaos in her life. She has a contagious smile and laugh that she uses often. She always makes time for anyone that needs her, even the smallest thing. I have asked her many times, how do you do it?
She simply says, “I don’t.”
She knows how to live in God’s lazy-boy. She utilizes the scripture, Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV) where Jesus says: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
If this was an infomercial, I would say, “Order God’s lazy-boy today. It is completely free, and no shipping is required. It can be delivered to your door immediately. It is guaranteed for the rest of your life. You will be amazed at how relaxed you feel as you sit reclining, when everything around you might be whirling like a tornado of chaos. The only warning is that once you sit in this chair, you will find yourself spending a lot of time there.”
*Published by Faithwebbin
I went to meet a friend at Starbucks for us to catch up and talk about the Bible study class we were in. We settled in with our coffee and no idea what was about to happen. Her cell phone rang and I excused myself to the bathroom. All of the sudden, I heard her screaming and crying. I hurried out of the bathroom to see her wailing while hanging onto her phone. I was able to pick up that her son had just been in a horrible car accident. He was in the process of being air lifted to the hospital with head injuries. We had no idea which hospital he was headed to, and no more information was given. My friend was hysterical, and I stood there with no idea what to do. In that moment I concluded, all we had to rely on was God.
I stopped her and grabbed both of her hands and said, “Let’s pray.”
I immediately witnessed the calming effect. We put our heads together and started furiously dialing information and police headquarters to try to figure out where her son was. Within fifteen minutes we had the name of the hospital and the phone number. He was in critical condition, but the doctors said he was going to make it.
When you find yourself in a difficult situation, recline in God’s lazy-boy. You will be amazed when you watch God at work, rather then you. My friend’s son was ejected out the front window. The car rolled five times and stopped right beside his body. God protected this child before we ever uttered a prayer. We found out after the fact, but God knew all along.
We all have burdens that fly into our lives unexpectantly. The secret is crawling into God’s lazy-boy and trusting him to handle your burdens. It is hard to do, but we cannot control our circumstances, no matter how hard we try. It is futile.
One of my mentors is a lady I greatly admire. She has three sons, and two out of the three are drug addicts. They have been in countless rehab centers and in and out of hospitals. Before they discovered how much they were enabling and trying to save them on their own, they had to file bankruptcy. Just last year, she was forced to remove her three grandchildren from the dangerous situation. During the same time, her mother became very ill, and had to be put in a nursing home. Her and her husband handle all of this with very demanding jobs. She shared during one of her devotionals that she wakes up and tells God she cannot do it, but sets up and hands everything over to God. If you met her, you would have no idea of all the pain and chaos in her life. She has a contagious smile and laugh that she uses often. She always makes time for anyone that needs her, even the smallest thing. I have asked her many times, how do you do it?
She simply says, “I don’t.”
She knows how to live in God’s lazy-boy. She utilizes the scripture, Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV) where Jesus says: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
If this was an infomercial, I would say, “Order God’s lazy-boy today. It is completely free, and no shipping is required. It can be delivered to your door immediately. It is guaranteed for the rest of your life. You will be amazed at how relaxed you feel as you sit reclining, when everything around you might be whirling like a tornado of chaos. The only warning is that once you sit in this chair, you will find yourself spending a lot of time there.”
*Published by Faithwebbin
4/12/10
God Is Not Our Fairy Godmother*
I love the story of Cinderella. A young girl, who longs for so many things, finds out she has a fairy godmother that will give her anything she wishes. More than once, I have wished for a fairy godmother with a magic wand! I find myself trying to put God in the role as my fairy godmother. I find scriptures that I see as a wish, and I wait for God to wave his magic wand.
For example: Philippians 4:19 (KJV): But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
There you go! There is the proof that God will give us whatever we want. After all, it even says he is rich. At a closer look God says, “needs,” not wants.
My twelve and nine year old boys always “need” the latest sixty dollar game from Game Stop. It is completely different when they need some new pants because they have outgrown their others. They do not see it from a parent’s perspective. They see it as a selfish, little child wanting things they don’t need, and needing things they don’t want. That is exactly the way God looks at us.
Matthew 17:11(NIV) says, If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
As parents we want to give good gifts to our children (emphasis on “good”). If my sons or daughters want candy or caffeine, we have to monitor it. If it is 8:00 at night, it isn’t a good idea. If they had asked for an apple or banana, we would have handed it over immediately.
We make the assumption that the gift we are asking God for is good, but he has our best interest at heart. What we may be asking for is not bad, but it is not what is best for us.
