ARE YOU AVERAGE?

I just learned from a very reliable source that “Americans will have an average of nine operations during their lifetime”.  The source is this month’s AARP magazine which is now one of my favorite reads.  (Aug/Sept '2014, page 18)  It got me to thinking about my 62 years on this earth, and my ten surgeries. 

Before the age of 50 I experienced three surgeries.  Two were minor, if there is such a thing as a “minor” operation; a tonsillectomy and a tubal ligation.  The third was traumatizing, scary, and came with a year of recovery.  My spine required fusion from T1 to L3 and a titanium rod was placed permanently into my back.  That surgery would also mark the beginning of the end of my fifteen year marriage.  “In sickness and in health” turned out to only be in health.  There was an ugly separation, a divorce, and a new life in college where I met my forever husband.  He taught geology classes, and I fell in love with this gentle, compassionate man.

  

My 50th year was a rough one.  I was flown to OHSU for emergency open-heart surgery and a total pericardectomy.  The sternum is sawed in half, then a heart/lung machine is attached, and the heart is taken out in order for the covering of the heart (pericardium) to be completely removed.  The recovery period was a year.  This surgery came after a couple of years of being sick with a mysterious illness which ended up being diagnosed as Sjogrens Auto-Immune Disorder.  From that point on I needed one operation after another; gallbladder, appendix, open-lung biopsy, thyroid, two cataract surgeries, and finally at age 56 oral surgery to have all my teeth removed.  Three days later I accidentally overdosed on Valium.  Twice during those six years I almost died.  Yet my second husband loyally cared for me and nursed me back to health through seven operations, and life threatening illness.

  

My medical story has an amazing ending.  I hit Americans average of nine operations and topped it by one, but then the unexpected happened.  God told me during my overdose that I would be healed, and I was.  One year later I no longer suffered from Sjogrens, or Lymphasytic Interstitial Pneumonia, or Valium addiction.  I’ve enjoyed almost six years of good health.  I give God the glory, not just for healing me, but for bringing a man into my life who would hang in there through sickness as well as  health.

I see a blog in my future about how to prepare and get through surgery in ten easy steps!  

A HEAVY BURDEN I'M DONE CARRYING!

Tonight I had an epiphany, a moment of sudden revelation and insight.  For many years I’ve been extremely critical of myself as a parent.  I have three wonderful adult children whom I’m so proud of.  But whenever one of them struggles with something, or faces difficulty I blame myself.  

There are many times I’ve taken the blame for my children’s problems.  I could share specific examples, but because these stories are not just mine but my children’s I don’t feel free to describe them on this public forum.  (I think I just heard a collective sigh of relief coming from a couple of specific places on the planet.)  

There is one example I’ll share however.  My children are all in their mid to late thirties.  Two have never married.  And I’ve blamed myself.  Something I did, perhaps my own difficult first marriage, resulted in my children’s failure to marry.  The thought going through my head has always been, “It’s my fault”.

Not until I married the second time did I find marriage to be the satisfying experience I enjoy now.  My children were entering their teen years when I found my forever partner.  It’s always been my pray that my kids would find their forever partners too, but it just hasn’t happened . . . because of me.

This is a deep seated blame I had no idea where it came from until tonight.  

My women’s Bible study group is reading Joyce Meyer’s book, “Battlefield of the Mind”.  I got to one paragraph in the book which hit me cold in the face.  “Things that were on your parents can be passed on to you.  Attitudes, thoughts and behavior patterns can be inherited.  A wrong mindset that your parents had can become your mindset.  The way you think about a certain subject can be passed down to you, and you won’t even know why you think that way.”

Before I even finished reading this paragraph a long forgotten memory rushed to the surface.  It was a Friday evening in March of 1988.  Earlier that day I had been issued a restraining order on my first husband, and left with my children.  It was the day my fourteen year marriage ended.  I phoned my elderly parents to tell them.  My dad angrily responded, “You’ve ruined your children’s lives.  They will never get over this.  You’ve destroyed them.”  He handed the phone to mother, and didn’t speak to me again for a long time.  That’s all he said.  That’s all he needed to say.  In that moment I internally came into agreement with him.  From that point on anything bad that happened to my children was my fault.  I may not have said it out loud, but inwardly that is how I felt.

