Got that fiddle out....

God seems to do His best work in me when I am broken. 

He has me in a place, right now, where I have to be still. I have contracted a bad staph infection, called MRSA (which stands for Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus)....which means an antibiotic-resistant strain of staph. It is hard to even share that information....because it scares people to pieces. I'm not exactly sure how I contracted it, because it usually hits older people (older than me, of course), infants, hospitalized people, and those with compromised immune systems. I had been swimming at the aquatic center almost every day for a couple of months.....I used the locker room to wet my hair before swimming and then to rinse off afterwards. I rather think that I picked it up there....they keep the pool crazy-clean but the locker rooms are always moldy and full of water and the high schooler's junk. My skin had gotten very dry and I wasn't taking care of that. I was also on a "bootcamp" with my weight loss group, eating very little and exercising a lot. I think I compromised myself a bit. Either way, now four weeks into it, I have been yes, quarantined.

Not entirely.

I just can't touch anybody. Or touch my nose and then anything. I can't go to the hospital where my sweet daughter-in-love is laboring with our grandbaby. I can't go to church. I can't let my skin be exposed where it might leave bacteria for someone else to pick up. 

I have to take showers with Hibiclens, spray this special blend of essential oils all over and let it dry, then apply super-duper antibiotic ointment on the lesions and cover them with bandages. There's three spots left. Doc says that if they are not healed in two weeks that I will have to be hospitalized and put on IV antibiotics. Hurry up!!!!!!  I also have other unmentionable physical issues going on, not fun ones but at least they are not infectious.

Daniel was talking to me yesterday, while he was on his way home to take Jessica to the hospital.... her blood pressure was out the roof, so they have induced labor to get baby Madelyn Rose out of the oven. (Don't you love that name, haha?!) How my heart is grieved that I can't go to them now and be there in body to wear it with them and to greet this much-loved and wanted baby. Daniel started talking to me about how important it is that we specifically pray and ask God for things. He brought up several scriptures about the subject.... about how sovereign God is, but that He specifically states over and over how we are to ask Him for what we need. I believe He enjoys giving us good things and answering our prayers. He wants us to trust Him and to depend on His answers. How often I don't do that. How often I have a passive attitude about His will...just assuming that what will be, will be. Stupid! When here He says, "Ask and it shall be given, seek and you shall find, knock and the door shall be opened unto you." Matthew 7:7 -- it's even providential that it is chapter 7 and verse 7...God's favorite number! I am learning more and more about crying out to Him. 

Our interim pastor said a few weeks ago, in essence, that the challenge of old age, for a Christian, is in trusting God. That surprises me. I thought that it would all get easier, the longer you go. In actuality, the older you get, the more you know how little control you have. Lots of bad things happen. The world is a scary place. You begin to see that just because I did the "formula" doesn't mean I'm going to get the right result. That is what we see. But we see through a glass darkly. I don't understand all that is going on, I rarely do. God does. He's not surprised by it, not one bit. He is working all things out for my good and my salvation, no matter what it feels like. I may sound like a repeating, broken record. Apparently it takes me longer to learn stuff....

Right now, I'm stuck here in my house. I've been sad, depressed, and ugly angry. Angry at me, God, and Ken. That's just the truth. I've also had lucid moments of joy, as I stopped to thank Him for all of this. This morning, I thought Ken had already left for work. He should have, because I was being a beast. But he didn't, thankfully, and I hugged him (whoops) and asked his forgiveness for my stinking attitude. He blessed me and encouraged me. After he left, I sat out on our beautiful front porch in the swing and began to thank God for everything. Really. Think about it. How many times do we get to take a retreat? Can't work away from home. Can't go much of anywhere. The best thing I can do for my health is to eat healthy, drink my fluids, sit in the sun and rest. Oh yeah, and do laundry. People pay big bucks to go rest in a beautiful Victorian house and eat salad. 

He means for me to seek Him, to find out new things out of His word, to ponder my future plans, to redirect my mule-ish work ethic into things more suited to my gifts and my aging body, to love those He has put in my life. I can do that from here. If you are reading this, give yourself a hug from me....sending you love from Him.

The key to happiness

The key to a happy life seems to be this: gratefulness. The Scriptures talk a lot about it. "Whatever state I am in I have learned to be content" -- loosely translated from Paul. As I observe others around me, strangers and friends alike, I see a common thread. If someone is able to count their blessings, they are generally happy, no matter if they are poor or rich. On the other hand, if they constantly feel short-changed or bitter, nothing can satisfy them.

I have an old friend, who is not old, who is truly gifted. He is a master carpenter, can sell ice cubes to an Eskimo (gifted seller), artistic eye and brain, beautiful wife who adores him, and several gorgeous children who thinks he hung the moon. But guess what? He is so bitter and sour at God, he thinks that he has been given a dirty deal. Even with all that wonderful stuff. He has a blessed life, but cannot even see what is right in front of him. If he does not learn to see the good (or to be grateful to God), I am afraid all these beautiful things will begin to backfire on him. If the best things in life don't satisfy, then what else is there? And what happens when more bad things happen, as is usually the case?

I recall my old mentor, Dr. Denmark (and she really was old)... she was my children's pediatrician and lived to be 113 years old. She was talking about the gift of life and how we should wake up every day and thank God for everything, even the bad things. She said that everyone deserves a chance to live, that even a sunrise when you are lying in a gutter is a miracle. 

I haven't lived in a gutter yet, and hopefully won't have to.... but I do remember when we were living in our camper for those two years. At first it was very wacky to wake up in this little, beat-up space and try to remember if we were sane or not. Then we adjusted in myriad ways, to the constraints of our situation. It was amazing to me that we could live like that and really be happy. But we were. Yes, we had the advent of a beautiful home that we were building (virtually) ourselves, so there was the hope of that.... but when the day came when we moved into the big house, I had some sorrow about leaving the camper. I knew that we were okay in that camper and that we would never again be as close (ha!) as that and as dependent on one another as we had been. I also, in some ways, didn't feel worthy to live in a big house when I knew living in our "hut" was really all we needed. They say that when you visit a third-world country it will ratchet up your appreciation of America and all that we enjoy. I haven't done that yet, but waking up in a real house after dreaming about a cocoon in a camper sometimes still catches me by surprise. God has blessed us with our beautiful old Victorian a year and a half ago, and some days we wake up thinking we are in a bed-and-breakfast. So who's making breakfast?!