So, how do we pray with the right heart and motives? The best way to pray is to use the examples God gives us in His word.
Right before Jesus goes to the cross, he prays. Matthew 11:42 (NIV): He went away a second time and prayed, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."
He prayed this prayer three times, but the answer was no. Jesus completely understands our frustrations when we pray, and it is answered no. Even Jesus, had to believe that God sees the big picture.
The more and more I pray about something I’m desperate about, the more I add, “your will be done.” I do not know about the future. God does! It only makes sense that I pray that way. Otherwise I am praying out of ignorance.
A fairy godmother gives you your wants and desires, but God gives you what is best for you. Armed with confidence that God is not our fairy godmother, but our Heavenly Father, we can learn to trust him for every need and want we have. He will always give us exactly what we need according to His will rather then what we want. There is also a small well-known fact with Cinderella’s godmother. Everything changed back at midnight. God doesn’t have a time clock. Once He gives, it is there forever with no conditions attached!
*Published in Christian OL Magazine and The Lookout
For example: Philippians 4:19 (KJV): But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
There you go! There is the proof that God will give us whatever we want. After all, it even says he is rich. At a closer look God says, “needs,” not wants.
My twelve and nine year old boys always “need” the latest sixty dollar game from Game Stop. It is completely different when they need some new pants because they have outgrown their others. They do not see it from a parent’s perspective. They see it as a selfish, little child wanting things they don’t need, and needing things they don’t want. That is exactly the way God looks at us.
Matthew 17:11(NIV) says, If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
As parents we want to give good gifts to our children (emphasis on “good”). If my sons or daughters want candy or caffeine, we have to monitor it. If it is 8:00 at night, it isn’t a good idea. If they had asked for an apple or banana, we would have handed it over immediately.
We make the assumption that the gift we are asking God for is good, but he has our best interest at heart. What we may be asking for is not bad, but it is not what is best for us.
So, how do we pray with the right heart and motives? The best way to pray is to use the examples God gives us in His word.
Right before Jesus goes to the cross, he prays. Matthew 11:42 (NIV): He went away a second time and prayed, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."
He prayed this prayer three times, but the answer was no. Jesus completely understands our frustrations when we pray, and it is answered no. Even Jesus, had to believe that God sees the big picture.
The more and more I pray about something I’m desperate about, the more I add, “your will be done.” I do not know about the future. God does! It only makes sense that I pray that way. Otherwise I am praying out of ignorance.
A fairy godmother gives you your wants and desires, but God gives you what is best for you. Armed with confidence that God is not our fairy godmother, but our Heavenly Father, we can learn to trust him for every need and want we have. He will always give us exactly what we need according to His will rather then what we want. There is also a small well-known fact with Cinderella’s godmother. Everything changed back at midnight. God doesn’t have a time clock. Once He gives, it is there forever with no conditions attached!
*Published in Christian OL Magazine and The Lookout
4/10/10
Whatsoever Friends*
Friends come in and out of your lives
Very few remain in your hearts forever.
Which friends remain?
The Ones who will do whatsoever
Whenever you need to endeavor
To achieve whichever goal
Or overcome whatever problem
However much time it takes.
They never say never.
They make you better.
Those are the friends
Who are together forever.
*Published in The Storyteller and The Christian Journal
Dedicated to Bill and Sandy...my "whatsoever friends."
Very few remain in your hearts forever.
Which friends remain?
The Ones who will do whatsoever
Whenever you need to endeavor
To achieve whichever goal
Or overcome whatever problem
However much time it takes.
They never say never.
They make you better.
Those are the friends
Who are together forever.
*Published in The Storyteller and The Christian Journal
Dedicated to Bill and Sandy...my "whatsoever friends."
4/9/10
My Official Storybook Grandma*
I spent most of my young life never having what I thought was a typical, storybook grandma. My dad's mother never lived close enough and my mom's mother died before I was born.
At the age of 16, I met my future husband. From the beginning, Mike talked about his grandma that lived next door. She allowed him, his three brothers, and sister to raid the refrigerator. She defended them ruthlessly. The more he shared, the more jealous I became.
One year later, Mike invited me to his home for Thanksgiving. I was so excited until I found out I was going to be staying with the famous Grandma Reba. It was common knowledge that she had not liked most of my husband's girlfriends. I promised myself that I would not talk too much (impossible), swore I would not laugh to loud (sure), but most of all I was hoping she would love me.