My parents grew up in the Great Depression.  They saw things in black and white, especially when it came to how families looked and behaved.  My dad always taught his three daughters that divorce was unacceptable when there were children involved.  Period.  One sister got divorced.  Then I went through divorce.  And finally my youngest sister divorced as well.  Many years later my dad would confess to me that his greatest shame and sense of failure in life came from all three of his children getting divorced.  He asked me, "Where did I go wrong with you girls?"  I simply replied, "Life happens daddy.  It's not your fault."  Yet here I was carrying the same false guilt my dad carried because he'd "shared" it with me.    

As the shame of this memory washed over me tears of pain came to my eyes.  I heard God clearly speak to me.  He said, “Your children have not been ‘ruined’ or ‘destroyed’”.  God continued, “Your children are mature, wise, and emotionally healthy adults who have weathered that difficult time.  In fact, they have great insight directly as a result of going through that time.”  God finished by saying, “Stop blaming yourself falsely because of angry words your earthly father spoke that day.”

Thoughtless words said many years ago had burdened me with a heavy load.  God released me tonight from the shame and guilt that were never meant for me to carry!

HAVE YOU EVER FELT USELESS?

My sister, Jeannie Bartel, wrote this recently.  I asked her permission to put it on my blog, and she said yes.  I hope it speaks to you as much as it did to me.  

God taught me an incredible lesson yesterday.  There have been many times in my life when I questioned my value to God.  I questioned whether He would ever be able to use me, because I felt like such a failure and disappointment.  Life had taken such drastic negative turns, and I simply couldn’t imagine that God would use me given my messed up life.

I pick my 92 year old mom up every Sunday for lunch, and yesterday God used her to teach me a valuable lesson.  She told me she had gone to the thrift store, and bought a bunch of stuffed animals.  I must admit, my first thoughts were, “Oh no!  She’s losing it!”  When I questioned her about the purchase, she told me there are a number of employees at the retirement facility where she lives that have young children.  Occasionally they will bring their children in, and she wanted to be prepared to give them a gift.

 She also plays “candy bingo” every week.  My mom is a diabetic, and can’t eat candy so she puts her winnings in a box next to her chair, and whenever one of the employees comes into her apartment to do anything for her, she gives them a candy bar.  Just a little something to show her appreciation. 

Then, there is the lady who moved in a few months ago who doesn’t speak, and has a very difficult time eating.  My mom observed her at lunch one day, and noticed she could hardly get the food in her mouth. She went over to her, sat down, and asked if she could help.  Mother proceeded to feed this lady her lunch.  Since then, whenever she sees her in the lobby or dining room she always goes over, and talks to her.  Even though she can’t respond in any way, my mom just figures she must be lonely, and needs a friend. 

This last week, she was telling a resident about a book she had read that my sister sent her.  It was a book about angels, and how God uses them in our lives.  The lady she was talking to said, “Oh that sounds like a book I would love to read, but my eyes are so bad I can’t read anymore.”  My mom asked her if she would like her to come by every evening after dinner, and read a few chapters from the book.  She accepted the offer with much appreciation! 

I looked at my mom and said, “God has given you such an incredible ministry at Emeritus! You are really touching lives mother!”  She shared with me that when she lost daddy a few years ago, and then hit her 90’s not long after he passed, she just didn’t feel as if she could contribute to society any longer.  She felt useless!  Then God began to open up opportunities to do these things for the residents and employees at Emeritus.  But she never looked at it as a ministry until yesterday!