But back to gratefulness... even in my most blessed days, I can fret and worry about something. I seem to manufacture things to worry about. If I haven't worried about this child or this grandchild in awhile, it must be time to chew on that. Worry leads to ungratefulness as well.

It seems that I ponder a lot of things as I'm taking the dog out for her potty break. We live right in town and so there is traffic going by and usually a pedestrian or two to wave at. In the midst of that, our property has an old gothic wrought-iron fence around it and huge trees in the yard. So I am in this little Victorian world for a few minutes. If it's dark, the sky always amazes me with the clear moon and stars, the trees lit against the sky. If it's light, I can see the old plantings in the yard and wonder about all the people that have lived here and wandered around this same yard. It's in these moments that I really try to remember how God has blessed me, to thank Him for His goodness, and to center my heart on all that He has sent, whether it seems good or bad to me. He's promised:  "And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose." Rom. 8:28  
Definitely one of the great mysteries of life.

I have seen people in the midst of the worst kinds of sorrows who are able to look up and find grace and hope through it. I have also seen people in the midst of great blessing and success that are griping because they've been given a raw deal.

Which of those women do I want to be?

Bootcamp and spoiled toddlers

I'm on day 18 of a bootcamp, done through my weight loss group. Bootcamp. That's where things are rough, you work your tail off, and don't get much to eat. Day 18. I've lost five pounds in 18 days. That's crazy, since I have about 60 more to go. I began to feel really bad a few days ago, struggling with whether I should stay on this "island" or not. Back and forth, back and forth. I almost stopped. Then I got back my resolve. But then, this morning, after having had victorious thoughts and heart, I began to wrestle in my head about my stunted weight loss. I was angry at God, scared that I might not be able to lose weight....that somehow it is impossible for me to lose more weight and that I would be stuck at this size no matter what I did. Then I got really mad. All this effort, all this sacrifice, and so little result.

This was all happening on my way home from the pool, where I had dutifully swam my 45 minutes this morning. Oh yeah, and I have been swimming an hour, 4-5 times a week....on top of eating 2 healthy meals a day. So you see my attitude here? I began to cry out to God, "God, please tell me what to do! Give me a sign." I don't really believe in signs too much..... I've been burnt way too many times by the deceitfulness of my own heart and, like my pastor brother says, the taco I had last night. I believe that the truth lies in the Scriptures and we have to guard our minds against second sight and the whims of the wind. I have seen way too many people leave husbands, jump into financial ruin, or lose their minds over what they thought God was telling them. Saying all that, however, God gives us wisdom and He uses all manner of things to get our attention. Questions I ask myself: does this line up with Scripture? is this my flesh or the devil or God? etc. And this definitely did....

So here I am, winding my way down the road. I had plugged in my little ipod shuffle into my ears....listening to Nate Currin's "Pilgrim" album. It has been very inspirational to me during my battle with my weight demons. It is a musical journey telling the story of Pilgrim's Progress, taken from a life that has paralleled the tale. As I was asking God about what I'm supposed to do, I tuned my brain in to what was playing on my ipod. Here were the words:

"Hold on fast and don't give in... through this maze of profit. The bitter path is worth the end, and all the pain we suffer. Down in this river we call the Pleasant One. Though you're tired, carry on. 

Now You're walking by my side. I'm not alone. And though a thousand miles away, You feel like home, home. But hold on fast and don't give in....through this maze of profit. The bitter path is worth the end, and all the pain we suffer. Down in this river we call the Pleasant One. Though you're tired, carry on." - Nate Currin, The Pilgrim

Kinda gave me goose pimples, it hit home so closely. Then the next song came on, and these were the words to it: 

The path that we chose delivered us here. 
Too proud to go back, shaken in fear.
The castle was strong, covered in red.
Shackled for days, starving for bread.
What have I done to earn this despair?
This dungeon's so dark, there's must in the air.
I silently sit, faced to a wall.
I'm broken, doubting it all.

The bones and the skulls of those here before
mocked us from corners, moss-covered floors.
We sat up all night, in the cell where we prayed.
The sun broke the cracks in the walls where we laid.

What have we done to earn this despair?
This dungeon's so dark, there's death everywhere.
We silently sit, faced to a wall.
We're broken, doubting it all.

Unless I can taste, unless I can see, unless I can feel Your scars..... I won't believe....

Unless I can taste, unless I can see, unless I can feel Your scars..... I won't believe....

Oh give me faith, to find the key. 
Its name is Promise. It sets us free...." - Nate Currin, The Pilgrim (obviously highly recommended....buy it on amazon.com)

Those two songs spoke what my heart was wrestling with. Bitterness, pain, suffering, doubt.  To an outsider it may seem that I'm making a big deal about a small thing. But it is not. We either wrestle with sin or we surrender to it. It's pretty apparent I've done a lot of surrendering.

As I pondered these words, it hit me how very weak I am. I've indulged myself for many years, many banquets, desserts, cakes, cookies and large portions.... deceiving myself that I was being moderate and suffering from a metabolic problem.  At the first sign of a serious weight stall, I just about give up and surrender, acting like a spoiled toddler, stamping my feet and shaking my fist at God. Years have gone by where I did not seriously face this demon. I get my heart aligned for, what, three months, and expect instant results and no slow-downs.  No, I demanded them.

All that I can say is, I thank God He doesn't give up on me....and that I don't get what I really deserve. His grace and His resolve live in my heart. I am grateful to Him that He's showing me the depths of those dungeons, breaking me, and setting me free.

An Idyllic Childhood

I grew up in the heart of Georgia, in a subdivision of mass-produced tiny brick ranch houses. Apparently, either a Yankee or some Californian living in a dry place came up with the idea of building red brick ovens to put people in.

 (Caveat: in case any Yankee or Californian is offended by my references to Yankees. First off, God loves all His children, even if they are born in the wrong half of the country. Second, technically, my children say that I am a Yankee. They are wrong, yes they are, but here's why: my Mama was born and raised in Illinois. She married a true blue Southern boy who came up there to get a job at the Caterpillar Tractor Company.  See, it was a TRACTOR company. They had me. They lived there six more months and one day shook their heads and realized that God's country was indeed in the South. They had to get the heck outa there. So I guess you could say I'm a Yankee, since I'm half Yankee and lived there for a few months. But -- the Bible shows all the geneologies with the Father's bloodline....so since my Father is a Southerner, not to mention one of the bonafide Sons of the Confederacy, and I have lived here all but 6 months of my life, I submit that my Southern roots take the day.)