I arrived and met his family, and then we walked across the street. I was more nervous about meeting Grandma Reba than anyone else. As soon as we entered, I felt the atmosphere change. Family pictures filled shelves. Homemade crocheted afghans dotted the living room furniture. Next to her chair was a basket filled with her current afghan project and crochet hooks. A tiny lady, standing around five feet with curly gray hair and incredibly thick eyeglasses, greeted us. She hugged Mike, and I could feel her eyes moving over me. All I could think was please like me! She greeted me warmly, and I began blabbing. She listened and smiled.
When Grandma Reba was able to interject, told me that she would show me my room. She opened the door and inside was a bed draped in one of her homemade afghans. She apologized for the room being so small, and then asked me what I would like for breakfast. Desperate to please, I told her anything was fine. Of course true to form, I had to elaborate: "eggs, bacon, sausage, cereal, bagel, orange juice, coffee, anything really." She smiled at my nervous chatter, and said "okay." We watched one of her favorite shows (I think it was Wheel of Fortune), and then she went to bed. I loved her, and was certain she hated me because I had not shut up since she met me.
The next morning I was greeted by delicious breakfast smells. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw the table loaded with all the breakfast foods I had named. She stood at the skillet frying some bacon. I asked her if everyone else was coming over. She smiled and said, "No, honey. It's all for you." For the first time since meeting her, I was speechless. After falling into my chair in shock, I glanced up.
"Aren't you hungry?" she asked.
I told her I would never be able to eat all of this and how I would be too fat for Mike to date and what a sweetheart she was and how I couldn't believe she did it--obviously, I had found my tongue. She laughed, and asked me what I wanted tomorrow. I told her cereal, coffee and orange juice was all.
After our visit, I knew I had experienced a storybook grandma. I was now as much of a fan of Grandma Reba as her own grandkids. During the next year, I wrote her some letters and sent her one of my graduation pictures.
The following year, Mike moved to Alaska where I lived and we got engaged. We decided to spend Christmas in New York that year with his family. I decided to purchase my wedding dress there so that his mom, sister and grandma would feel more included in the preparations. Unfortunately, Grandma Reba could not go with us. When I greeted her this second time, it was as if she had shrunk. It was more obvious that her curly gray hair was a wig, her thick glasses looked thicker, and she had lost more of her hearing. It was hard to believe she was the same person, but she still had prepared my room, and each morning I woke up to cereal, orange juice, and coffee--she remembered!
One evening while visiting with her, she got up to go bed. She lost her balance and fell into the Christmas tree and knocked it over. Mike and his brother helped her up and teased her about drinking too much. She laughed, but we all knew that something was not right.
I bought my wedding dress, and tried it on for her. I sang her the songs we would be singing at the wedding, and she cried. She told me how she wished she could come. I begged, but she said she would never be able to make a 15-hour flight. She bragged that I was going to be a beautiful bride. I told her I couldn't wait till we got married, and she was my official grandma. For Christmas that year, she gave me an afghan that she crocheted just for me. Two months after we left, and six months before we got married, she died.
We received a box of things that she wanted us to have. Apparently, knowing that her time was short, she spent her last months walking around her house, writing people's names on the things she wanted them to have.
Our trophies were a corner shelf that Mike had made for her in shop class, a picture that Mike had always loved, and my graduation picture that she had placed in a frame on one of her shelves. It was then that I realized she had told me in a very special way that she was my official grandma. Only family pictures were kept on her shelves. I was part of her family. I fell in love with her, but even better, she fell in love with me.
*Published in Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul and Braveheart
At the age of 16, I met my future husband. From the beginning, Mike talked about his grandma that lived next door. She allowed him, his three brothers, and sister to raid the refrigerator. She defended them ruthlessly. The more he shared, the more jealous I became.
One year later, Mike invited me to his home for Thanksgiving. I was so excited until I found out I was going to be staying with the famous Grandma Reba. It was common knowledge that she had not liked most of my husband's girlfriends. I promised myself that I would not talk too much (impossible), swore I would not laugh to loud (sure), but most of all I was hoping she would love me.
I arrived and met his family, and then we walked across the street. I was more nervous about meeting Grandma Reba than anyone else. As soon as we entered, I felt the atmosphere change. Family pictures filled shelves. Homemade crocheted afghans dotted the living room furniture. Next to her chair was a basket filled with her current afghan project and crochet hooks. A tiny lady, standing around five feet with curly gray hair and incredibly thick eyeglasses, greeted us. She hugged Mike, and I could feel her eyes moving over me. All I could think was please like me! She greeted me warmly, and I began blabbing. She listened and smiled.