I went home and thought about my own life and how useless I have felt over the years.  Especially the 4 to 5 years following my divorce.  Even today, I sometimes question if God can use me!  Then I am reminded of Joseph, abused and even sold by his own brothers.  Abraham and Sarah were too old, but together a child was conceived.  Moses ran from Egypt because he had killed a man.  David was a boy who became a king.  He had an affair, lied, killed an innocent man, then had to face his sin.  Jonah ran from God, but could not find a place to hide.  Job went bankrupt and lost everything.  The Samaritan woman was divorced many times.  Peter ,the Rock, denied Jesus three times.  The disciples fell asleep when they were asked to pray.  Zacchaeus was too small and despised as a tax collector.  Martha worried about everything.  Thomas was full of doubt, and Paul persecuted the Christians!  Yet God loved them, healed them, and used them all!

It doesn’t matter who we are, or what we have done in our past.  With Jesus Christ our Savior, the impossible can be done.  It has nothing to do with how good or bad we are, or that our life may be a mess!  It’s the fact that we can be changed by the blood of Jesus Christ. So the next time you (or I) question our usefulness to God, the next time we entertain the thought, “God can’t use me, I’m damaged, I’m not talented, I’m a new Christian and don’t know enough about the Bible, I’m not outgoing, I’m too young or too old, think back on all the people God used in the Bible to touch, heal, love, and share the good news of a loving God!  If He could use a prostitute, a divorcee, a tax collector, and a murderer, He can certainly use you and me!

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do good things He planned for us long ago.”  Ephesians 2:10

Below is a photo of our mother (Neva Krueger), my sister, Jeannie, and I celebrating our mother's birthday in July, 2012.

HOW GOD BROUGHT A MAN AND A WOMAN TOGETHER

The last thing I ever expected life to throw at me was divorce.  I took our wedding vows dead serious; till death us do part.  Period.  Neither my parents nor my husband’s parents ever talked about such things much less did them.  It wasn’t even an option for them.  I remember asking my dad once at the age of 14 why he stayed married to mother.  They’d just had another one of their big fights three days before, and hadn’t spoken to each other since.  At that time I had no memories of them being affectionate, or even kind to one another.  Mother would get fed up about something, and go on a tirade.  Vicious words spilled out creating volumes of heated accusations.  My dad wouldn’t say a word.  He’d go silent, leaving the one-sided conversation figuratively, and eventually literally by exiting the room.  My dad thought a moment about this sincere question from his teenage firstborn.  “I stay because of you girls.  If I left your mother the court would give her custody.  My whole life is you three girls.”  

This incident occurred in the 60‘s when, in the great majority of divorce cases, the mother got custody of the kids.  My dad wasn’t exaggerating when he told me us girls were his life.  He was the most devoted of fathers.  Everything he did was for us.  All his leisure time was dedicated to us.  He dropped everything if we requested a ride somewhere.  He was always available to assist with homework, or school assignments.  Weekends were spent doing whatever we wanted; shopping, roller skating, movies, picnics, swimming and eating out.  He always accompanied us.  Our friends loved my dad because he regularly included them in these fun activities.  Vacations were planned around what us girls wanted to do, and my mother was not consulted.  But my parents, products of the Great Depression and WWII, stayed together in spite of their lack of relationship, because that’s just what you did for the sake of the children.

But that wasn’t a good enough reason for me to stay in a miserable marriage.  I desired relationship with my husband of fifteen years, and affection, and communication.  These things gradually disappeared over the childbearing years in spite of my efforts.  Of course the story of what happened and why is much more complicated then that, but for now that's all I want to say.  So at the age of 37 I found myself separated, with our 9, 11 and 13 year old children.  On welfare, with no car, and no job skills I found myself back in school at our local state college.  In 1988 the government had a program to assist “displaced” homemakers who only had a few years left to acquire a college degree.  I qualified to continue receiving welfare and food stamps while finishing up my college education!  A part time job on campus enabled me to buy books and school supplies.  I excelled in my studies, earning a 4 point each term.  This qualified me for another wonderful program.  The college rewarded low income adults who kept a 3.5 GPA or higher with a tuition waver.