Back to the subject at hand: these houses were obviously not designed for the south. They were rectangular boxes with tiny windows. The ceilings were 8 foot high or shorter, so the heat had nowhere to go. There was no air conditioning, so they were more like large torture chambers that heated up early in the day and baked everyone inside them into sweaty, doughy, miserable masses. 

When you look at old Southern homes, they were built right. The ceilings were 10-12 feet high, so the heat could gather way up there instead of at your body. The windows were sky-high and often opened all the way down to the floor, so you could open them and catch the breeze. There were porches everywhere, to bring shade to the house and also to have a place to visit and enjoy the outside without being in the sun. They knew to orient the angle of the home so that there would be cross-breezes when everything was opened up. When I was a child, we would occasionally visit old relatives out in the country who lived in those smart-Southern-built homes. The families were usually poor and there were pigs under the porch, but to me these houses were heavenly, even if they were humble and unadorned. And of course there were always screen doors, just waiting to be banged by us kids. 

Whoever came up with the brilliant idea to put those masses of short, stout brick houses in Georgia surely is now in purgatory. Thankfully, along the way, air conditioning was invented. My parents eventually acquired a window unit for their bedroom, but you had to keep their doors closed because it wasn't powerful enough to keep anything else cool. My sister and I would take our bath right before bed and then talk and giggle far into the night, with the sheets kicked off. We only had the idea of curtains on the windows, so the breezes would be free to come in. I remember looking at the moon and praying to God, just talking to Him. He wooed me like a baby to Him.  

Even though it may seem like summers were misery, to us kids they were not. They were heaven on earth. Even the heat did not really bother us. It was all we knew. And when you are young and slim, and there are lakes and fields and trees to explore, the earth was a sumptuous banquet of possibilities. We traversed our little world, stole horseback rides on the neighbor's horses (without the aid of saddle or bridle), fished for fish that didn't exist in the neighbor's lake, made trails all over the woods and fields around us. We rode our bikes all over the neighborhood, racing each other. When a summer rain would hit, we would peel off our clothes down to our underwear and play in the water-filled ditches. Our front yard was the neighborhood softball field. Home base was a crack in the driveway, first base was the first big bush on the right. Second base was a worn spot on the property line and third base was the water meter. We would play for hours and hours. With our house oriented directly on the right side, you would think there would be broken windows, but no, we just learned to hit away from right field (there was no right field). Our Daddy coached us at Powder Springs park for years and also coached his Post Office team, so we lived, ate and breathed softball. Mama would feed us supper then we'd head to Atlanta for his games, where us kids would play in the dirt and on the playgrounds. There was (and is) a park named English Park, off of Bankhead Highway in Atlanta. There was a spooky cemetery next door to the park and we would scare ourselves thinking about the ghosts that must be stalking us from there. 

My childhood summers are a sweet, balmy memory to me. I think of creamy ice cream cones that we would stop and get on our way home from ball games. I remember the bittersweet bite of muscadines and blackberries that we gathered by the bucketfuls from the fields around us. The penny candy that we got from Reese's store around the corner. A frozen Snickers bar from Sun Valley Beach (Melanie and I rode our bikes to work there for many summers). Homemade vanilla ice cream, hand-cranked on the back porch. No wonder I have too much fat on my body....I'm trying to recreate those summers! 

I would often think about "someday" and that when I had kids, I wanted them to have some of what I had as a child. It was important to me that they have fields and creeks and places to explore as they grew up. So when Ken and I married, it was our eventual goal to get out to the country. We bought and sold several fixer-uppers and eventually moved to five acres in the middle of miles of forest and land, moved a camper onto the land and took two years to build our dream home. We homeschooled our four children, so they had a lot of time to explore and enjoy nature, barefooted and dirty, without sunscreen or helmets. We had a TV, but not on Mom time. I rarely turned on the TV during the day. We did not have computer games or devices to distract them. Nobody had a cell phone until everybody was almost grown. We did this on purpose, not because we were poor or weird. Well, we probably are weird. I wanted them to think, imagine, play, use their brains and to not be entertainment-driven. Children need to have great capacity to entertain themselves and to come up with all sorts of things without outside stimulation. We are losing this in our society. So the beautiful, sweet summers of my childhood were passed to my children. They had an old-school upbringing. We had to be weird to make it happen, but now that they are all adults I think they all would say it was worth it.

Wrasslin' with the flesh and the devil

So..... 
Life goes like the seasons. Or the tide. Progress, regress, working, resting, happy, sad, good, bad, it swells then it dries up. But not nearly that regulated. You just can't predict what is going to happen. There is that principle of sowing and reaping, but then again there are tsunamis that throw everything off (or a double crop).

This morning I was doing my Bible study and it was talking in the Scriptures about a list of sins.... pretty serious sins.... and how that those who commit those sins will not inherit the kingdom of God. Kinda scary, if you think about it. Then the hope comes, telling that "and such were some of you" along with the promise that it is Christ who washes us, saves us, redeems us. It is not our own work, but His goodness and perfection that God looks upon. I became a believer at a young age and have walked with the Lord my whole life since. But I sin daily, if not hourly. My thoughts and inclinations lean to sin. My heart resists those thoughts and inclinations, because the Holy Spirit resides there and lives through me. How do I know it is He? Because I also still can see and feel my natural nature that resides in this body. I think I know the beast that would have been my lot had it not been for Christ. I am keenly aware that I am one of those chief sinners that He had to rescue early, to save me and others from what I was capable of.

I am wrestling with the devil and my flesh every day right now, choosing to eat the things that I should eat in order to put my body back into balance. Heck, it's been out of balance so long I don't even know what that means. Years ago, my doctor told me, "Rose, you need to quit trying to do this alone. You need as much help and support as you can get." I tried a couple of things, in particular a clinic that had me taking hormone shots every day and eating 500 calories a day. Sure, I lost weight. Who wouldn't? There was no instruction except a sheet with foods on it and a package of shots they sent me home with every week. People always say, "well, we all know what we need to do to lose weight." But I do not agree with that. It becomes such a muddle of brain vs. heart vs. body, so confusing and so disheartening that most of us give up. Why torture yourself, when the rest of the planet doesn't seem to be doing anything about it either? And it's so easy and quick to just live and eat whatever is there...