When Grandma Reba was able to interject, told me that she would show me my room. She opened the door and inside was a bed draped in one of her homemade afghans. She apologized for the room being so small, and then asked me what I would like for breakfast. Desperate to please, I told her anything was fine. Of course true to form, I had to elaborate: "eggs, bacon, sausage, cereal, bagel, orange juice, coffee, anything really." She smiled at my nervous chatter, and said "okay." We watched one of her favorite shows (I think it was Wheel of Fortune), and then she went to bed. I loved her, and was certain she hated me because I had not shut up since she met me.
The next morning I was greeted by delicious breakfast smells. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw the table loaded with all the breakfast foods I had named. She stood at the skillet frying some bacon. I asked her if everyone else was coming over. She smiled and said, "No, honey. It's all for you." For the first time since meeting her, I was speechless. After falling into my chair in shock, I glanced up.
"Aren't you hungry?" she asked.
I told her I would never be able to eat all of this and how I would be too fat for Mike to date and what a sweetheart she was and how I couldn't believe she did it--obviously, I had found my tongue. She laughed, and asked me what I wanted tomorrow. I told her cereal, coffee and orange juice was all.
After our visit, I knew I had experienced a storybook grandma. I was now as much of a fan of Grandma Reba as her own grandkids. During the next year, I wrote her some letters and sent her one of my graduation pictures.
The following year, Mike moved to Alaska where I lived and we got engaged. We decided to spend Christmas in New York that year with his family. I decided to purchase my wedding dress there so that his mom, sister and grandma would feel more included in the preparations. Unfortunately, Grandma Reba could not go with us. When I greeted her this second time, it was as if she had shrunk. It was more obvious that her curly gray hair was a wig, her thick glasses looked thicker, and she had lost more of her hearing. It was hard to believe she was the same person, but she still had prepared my room, and each morning I woke up to cereal, orange juice, and coffee--she remembered!
One evening while visiting with her, she got up to go bed. She lost her balance and fell into the Christmas tree and knocked it over. Mike and his brother helped her up and teased her about drinking too much. She laughed, but we all knew that something was not right.
I bought my wedding dress, and tried it on for her. I sang her the songs we would be singing at the wedding, and she cried. She told me how she wished she could come. I begged, but she said she would never be able to make a 15-hour flight. She bragged that I was going to be a beautiful bride. I told her I couldn't wait till we got married, and she was my official grandma. For Christmas that year, she gave me an afghan that she crocheted just for me. Two months after we left, and six months before we got married, she died.
We received a box of things that she wanted us to have. Apparently, knowing that her time was short, she spent her last months walking around her house, writing people's names on the things she wanted them to have.
Our trophies were a corner shelf that Mike had made for her in shop class, a picture that Mike had always loved, and my graduation picture that she had placed in a frame on one of her shelves. It was then that I realized she had told me in a very special way that she was my official grandma. Only family pictures were kept on her shelves. I was part of her family. I fell in love with her, but even better, she fell in love with me.
*Published in Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul and Braveheart
4/8/10
Make A Joyful Noise*
I was at a Worship conference in 2007. It was incredible to listen to that crowd of musicians praise and worship God.
On the second day of the conference praise and worship session, I stood next to a man that sang loud and about an eighth of a tone off pitch. I was so distracted, I couldn’t sing worship or praise God. (I thought)
God has a way of tapping you on the shoulder when you are not focused on the right thing. Frustrated, I turned and felt myself get whapped across the head with a two by four. His hands were lifted to heaven, eyes closed, and worship was pouring out of him for his Savior. Completely humbled, God allowed me to hear his voice as He heard it. It was beautiful. God was listening to the worship, not the voice.
When Matt Redman wrote “Heart of Worship,” I think I understood that song for the first time. It fits with the scripture: Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands. (Psalm 66:1 KJV)
Musicians sing and worry about the correctness of the notes, and singing on key. God “worries” about the worship. Don’t misunderstand, God has made people that sing on pitch, and musicians that play amazingly and they are there to help the church by leading in worship. While people might be looking at them, God is looking at all the hearts on stage and off. I love standing next to people who can't sing. It truly does come from their heart.
I joined in with the worship, and sang as loudly as him. I’m sure my pitch was affected, but I didn’t care. I was giving God my heart.