Life was full with parenting, studying, and working.  But I still found time to join the speech club, and participate in theater productions.  In spite of all this busyness and fulfilling activities I felt hollow.  I treasured the idea of sharing my whole life with a forever partner.  I’d always imagined myself married.  Life had to be absolutely miserable for several years before I walked out the door on the marriage of my youth.  After a year and a half of separation I was so distraught with single life that I told the father of my children I would not file for divorce.  I wanted to just separate with the hope we could perhaps make another attempt at reconciling.  With tears I asked his forgiveness for the pain I caused him, and pleaded with him to give our marriage another chance.  His response was a firm, “No”.  He said he didn’t trust me, didn’t need me, and was enjoying his life without me.  There was clearly no discussing the option.  He would file for divorce since I wouldn’t.  This was in August of 1989.

Firmly closing this door filled me with such sorrow.  I don’t want anyone to misunderstand me.  I didn’t miss the cruelty, or the rejection, or the emotional pain inflicted on me.   But I would miss never being married again.  I said to myself, “No man is going to have anything to do with a divorced woman on welfare with three teenagers.”  There was a second reason I gave up my dream of sharing life’s joys and sorrows with a partner.  The deacons of my Baptist church made it clear I would be going against God’s will to date or pursue a relationship with another man because the divorce wasn’t a result of adultery.  They explained to me that I would have to remain single the remainder of my life.  This church doctrine left me feeling unworthy and damaged; unfit to be another man’s wife.  A door slammed forever shut.  Part of my womanhood was being smothered and chocked into submission.  I went unwillingly down that road.

In the book of Micah (chapter 4, verse 12) in the Bible it states, “But they do not know the thoughts of the Lord; they do not understand His plan.”  How true this proved to be in my life!  The month after my husband shut the door on our reconciling I met the man who would become my “forever partner”.  

Here I was approaching the fall term of my Junior year, and my advisor noticed my lack of science credits.  I hated science and avoided these classes because I was afraid a poor grade would ruin the perfect grade point average I’d achieved.  But the advisor reminded me I could not get my degree without fifteen credits of science.  So on his advice I took Geology 201 with Dr. Jay Van Tassell.

The first day of class blew away all my preconceived ideas of what a nightmare science might be for me.  The instructor was humorous, self-effacing, and piqued my curiosity about rocks.  I’d always imagined scientists to be serious and droll, but Dr. Van Tassell was anything but.  He kept this class of 40 students on their toes, inviting interaction and questions.  One minute he’d be in front of the blackboard lecturing, and next minute he’d be standing on a desk in one quick leap!  He never stood still, and used grand gestures to reinforce his point.  We headed outside for part of the class to practice using a  piece of surveying equipment.  Dr. Van Tassell brought his camera with him, and took a photo of me using the instrument.  That would be a foreshadowing!  

But the one physical characteristic which stood out to me that afternoon was this man’s deeply etched smile lines in his deeply tanned face.  This was someone who appeared to be a happy person; a positive person.  He obviously spent a lot of time outdoors also.    The next thing I looked for was a wedding ring.  Just a watch.  Somehow I knew this man wasn’t married, but why wasn’t he married!?!  I decided during that first class to get to know this person better.

Fall term began on Thursday, and on the following Saturday I was hired as a clown for the downtown “Crazy Days” at One Smart Cookie, a little eatery I worked at occasionally.  Arriving in full costume and make-up to stand in front of the store, who should be setting up a table with a rock display right next to me but Dr. Van Tassell!  I couldn’t pass up such a great opportunity to surprise him.  “How are you doing, Dr. Van Tassell?”  He got this shocked expression on his face that a clown would know his name and asked, “Do I know you?  And please call me Jay.”  I explained that I was in his 201 Geology class at the college, and that I would introduce myself to him on Monday.  Once again he pulled out his camera to take my photograph!