During this clinic phase, my left ovary blew up into the size of a cantaloupe (from ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, caused from the hormones). I was having incredible pain and had to stop the program. Thank you Jesus. That whole plan was only a quick fix that taught me nothing.  I had a brief window of relief from some of my fat symptoms, but then of course it began to creep back.

Fat symptoms? Yes, those are myriad, and people who are 20-30 pounds overweight don't really know about those. I'm talking about for those of us who are truly obese.... we have things going on that nobody wants to talk about. Like, if I run out of baby powder I am in really big trouble from all the chafing. Or -- when I bend over to paint baseboards and cut in low places on walls, my ribs hurt and I suffer for a week after a big job, just from the ribs (not to mention all the other places that are constantly sore). I don't have a lap for my grandbabies. They just slide forward when I'm trying to hold them.  I often think I am having a heart attack, because in the evenings I get acid reflux. I have pain down my left arm, in my neck and in my chest, just like a heart attack. I have been thoroughly roto-rootered by the doctors and they assure me all that pain is caused from gastric issues. I have this gigantic tummy and apron, that started with my four gargantuan 11-pound babies and then was added to by cheesecake and loss of my core muscles. Do you think that is fun? No, it is the bane of my life. I am long and tall, so there are no shirts long enough or big enough to deal with that. I'm constantly neck-deep in paint, so I just have to not care about what I'm exposing people to. I work very hard, but getting up and moving is a giant chore. Once everything gets warmed up and in motion, somehow I can work like a Trojan, but then when I stop, or when I go to sleep, I sometimes think I'm not going to live much longer because everything sets up like cement. And there are so many more things that I can't tell here.... I am disclosing too much already.

I have no right to feel sorry for myself. I brought this on, all by myself. It didn't happen overnight or even in just a year or two. There have been plenty of decades of health warnings, meaningful interventions and tears, not to mention the many whispers from that still, small voice that lives inside my heart. It didn't just creep up on me. So, with all that, all those horrid symptoms that I live with every day, all that love from others, all those warnings, why would I continue to ignore them? Well, isn't that just a conundrum? And isn't that the 150,000,000 dollar question? Because if somebody could bottle or patent the answer to that, they'd be richer than Warren Buffet. Buffet. Now isn't that ironic?

The answer can't be bottled or patented. It is so complex, very few ever figure it out and work it out. Particularly in our grab-it-right-now society, it's just too much hard work to muster it out. Because it's individual, it's heart issues, it's physical issues. There is no one-size-fits-all answer. The weird thing is, we are so obsessed with what is on the outside, yet we are getting fatter and fatter. The models are getting thinner and thinner, the "ideal" is impossible to meet, most young girls feel completely inadequate and ugly, and the creekbed is getting more shallow by the day. The things that truly matter in life -- things like love, joy, peace -- are being left behind for a fragile shell that is not even based in reality. 

Meanwhile, I am shackled by my body, by the excesses that I have enjoyed. I am 53 years old, for heaven's sake. I have no delusions of getting back that 20-year old body I used to have -- that would be silly. I have never let my fat body keep me from jumping in the ocean or wearing a bathing suit.... but there are many things that I simply can't do because I am shackled.  There are many things I have missed because I was too tired to do them. I believe God gives us a certain amount of days. What we do with them matters. I could be hit over the head with a tree this afternoon, or I could live to be 93 and be fat the whole time....but with many physical sorrows if I don't whup the fat beast now. The Word says that we are either a slave to sin or a slave to righteousness. How true that is. How many times have I thought to myself, over a piece of cake or a whopping bowl of ice cream, "well, I am free to do this." Yup, free. You tell yourself that, and then you freely imbibe, but then you chain yourself to your fat hips. You chain yourself to the voice that says you are free. Then when you tell yourself "no" -- it's virtually like beating off a nest of hornets. It was in one of these moments last weekend that I realized how strong that beast is. I had eaten moderately all day, and was at a baby shower where there were a bowl of chocolate-covered almonds right by my seat, within finger's reach. I told myself I could have two of them, which rightly was moderate and allowable. So I ate the two, savored them meltingly in my mouth. Yum. So good. My hand reached for a third. I pulled back. I took my left hand and held my right hand down. My brain told me it was okay to eat more. Right there, in the middle of chatty and laughing ladies, I was quietly having a duel-to-the-death with myself. I wanted to eat those things until I was satiated with them. I wanted to eat the whole bowl. I told myself I would just have a blow-it day that day...and would start up again tomorrow. I told myself I was being legalistic. I told myself that this was all silly and I was being ridiculous about a few more bites. Who would care? I was going to fail at this anyway. Somehow, somewhere in there I breathed deeply and surrendered to the Holy Spirit. I won. He won. I was chained to Him, not my flesh. For that minute and that day.

Pray for me. I am down 20 pounds and have 100 more to go. Deeper than that, I have many more battles to fight and lots of chocolate to overcome.

I am not a tortoise.....

Just a thought this morning...

I was thinking about and praying about the marathon that I

am running here, wrestling with my flesh and food in

 general.. Jesus please deliver me daily and enable

me to run the marathon. Then I thought about that old tale

about the tortoise and the hare. Jesus, let me be like the

tortoise. Then it occurred to me: Jesus didn't make me like

the tortoise. He just didn't! I am not a plodder. I am a 

rabbit, a cute, fluffy, sassy bunny that likes to dash about, 

exploring and being with other bunnies and other possi-

bilities. Soooooo -- I don't need to be a tortoise, although I

can learn much from him.  I need to be a WISE rabbit. The

hare could have gone ahead and run the race and won 

handily, but no, he messed around and got distracted. And

eventually lost the race. So here it goes:  focus and engage;

don't lose sight of the goal. Run for the finish line. Don't

get distracted. Run fast and well, doing your best. Finish!

Whup that tortoise! 

Then live my life....