*Published in War Cry and Evangel
On the second day of the conference praise and worship session, I stood next to a man that sang loud and about an eighth of a tone off pitch. I was so distracted, I couldn’t sing worship or praise God. (I thought)
God has a way of tapping you on the shoulder when you are not focused on the right thing. Frustrated, I turned and felt myself get whapped across the head with a two by four. His hands were lifted to heaven, eyes closed, and worship was pouring out of him for his Savior. Completely humbled, God allowed me to hear his voice as He heard it. It was beautiful. God was listening to the worship, not the voice.
When Matt Redman wrote “Heart of Worship,” I think I understood that song for the first time. It fits with the scripture: Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands. (Psalm 66:1 KJV)
Musicians sing and worry about the correctness of the notes, and singing on key. God “worries” about the worship. Don’t misunderstand, God has made people that sing on pitch, and musicians that play amazingly and they are there to help the church by leading in worship. While people might be looking at them, God is looking at all the hearts on stage and off. I love standing next to people who can't sing. It truly does come from their heart.
I joined in with the worship, and sang as loudly as him. I’m sure my pitch was affected, but I didn’t care. I was giving God my heart.
*Published in War Cry and Evangel
4/7/10
You Know How Kids Are*
Written in 2004...
Finding out I was pregnant with my fourth child has been interesting, especially experiencing it from my sons' view points. My two year old daughter simply points to my stomach and says "baby," but the boys have some serious questions and observations. The subject of fat stomachs seems to be their favorite.
On the way to a doctor's appointment, the subject came up again. Brett, my 8 year old, pulled up his shirt, and said, "See, Mom, I have a fat stomach."
To which I responded, "No, you don't, honey."
"Yeah, I know," he replied. "It's because I suck it in like this."
He pulled up the back of his shirt and sucked in his breath.
"It pushes the fat into my back. See? That way no one knows I'm fat."
Great theory, but unfortunately all my stomach muscles are shot after carrying the fourth one, and my back has too much fat already as it is. But I told him I was happy it worked for him.
Six year old Nolan watched and started giggling. "But, Brett's tummy isn't fat like Mommy's tummy."
"No, Nolan," I responded with clenched teeth, "it isn't like Mommy's. But that is because Mommy is going to have a baby, right?"
"Oh, yeah," he said.
Well, by the time we walked into the doctor's office, I was feeling quite pudgy, and was anxious to get this over with. The boys' regular doctor was not in, so they had to see a substitute. He walked in, and was great with the kids. The boys laughed and teased with him. Just as the doctor was fixing to leave, I saw Nolan staring at the doctor's pot belly.
"Please, God, no!" I thought, but oh yes.
Before I could get to Nolan, he walked right up to the doctor and patted his belly.
"Say, you have a fat tummy, too."
Nolan smiled up at the doctor.
I was frozen, red-faced, and speechless. Gulping loudly, I walked over to Nolan, and pulled him away from patting the doctor's belly.
"You, uh, have to understand, uh, that I'm pregnant, so there has been lots of talk about tummies," I stuttered.
Rolling my eyes, I continued, valiantly trying to think of something brilliant or funny to say, but all I came up with was, "You know how kids are."
The doctor laughed and said he had three of his own.
He then proceeded to pat Nolan's head and say, "You know, I could stand to lose a little weight, huh?"
I frantically grabbed Nolan's shoulder and squeezed as he nodded his head. Let's just say, I made it out of the doctor's office in record time with three children. They received stickers for their fabulous behavior which they all promptly put on their belly buttons. Too bad I didn't have those in advance--I would have placed them on their mouths!
*Previously published in The Christian Journal
Finding out I was pregnant with my fourth child has been interesting, especially experiencing it from my sons' view points. My two year old daughter simply points to my stomach and says "baby," but the boys have some serious questions and observations. The subject of fat stomachs seems to be their favorite.
On the way to a doctor's appointment, the subject came up again. Brett, my 8 year old, pulled up his shirt, and said, "See, Mom, I have a fat stomach."
To which I responded, "No, you don't, honey."
"Yeah, I know," he replied. "It's because I suck it in like this."
He pulled up the back of his shirt and sucked in his breath.
"It pushes the fat into my back. See? That way no one knows I'm fat."
Great theory, but unfortunately all my stomach muscles are shot after carrying the fourth one, and my back has too much fat already as it is. But I told him I was happy it worked for him.
Six year old Nolan watched and started giggling. "But, Brett's tummy isn't fat like Mommy's tummy."
"No, Nolan," I responded with clenched teeth, "it isn't like Mommy's. But that is because Mommy is going to have a baby, right?"
"Oh, yeah," he said.