Sola deo Gloria

Standing? No -- really just propped up.....

I have been overwhelmed by the culture wars going on in our dear country. It seems like daily there are opinions and hate-filled words flying back and forth. The Boy Scouts and the gay agenda, abortion vs. pro-life issues, atheism vs. Christianity, old-earth creationists vs. young-earth creationists, full-quiver vs. feminism..... all of these (and much more) issues press near to my heart as a Christian. I am a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a daughter, a sister, an artist, a church member, a neighbor, a small business owner, a spoiled-dog owner....etc. ad nauseum. But as I ponder so many things and try to keep my head from spinning off into the ozone and worrying myself into an early grave, there comes this still small voice....there in the background, there whispering quietly to me. No, I am not schizophrenic or delusional. At least not yet. 

There are many voices that pull at me. Many opinions that slay or affirm me. Most of us are way too peer-oriented. We walk in levels of fear, afraid of what people think of us or afraid of confrontation. I certainly fight this myself. I am sensitive to the spectre of hurting someone's feelings, more so than what people think of me. I do not want someone to hate God because I have offended them and they associate me with Him. God forbid that I be a stumbling block. But in this day, there is precious little that can be said without offending someone. We have been indoctrinated with the mantra that "whatever is right for you, is right." How dare anybody say something that disagrees with my precious-held self? How dare you assault my self-esteem that was so carefully crafted through well-meaning teachers and social systems? Don't you know children are starving all over America and bullies are everywhere? Especially those Christian ones?

All these thoughts have kept me up at nights, praying and wondering at this brave stinking world that we are coming into. Dear God, how can we navigate now? Everything is changing, flipping on its head. The signs have been there for some time, but in the last year or two things are quickly escalating. What was once called good, is now called evil and evil good. And pity the fool that stands up and disagrees. I'm reminded of an album cover from years ago, a Keith Green album....

It shows a "fool" who is not willing to bow to the idolatrous king that is marching by. You can't see the face of the official on the horse right here, but he is spewing anger and hate. The chances of the stander getting by with this are nil. Funny how, even from the back, he exudes peace in the face of trial. 

I certainly don't want trials, don't want tribulations, don't want to hurt. But my soul trembles more for my children and my children's children than for me. I'm on the other side of that hill. God has more for me to do, apparently, or I wouldn't still be here. I am a prayer warrior for my loved ones, my friends, my neighbors, my nation. No, not a fancy one who gets up at the crack of dawn and spends hours on my knees. Just a breather. Breathin' all day, breathing prayers out and in, constantly checking my pulse and throwing myself mentally at the foot of the cross. Just an old sinner, with the vestiges of all manner of wickedness crouching at my soul and mind, but a sinner that was mercifully redeemed by God. I am redeemed but still struggle in my flesh. I didn't work myself up to be a good girl. I now laugh at my earlier decades of thinking I was ever "good" on my own. I am old enough, tired enough and aching enough now to see a little clearer -- and understand the blissful joy of what salvation truly is and Who is holding me in the palm of His hand. 

I look about at these barbs flying on all sides.

What is truth? There are so many people that consider themselves Christians that do not seem to have any real idea of what the Gospel is. They have embraced some sort of social gospel that is so far removed from the Gospel of Christ that it is barely recognizable. The scriptures are sorely neglected. The truth is pitched out in bits and pieces, carefully chosen for argument's sake, not in context and certainly not in full Biblical context. And it really all gets back to that. God's Word. Opinions fly. Tempers heat. And there's a whole lot of blabbing going on. Ken admonished me a couple of days ago, that I needed to quit worrying and cling to the Word of God, continuing to immerse myself in its truth. There is peace and safety in it. The only peace and safety in this world.

Yesterday as I worked, scraping old walls of their paint and years of layers, a precious song came on, speaking of the love of Christ and what He did for me. He is not just one simple attribute. His love encompasses mercy AND truth and so much more, mysteries that will not unfold in my mind until I am with Him. I trust Him and His Word. I cannot vacillate from that. I pray that I can look through His eyes of love and truth, both. Both! And I pray that when the chariots of political correctness and fear come trucking by, I'll have the courage to stand in peace.

There are elves in them thar mountains

I did a wicked thing. I bought a rocking chair. Do I NEED a rocking chair? Well, no, not exactly. We have two of them on the front porch, actually three if you include Ken's wicker one. And one in the nursery area that someone gave me. But.... it happened when we went up to Liz' athletic banquet at her college, up in North Georgia. North Georgia is a magical, peaceful place. When you breathe the clean mountain air up there, you get just a tiny bit giddy. Could be from the altitude, but it's not really that much further up.... could be that we are not accustomed to clean air.... or it could be that everywhere you look, you see rolling hills and green trees, birds, little cabins and old homes. It entrances you. So you do impulsive things like: buy one of those pecan rolls like they used to sell at Stuckey's (and eat the whole cotton-pickin' thing); go into a cutesy boutique in town and buy a shirt that costs $35 when your usual M.O. is to frequent the thrift store and buy a $3 one with your spare change; go into a restaurant on the river and throw down $48 for what should be a $15 dinner; and then, the worst, go into a humble and innocent-looking hardware store in said little town and sit down in one of their Amish rockers. Don't do it. There's something strangely Elvish about it. Not talking about Elvis here, people.... Elves. Like in Lord of the Rings. Or like the Ring in Lord of the Rings. My precious. Mm Hmmm. You sit in that thing and it calls to you. You have never been so comfortable sitting in something made of hard wood. The fella in the store encouraged me to go downstairs and sit in all of their Amish chairs. There must have been thirty of them, all different from each other. No factory-made stuff here. He said, "There will be only one that will fit you perfectly." And he was right. It was this quirky-looking rocker made of twigs and sticks. It looked like it might break if you sat in it, but when you did sit in it, it didn't budge a nail. It was just right. Not too short, not too tall. My head fit perfectly at the top and my hinder parts fit like a glove into the seat. Rocking it was natural, not contrived or difficult. I might just die in this chair.