Well, by the time we walked into the doctor's office, I was feeling quite pudgy, and was anxious to get this over with. The boys' regular doctor was not in, so they had to see a substitute. He walked in, and was great with the kids. The boys laughed and teased with him. Just as the doctor was fixing to leave, I saw Nolan staring at the doctor's pot belly.
"Please, God, no!" I thought, but oh yes.
Before I could get to Nolan, he walked right up to the doctor and patted his belly.
"Say, you have a fat tummy, too."
Nolan smiled up at the doctor.
I was frozen, red-faced, and speechless. Gulping loudly, I walked over to Nolan, and pulled him away from patting the doctor's belly.
"You, uh, have to understand, uh, that I'm pregnant, so there has been lots of talk about tummies," I stuttered.
Rolling my eyes, I continued, valiantly trying to think of something brilliant or funny to say, but all I came up with was, "You know how kids are."
The doctor laughed and said he had three of his own.
He then proceeded to pat Nolan's head and say, "You know, I could stand to lose a little weight, huh?"
I frantically grabbed Nolan's shoulder and squeezed as he nodded his head. Let's just say, I made it out of the doctor's office in record time with three children. They received stickers for their fabulous behavior which they all promptly put on their belly buttons. Too bad I didn't have those in advance--I would have placed them on their mouths!
*Previously published in The Christian Journal
4/6/10
Whine*
Do you serve whine when things don't go your way?
Or do you serve it when things are OK?
Maybe aged whine is more your style.
You have years worth stored in your vile.
Soured properly, years passed from the plucked vine,
At just the right time, you pop the cork of whine.
Gallons served without an ounce of tenderness,
A long-winded sermon fueled by bitterness.
No one wishes to dine on this whine,
Sour and bitter, the worst moonshine.
So, all you who serve whine pay attention!
Whine is quite an addicting addiction.
Zip those lips when you wish to complain,
And as for the whine, you should abstain.
*published in Evangel, The Gem, and Believer's Bay E-zine
Or do you serve it when things are OK?
Maybe aged whine is more your style.
You have years worth stored in your vile.
Soured properly, years passed from the plucked vine,
At just the right time, you pop the cork of whine.
Gallons served without an ounce of tenderness,
A long-winded sermon fueled by bitterness.
No one wishes to dine on this whine,
Sour and bitter, the worst moonshine.
So, all you who serve whine pay attention!
Whine is quite an addicting addiction.
Zip those lips when you wish to complain,
And as for the whine, you should abstain.
*published in Evangel, The Gem, and Believer's Bay E-zine
4/2/10
First Impressions Count*
The lesson in this is pretty obvious...
My cousin Casi agreed to watch my children for me, while I went to a lunch meeting. To thank her, I went by Starbucks to get her a drink. I thought I remembered that she didn’t like coffee, so I ordered a caramel, apple cider. I pulled up to the window, and the cashier informed me that they were out of apple cider. I said that it was okay, and changed my order to a mocha. As I handed my credit card to the cashier, she handed me a coupon.
“This is good for a free drink on us, any time you want it. You would not believe how many people have yelled at us today.”
“Really?” I asked.
The manager then told me how awful customers had been, and how much they appreciated my willingness to accept the problem of the lack of apple cider. Then they both proceeded to tell me what a nice person I was. I will admit that I left Starbucks with a giant smile on my face. I even puffed my chest out because of my astounding demonstration of a patient, accommodating citizen.
A few days later, I went to the bank. There was only one other car in the drive-thru in the farthest lane from the teller. I pulled right up to the spot next to the window. The teller never even looked up.
I thought, surely she can see me, but she just continued to count her money.
I watched the other car leave, and another car pull up.
I sighed and thought, any minute now.
That car left, and I began to feel inpatient hives starting to break out on my neck.
Finally, she looked up and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
Yeah, uh huh, sure, I thought.
She opened the tray, and I placed my deposit in the tray, and she pulled it back in. My jaw sagged open as I watched her walk away from the window without my deposit. The third car drove away, replaced by the fourth car. My inpatient hives had taken over my entire body. I swear you could have seen smoke coming out of my ears. She came back to the window, and still did not take my deposit out of the tray! She proceeded to count some more money. By then the other teller servicing her FIFTH car, looked at me quizzically. I cannot repeat the thoughts that then filled my brain. With huge willpower, I clamped my lips together.
My mamma always said, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
After ten minutes, this, ummm… “teller,” finally took my deposit. As she deposited my receipt into the tray, I had reached my boiling point. I violently grabbed the receipt out of the tray squishing it into a wad, as if it was her head, and hit the gas of my minivan as hard as I could. Apparently not just muscle cars can do burnouts. The satisfying sound echoed off all of the walls of the drive through. At that moment, my conscience tickled my brain.
I yelled back, “She deserved it. That is ridiculous, taking ten minutes to process a measly deposit.” Mockingly, I continued, “She ‘didn’t see me.’ Yeah, right!”
A few days later, I had a rough day with my kids. Near the Starbucks, I knew I deserved to use my free coupon. I ordered my favorite: a venti, non-fat, peppermint mocha, with whip cream. (I know that the whip cream cancels out the non-fat part, but it makes me feel skinnier.) As I pulled up to the window, I handed the cashier my little gift card.
She said, “Oh, that’s nice.”
I smiled, and explained how I had earned the gift certificate by my startling display of politeness.
The manager peeked her head out, and said, “Oh, I remember this lady. She was so sweet. We had run out of apple cider, and she said it was not a big deal and changed her order. We had been yelled at all day.”
I flashed my dazzling white smile, and nodded my head like a queen. Yes, I was a walking example of a patient, accommodating citizen. As I pulled out from the drive thru, I proceeded to choke on my venti, non-fat, peppermint mocha with whip cream.
“Too bad they didn’t see you at the drive thru at the bank the other day,” whispered my conscience.
My free mocha didn’t taste as good anymore. I bowed my head and repented. I managed to have grace enough to blush and be completely embarrassed.
We only get one chance to make a first impression. I don’t know what the bank teller had to do that was more important than my little deposit. I could have asked nicely, and to be honest, I wasn’t even in a hurry. Who knows how much she was having to get done, or if she had a deadline. I was only concerned with myself.
These incidences completely flip-flopped the way I treat the pizza delivery guy, nail technician, the UPS delivery man, the cashier, and—oh yeah—the bank teller!
*published by Evangel, The Gem, and The Standard
My cousin Casi agreed to watch my children for me, while I went to a lunch meeting. To thank her, I went by Starbucks to get her a drink. I thought I remembered that she didn’t like coffee, so I ordered a caramel, apple cider. I pulled up to the window, and the cashier informed me that they were out of apple cider. I said that it was okay, and changed my order to a mocha. As I handed my credit card to the cashier, she handed me a coupon.
“This is good for a free drink on us, any time you want it. You would not believe how many people have yelled at us today.”
“Really?” I asked.
The manager then told me how awful customers had been, and how much they appreciated my willingness to accept the problem of the lack of apple cider. Then they both proceeded to tell me what a nice person I was. I will admit that I left Starbucks with a giant smile on my face. I even puffed my chest out because of my astounding demonstration of a patient, accommodating citizen.
A few days later, I went to the bank. There was only one other car in the drive-thru in the farthest lane from the teller. I pulled right up to the spot next to the window. The teller never even looked up.
I thought, surely she can see me, but she just continued to count her money.
I watched the other car leave, and another car pull up.
I sighed and thought, any minute now.
That car left, and I began to feel inpatient hives starting to break out on my neck.
Finally, she looked up and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
Yeah, uh huh, sure, I thought.
She opened the tray, and I placed my deposit in the tray, and she pulled it back in. My jaw sagged open as I watched her walk away from the window without my deposit. The third car drove away, replaced by the fourth car. My inpatient hives had taken over my entire body. I swear you could have seen smoke coming out of my ears. She came back to the window, and still did not take my deposit out of the tray! She proceeded to count some more money. By then the other teller servicing her FIFTH car, looked at me quizzically. I cannot repeat the thoughts that then filled my brain. With huge willpower, I clamped my lips together.
My mamma always said, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
After ten minutes, this, ummm… “teller,” finally took my deposit. As she deposited my receipt into the tray, I had reached my boiling point. I violently grabbed the receipt out of the tray squishing it into a wad, as if it was her head, and hit the gas of my minivan as hard as I could. Apparently not just muscle cars can do burnouts. The satisfying sound echoed off all of the walls of the drive through. At that moment, my conscience tickled my brain.
I yelled back, “She deserved it. That is ridiculous, taking ten minutes to process a measly deposit.” Mockingly, I continued, “She ‘didn’t see me.’ Yeah, right!”
A few days later, I had a rough day with my kids. Near the Starbucks, I knew I deserved to use my free coupon. I ordered my favorite: a venti, non-fat, peppermint mocha, with whip cream. (I know that the whip cream cancels out the non-fat part, but it makes me feel skinnier.) As I pulled up to the window, I handed the cashier my little gift card.