 I asked Ken if I could have the rocker. It was on sale, marked down $60 off the original price (it still was not cheap). He simply said, "Save up for it." I said, "OK." He walked next door to another shop, perusing the University of Georgia clothing for babies. Yes, baby clothes. We have two grandbabies and one on the way. Interesting how things change along the way. He had no idea what was about to go down at the hardware store. I didn't either. The hardware dude asked if I wanted to buy the chair. I asked him if they did layaway. He said yes. That was my answer. I had $50 from a little side job I had done, so I plopped that down for a down payment. Liz was with me and that girl should be a CIA agent, she was so locked down. We went home and I remembered the rocker. Since Papa had said I had to save up, I dutifully did that. Magically, through the miracles of technology and debit cards, when we picked up Liz a few weeks later, that rocker was sitting in her dorm apartment. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year (not to mention Happy Birthday, Happy Mother's Day and Happy Hanukkah!)

If you trace it back, that's some old DNA right there....

There are way too many cliches about grandbabies. People say that they are the best thing since sliced bread. They are so wonderful, we should have had them first. They are sinless, precious creatures, never meaning to do anything wrong. They are fun -- you don't have to be responsible but they're still yours. They always look like OUR side of the family. Their poop does not stink.

I'm afraid I have to tell you....it's all true. 

The weirdest thing about grandbabies is that you look at them and realize that they really are part of you. And your husband. And your daughter-in-love's Mama and Daddy. And the great grandparents (all gozillion of them). It's this DNA strand, going back to Noah and the ark...and then back to Adam and Eve. But in this moment, this life, this baby is our flesh and blood. A miracle, derived from the results of many decisions, passions and the providence of God. If even one of those things were changed, this particular baby would not have been here. Even if the time of day or month changed, this baby would not have been here. One bullet in a centuries-long-ago war could have changed the fact of this baby's existence.  God's mysteries puzzle and amaze me. He put this soul here, by the vortex of His hand. 

We see a single life and wonder what it is worth. We measure money, fame, influence, abilities, stature.... but we have no clue what the measure of any life is really worth. It is a tapestry, with confusing and twisted threads all bunched up on the one side.....but an amazing picture on the other. 

I look into the sweet bunny eyes of my two granddaughters. They have not yet spoken words. They cry a lot, eat a lot, poop a lot..... but in those eyes there are  souls, not just babies. They are intricately and delicately made, mysteriously spun from two original strands of DNA, one from Daddy and one from Mama....passed down from the beginning of humanity. 

It is a sacred trust. May that be a challenge and a promise to cherish and uphold the fragile gift of life.

No you're wrong -- I love being fat

I really don't like to talk about my weight. 

It's way obvious that I have a weight problem. It's virtually the elephant in the room. I'm laughing now. In my lifetime, a few naturally skinny people, or people who are way more disciplined than me have said some pretty incredible things....like, "Rose, you just need to start eating whole grains like brown rice, whole wheat bread, and eating more salads." Okay, just to put that one to rest.... I don't think I have ever bought one bag of white rice or white bread in 31 years of marriage. I love salad and eat it with great gusto. And a few gallons of blue cheese dressing to top it off. Another funny (not so, maybe) is people who will say to me, in a social setting, "Rose, here is some fat-free __________ -- or some sugar-free ____________." This really does make me want to laugh. I have been known to say back: "Now do I look like I eat fat-free or sugar-free stuff, particularly at parties?!!!" And the absolute worst thing that has ever been asked of me goes something like this: "Eh, well, um, Rose..... does Ken still, well, like, you know, wanna be with you, you know, even though you are fat?" There's that texting abbreviation ROFL  (which means Rolling On the Floor Laughing). I might have had to do that that day.

I have a crappy metabolism, it is true. But that is not really my problem. If you have a bad metabolism, then you have to make adjustments to get your wheelbarrow back in balance. Apparently, I have not done that (the balance part). It is a fact of nature that if I were to eat air, I would eventually blow away. You don't get this kind of bulk without putting away some groceries. I have made observations, scientific ones, about this subject. We used to breed beautiful Golden Retrievers. One of our Goldens, Bethany, was always eating the house down. She would eat absolutely anything. You could throw a rock in the air and she would try to wolf it down. I believe she ate about twice what her sister, Chloe, consumed. And she was wiry and on the lean side. Chloe, on the other hand, was an easy keeper. She didn't eat that much and was always fat. She also wasn't as hyper as Bethany. They were both gorgeous dogs. A couple of times, they had puppies at the same time. Chloe's box of puppies was a mess. She was sweet and lovey to her pups...but she could not care less whether they were clean or not. Bethany was vigilant. She would clean her pups, then sneak over to Chloe's box and clean her pups too, as well as feed them. My sister, Melanie, says that men like their women the way they like their dogs, and that Brian really, really likes Border Collies. To that I said, yup, Ken likes me to act like a Golden Retriever -- happy, cute and obedient, ha! Two out of three ain't bad. I'll leave it to you to guess which two. We need to write a manual or something....

Back to it. When Ken married me, I was a svelte, tall blonde Bomber. I wore 4 inch Candies and had hair down to my waist. 31 years later, I am a fluffy (what a nice word), tall, artificially-blonde Barrel. Of laughs. That man loves the stuffin' out of me and I cannot believe my luck. I know the truth of God's amazing grace and it carries me every single day. I have known good times and bad, sorrow and unspeakable joy. By the world's estimation, by their outward measurements, I would be a failure. But in God's estimation, I am His, a beggar who was made into a princess.

Meanwhile, while I walk this cracked world, I wrestle with my flesh and my appetite. There have been years that I did not wrestle with it...I just gave in and rested, not worrying about it. There are whole books and websites dedicated to just that, telling you that you should eat to your heart's content and exercise, or not. That would be just dandy, except for several problems..... if you live to be at all old, and not even old.....your body revolts and begins hurting and chafing at the burden on it. And it HURTS, I'm tellin' ya. You lose opportunities of all kinds -- physical ones, spiritual ones, social ones (ah, the injustice) -- because of the extra padding. I'm somewhat oblivious to most of the social ones, but I'm told that they are there. That wouldn't be so bad, except that I have really good news in my heart that might be missed by someone who needs a friend and dismisses me because I'm crowding the sidewalk. Another problem is that, if you are a Christian, the Scripture talks (eeeek, several times) about the sin of gluttony. And it's not good. Now, from my scientific observations about my dogs....I have to come to a conclusion: what is gluttony for one person might not be gluttony for another person. It's just a fact of nature. If Bethany girl had eaten the same amount as Chloe, she would have starved to death.  So....point made. Me and Chloe, we're buds.