She said, “Oh, that’s nice.”
I smiled, and explained how I had earned the gift certificate by my startling display of politeness.
The manager peeked her head out, and said, “Oh, I remember this lady. She was so sweet. We had run out of apple cider, and she said it was not a big deal and changed her order. We had been yelled at all day.”
I flashed my dazzling white smile, and nodded my head like a queen. Yes, I was a walking example of a patient, accommodating citizen. As I pulled out from the drive thru, I proceeded to choke on my venti, non-fat, peppermint mocha with whip cream.
“Too bad they didn’t see you at the drive thru at the bank the other day,” whispered my conscience.
My free mocha didn’t taste as good anymore. I bowed my head and repented. I managed to have grace enough to blush and be completely embarrassed.
We only get one chance to make a first impression. I don’t know what the bank teller had to do that was more important than my little deposit. I could have asked nicely, and to be honest, I wasn’t even in a hurry. Who knows how much she was having to get done, or if she had a deadline. I was only concerned with myself.
These incidences completely flip-flopped the way I treat the pizza delivery guy, nail technician, the UPS delivery man, the cashier, and—oh yeah—the bank teller!
*published by Evangel, The Gem, and The Standard
4/1/10
Worry? Why?*
When my son Nolan was nine, I ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. With no insurance, we were faced with close to thirty thousand dollars in debt. Money was for necessities ONLY.
Nolan had a lego that he wanted. We had sat down with the kids after I got out of the hospital and explained that they wouldn't be able to get some of the things they wanted until we got some money. After a month of not getting his lego, Nolan wandered downstairs and asked when we would have enough money to buy it. I hung my head and told him it would be awhile.
He said, “Well, mom, I guess I’m just going to have to pray for a miracle, ‘cause that is the only way it can happen.”
I told him that was a good idea, but was nervous that his faith would be affected when it didn’t happen. How was a nine year old little boy going to earn and receive money. His birthday was seven months away. Christmas was still four months away. I just didn’t see how.
An hour later, I was still fretting and stewing over the issue. There was a knock on my door. It was my neighbor. She asked if Nolan could babysit their bird and dog. She was going to pay him. And you guessed it! It was the exact amount of money he needed to buy his lego.
When I called Nolan downstairs and told him that his miracle had just been answered. He wasn’t in awe like I was. He knew God would take care of him.
He just said, "yep," and smiled.
God knew what his little heart desired, and he took of HIS little boy.
Let me share some of my favorite verses found in the Bible in the book of Matthew, chapter 28.
Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow.If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and gone tomorrow, will he not much more clothe you? So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' Your heavenly Father knows that you need them. Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
This is where I should tell you about the thirty thousand dollar hospital bill. Somebody paid it. To this day, I don't know who.
Worry? Why? God's got it covered, even if all you "need" is a lego.
*portions of this story were published in The Gem, Purpose, War Cry, Believers Bay E-zine, and Christian OL E-zine.
Nolan had a lego that he wanted. We had sat down with the kids after I got out of the hospital and explained that they wouldn't be able to get some of the things they wanted until we got some money. After a month of not getting his lego, Nolan wandered downstairs and asked when we would have enough money to buy it. I hung my head and told him it would be awhile.
He said, “Well, mom, I guess I’m just going to have to pray for a miracle, ‘cause that is the only way it can happen.”
I told him that was a good idea, but was nervous that his faith would be affected when it didn’t happen. How was a nine year old little boy going to earn and receive money. His birthday was seven months away. Christmas was still four months away. I just didn’t see how.
An hour later, I was still fretting and stewing over the issue. There was a knock on my door. It was my neighbor. She asked if Nolan could babysit their bird and dog. She was going to pay him. And you guessed it! It was the exact amount of money he needed to buy his lego.
When I called Nolan downstairs and told him that his miracle had just been answered. He wasn’t in awe like I was. He knew God would take care of him.
He just said, "yep," and smiled.
God knew what his little heart desired, and he took of HIS little boy.
Let me share some of my favorite verses found in the Bible in the book of Matthew, chapter 28.
Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow.If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and gone tomorrow, will he not much more clothe you? So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' Your heavenly Father knows that you need them. Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
This is where I should tell you about the thirty thousand dollar hospital bill. Somebody paid it. To this day, I don't know who.
Worry? Why? God's got it covered, even if all you "need" is a lego.
*portions of this story were published in The Gem, Purpose, War Cry, Believers Bay E-zine, and Christian OL E-zine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