I don't know how to make this problem (or sin) go away. I had a precious aunt who one day walked in and threw her cigarettes away. Just like that. She never smoked again and never wanted another one. God healed her of her addiction right then and there. I've known alcoholics healed in the same way. But I have never known a glutton healed instantly like that. Dear God, you can start with me! Part of the problem is that food is not a yes or no question. As addictive as cocaine or other drugs are, it's still a yes or no question. With food, it's what? where? when? how much? what do you combine it with? weigh it? measure it? and on and on. 

What I want is a heart that understands and listens to my body and WANTS to consume what is right for me and what glorifies God. Sure, I want an instant fix. I want God to just zap me and make me understand and desire that. I may look sedentary, but I'm sort-of hyper and I want a quick fix. God hasn't given me that. I believe He wants me to depend on Him, and not on man's solutions or opinions. I can just say no to drugs or drunkenness.....I can stay faithful to my husband....there are many things that I have consistent victory in, most of them not too hard to navigate. But this.....this is different. At the same time, I do not want to be obsessed with it. I want to walk in God's goodness and freedom. I need this part of my heart changed. I have a rebellious side that does not want to obey....that says, "You can't tell me what to do!" Even though I flourished under a drill-sergeant coach in high school, if given any leeway at all I will deviate from the Program. What is that about? I don't know. But I am and have been asking God. And that....is that. 

Babe, I'll be there sooner than I think.....

Only a couple of weeks ago, I was wondering out loud how wonderful it was that I haven't been sick in a long time. The flu fairies must have heard me. I got sick Monday before last, while I was painting (but of course) and by Tuesday (while I was painting, of course) I was fully-blown sick. It is now a week and a half later and I slept little last night because of all the coughing. 

Yeah, I know.... waaaaaaaah. Get over yourself.  We've all been sick, and I have been sick before. But this time I was more contemplative about it, ha! Ken happened to have taken off work a few days for our anniversary. He spent those days pampering me, bringing me hot soup and movies. Some vacation?!

I thought about people in my life who have really suffered.....struggling with cancer, a dying spouse, the death of a child, dementia. My Mom's good friend Elaine has deteriorated very far into Parkinson's recently. She called me one day, not too long ago, looking for my Mom. Her sentences were fragmented and she couldn't remember enough to make much conversation. My heart broke for her, as she was very dear to me. I used to enjoy getting her sassy opinions on things. She was smart, funny and wry in her observations. That part of her is gone now, but I remember her and hold those memories as precious parts of my life. She is not physically gone yet, but that is not long in coming. Even though her body is failing, her spirit remains and will go to be with the Lord, where she will see it all clearly and know freedom for the first time.

Our bodies just cave in on themselves, eventually. Some people grow old easily and then die gently, but it is highly unusual. When I was younger, I cringed at the hopelessness of it all. It seemed a travesty, to grow old and lose your function and dignity. People have fought it from the beginning of time. In this day, we cling to the fountain of youth like it's the gross national product. Well, I guess it is.

My body is aging, faster than it would naturally, because I am often bad to it. I eat the cheese instead of the green stuff. I throw caution to the wind way too often. Either way, I am aging. I feel the bones groaning, the elasticity fading. Sometimes getting out of a chair is plain embarrassing. 

The world is tainted with sin's fallout. My body is tainted with the same. But I pray that I will not be sorrowful for lost youth. I don't want to gaze back too much. Glance back, yes, be thankful, yes.... but continue to embrace the present, the moments that God gives me and us to savor while we can, and to look forward to any plans He has for our future. Old Dr. Denmark used to say that life is good, even if all you can do is look up to the night sky from a gutter. What a good perspective. Maybe that's why she lived to be 113 years old. 

Pansy boys and capable women

I am looking around and I am very concerned. I decided to take a personal straw poll.... over the last few days and weeks, my purpose was to observe boys and young men, to notice their hands. Yes, their hands. Not something I would necessarily notice unless it were my own sons and husband, checking for engine grease or yard dirt, on our way out to dinner or church....and my sons are grown and married now so that's not my jurisdiction anymore.  Okay ya'll, if the Apocalypse comes, we're in big trouble. Because honestly, in my week or so of doing this, I didn't see one set of hands that I felt could whup a zombie. I'm a 52-year-old fluffy gal, and I am absolutely certain that I could whup any one of these boys with my hands tied behind my back. Now that is plum scary.

And I am not joking when I say that you young mothers need to wake up and smell the coffee. Yes, we got the vote a billion years ago. Yes, we can be a Senator or run for president or do "anything" we want to. Yes, there are things that have changed for the better since the great Female Emancipation. But I wonder if we have not exchanged freedom for slavery. 

My children's pediatrician, Dr. Leila Denmark, who died last year at the ripe old age of 113, reminded me of that ancient adage, "The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world." And that is where we got off track. Women are raising their boys to act like women, and they are raising their girls to act like princesses and soccer stars. Most people are using Hollywood and their peers to get their parenting cues. We really are in big trouble.

I do not have anything against a girl being an athlete. I was a child-to-college athlete, playing softball, running track and playing basketball up into college. My own daughter is a college athlete; thankfully it is helping pay for her tuition. I  learned a lot of intestinal fortitude through athletics: how to endure pain and exhaustion, how to go beyond what I thought I was capable of doing....lessons that have helped me immensely in life, particularly in motherhood. The thing that my parents did right through that was that they also encouraged me to be my feminine self. Many of my athletic friends, particularly in college, seemed to want to be a man. Many were looking for approval from their fathers that they were not getting in any other way. There are a lot of issues here that I am not going to talk about now; I am digressing again. My point is..... 

MEN.
Our society is turning most everything upside down these days. We were watching the Super Bowl last night and I was struck once again with what has happened to men and women's roles. Any commercial with a family in it, the man is changing the diapers and cooking. And the men are always idiots. The woman is all-wise, all-knowing, and the final authority on pretty much everything. The only one capable of rational thought between the couples is the woman. The man is capable, all right, but only if he is being subservient to the woman. We've all seen this metamorphosis, but it happened so gradually, we just accept it as normal.

We should be raising both our daughters and sons to be multi-faceted people, who are able to do many things. It is plain stupid to raise children that can only work on the computer or that can only cook or that can only do school. I work in a lot of private homes, and it seems to me that most people are not even doing that. They are raising their kids to be parasites whose brains are stuck on a TV or in a computer game. Hardly anything is expected of them and when it is, you see whining, stomping, fuming....and then the request is withdrawn. I have seen 4-year olds screaming at their mothers and teenagers that won't even take out the trash. Sorry folks, but if my 21-year old (much less a 4-year old) screamed at me like that, she'd find her head laying on the floor beside her body. Perhaps that's why she or her brothers never behaved in that manner.

It is a huge responsibility to make sure that they can SURVIVE. Are we forgetting this? Things may not stay the way they have been the last 40-50 years. Your children may have to actually work for their food. What will your sons do if they have to dig a ditch or hoe a row? The girls are probably more capable at this point, because at least they've all been playing soccer. Please forgive my sarcasm. 

The boy/man hands I have been seeing are soft, girl-like, and with nails that I'd love to have. But I've got my hands in soap and paint and fun stuff all the time, so that's just envy. I guess I could change that, but I'm too busy living. Many women are afraid, yes, afraid, to let their husbands get involved in the direction of their boys' lives. They don't think their husbands are spiritual enough or that they won't do it right. Then there are husbands who don't act like they want to have anything to do with their sons. But I know men. They give up when they see that nothing they do is acceptable to a woman. It takes some work to get them to trust women again. I hear women saying all the time that their husbands are "just not the leader" in their home. I wonder sometimes what those women would do if the guy really tried. It would be thwarted by her tweaking and yapping. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. So oftentimes it's just easier for Daddy to let her run it. He's sick of trying, 'cause he's not gonna make her happy doing that. Better to just be quiet and turn on the TV.

How do I know these things? Because I've been married to a man for 31 years and I've made a lot of mistakes. 

Thankfully, my husband, early on, wanted all of his children to know how to do everything. I am not kidding when I say that Ken would take two-year-olds up on the roof with him. He would hand a five-year-old a hammer or a shovel and happily expect them to get to it. It wasn't mean or harsh, just matter-of-fact. I would protest such things. I would protest 8 year olds who were up in trees, 20-feet up. I would protest them chopping down a 60-foot tree, laying it right down there in the driveway next to the house. I would protest them climbing under people's houses, in 3 feet of mud, to help a friend fix the joists under his house. Ken would not hear of my protesting. 

I remember years ago, a friend was concerned because she felt that we worked our kids too hard and that Ken expected too much out of them. I loved her and her family, but when we would get together, I actually felt sorry for her children. They were whiny brats with soft hands, who didn't know how to work and subsequently didn't know how to play. They were, and are, very miserable children. They still live their lives expecting everything and everyone to give them a "yes" to any demand they make. That's not working out so well as adults.

When my kids were playing, they were having a full-out blast. Many a person has commented that the Norton kids really knew how to play (and how to work too). I'm bragging here. If Ken had not pushed the Mommy-unhappiness-button with going past my protests to both expect our kids to work and to also allow them to explore and play, I might not have learned these lessons. But he might have quit, if I had continued my protests. Over time, I have seen other Dads attempt to do the same thing, and the Mom does not realize what she is subtly doing. Eventually he gives up, sometimes sooner than later. All-wise Mother becomes the driver of the bus and she ends up with girly men. And oftentimes, no husband. 

Maybe that's what society wants. Apparently that's what it wants. We are left with men who are not capable of being leaders and women who feel they have to take up the mantle. God made us different from each other. Uniquely different. If we choose to sidestep His Word and go our own way, making our trails and our rules based on base affections and whims rather than what He outlined for us, then we are just reaping what we have sown.

Yeah, we can do a lot of things. We women can take over the world in a generation or two. Then we get mealy men and frustrated women. I think about the Middle East and the pendulum that has swung way the other way. But who raised those men? and who perpetuates that lifestyle? 

"The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world." 
I ask you, who is rocking the cradle?

I'd forget my head if it weren't screwed on.....

It has been like a revolving door around here. We have had fun having guests over, precious family and friends and friends of friends, to see our new old house. It also causes me to clean up and plan for my next project. Inside the house, I have only one more room that needs overhauling, well, except for our long-term plan to put a bathroom in the closet in our bedroom. That is so exciting, given where we started. Since it's winter, I need to get hopping on working on the study. When spring comes, I SHOULD be ready to start on the outside painting, haha. I'll think about it tomorra.....

Someone gave me the bright idea to make a plan for my life. Hmmmm. So I got a big piece of foamboard and wrote three project areas that are my priorities, besides the normal, survival-type priorities that seem to fill up everything else. These projects are (can you tell this is all another way to remind myself I need to do this?):

(1)- House projects:
   o  Study -- pull down what wallpaper I can, Kilz everything with oil-based Kilz, repaint with textured paint or something

  o  Garage -- bleach and clean off the mold (pressure wash), patch all the bee holes in the trim, paint trim & paint walls

  o  Exterior of house trim -- pressure wash, scrape, sand & repair, paint! (colors are moss green for the trim, mahogany brown for the window sashes and columns, golden brown for the fishscale shingles)

  o  Master bathroom -- acquire old furniture piece for vanity, toilet, sink(s), plumbing fixtures and lighting, tile for shower, etc., etc. then get to it....

(2)- Etsy Business

  o  20 pen-and-ink miniatures....of flowers, insects, birds, etc. Have them printed up, then hand-color them. (by April 13, 2013)

(3)- Book

o  "When We Were White Trash" -- about when we lived in a camper for two years with four children and built our home on five acres

I am a person who tends to forget what isn't right in front of her, so I put this board by my computer to remind me every day of those goals. It's like our garden. When it was way in the back of our property, though within walking distance, I would "forget" about it. But when it was tiny and right beside the back door, I actually tended it, weeding it and watering it and picking the produce when it was ripe. Even though it was just a small garden, I got way more veggies out of it because it was in my peripheral vision. Isn't that some kind of sickness?! Either way, this is the way that I am, so I have to work at helping my weaknesses any way I can. I pray that my loved ones can find a way to forgive me for all my forgetfulness. I do love you and I do want to remember stuff, I promise. Now what was I talking about?.......