The following Monday I presented Dr. Van Tassell with his very own rubber clown nose, and introduced myself.  He reminded me once again to call him Jay, and laughed at the bright crimson nose.  I noticed for the first time how thin he was so I decided to bring him some cookies and milk from One Smart Cookie sometime in the near future.  He seldom left his office during the noon-hour just before our 1PM class so I began popping in on him to visit during that time.  

During our noon-hour visits I learned much about Jay.  He was single, from New York, and dedicated to teaching.  This was only his second year at Eastern.  He was my age, 37 years old.  And he loved the cookies and milk I brought him on a regular basis!  He didn’t like taking time out to eat lunch when he was working, so he really appreciated the snacks I brought.  

Two weeks into fall term our class traveled in vans on our first geology field trip to Boulder Park Landslide, and up the neck of a volcanic cone by the name of Sawtooth Crater.  I observed him go up and down the steep trail three different times to keep track of those of us who straggled.  Four years before I had a twelve inch titanium rod placed internally along my spine, and my back was fused due to scoliosis.  Needless to say, as a “non-traditional” (meaning older then average) student, and hampered by my back I was the last person to make it up the mountain.  In the school van on our way home I thought to myself, “Jay would only be attracted to someone who could keep up with him physically.  He’d probably be drawn to an in-shape female athletic type.”  

It became my goal to get to know the teaching assistant for this class because Jay seemed to like her a lot.  Her name was Connie, she was a 37 year old divorcee on welfare with three kids my age; my exact circumstances!  What were the odds of that?  She invited me and my youngest son to come along to a folk dance out at Hot Lake which she and Jay were headed to one evening with her youngest daughter.  I was thrilled to be invited.  I asked Connie if she was as interested in Jay as he seemed to be with her, and she assured me, “No.  He isn’t my type.  But if you are interested in him go for it.”  I simply blushed.

The night of the folk dance arrived, and Connie canceled at the last minute.  Jay was obviously upset, but asked me if I and my son would like to go with him anyway.  I said yes, and we had a fun evening in spite of Jay’s disappointment at being “stood up” by Connie.  It didn’t take him long to realize his interest in Connie wasn’t reciprocated.  If the object of his admiration hadn’t been in a situation so similar to mine I would have never thought I had a chance with this fascinating man.  I’m very thankful for Connie, and our eerily similar circumstances!

As our noon-hour visits continued I began to figure out why this delightful guy was not married.  To put it simply, he was shy.  Watching him in the classroom you would never know this.  His excellent teaching skills, and confident leadership style kept this side of his personality very well hidden.  But outside of the classroom he was awkward, and uncomfortable taking the lead.  With our month-long Christmas break about to begin I decided to make the first move, and ask Jay out on a date.  But I didn’t want to get him into trouble with the administration so I approached my advisor. “What are the rules about student/teacher dating?” was my question.  He asked about our ages.  When I explained we were the same age he simply said with a grin, “Have fun!”

I was performing in a student-directed stage comedy the last day of fall term finals.  This would be a perfect show to invite Jay to attend, followed by the cast and crew party at the director’s house just a few blocks from campus.  Jay seemed not a bit surprised when I asked him to join me.  At the party the two of us conversed in a corner, and forgot anyone else was at the house, focusing totally on each other for two hours.  As the evening came to an end Jay and I agreed to meet the next day, and the next, and the next.  Christmas tree cutting, cooking dinners with my kids, long drives in the woods, and lots and lots of talking filled our days.  I sensed no discomfort on his part concerning me having three children, or being on welfare.  He was very relaxed around my kids, and treated them like college students; with respect and courtesy. 

Jay also respected my physical boundaries, and need for being in control of our physical relationship.  As an incest survivor I had a lot of reservations about intimacy.  My husband was the only man I’d ever slept with.  One afternoon while watching a movie at my house Jay leaned in for a kiss.  This sent me into a panic.  Explaining I needed to be in control, even so far as holding hands, Jay agreed to respect my request.  This impressed me beyond words.  I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of our getting to know each other in the deepest sense of the word.  I’d seen couples engaging in physical intimacy too soon get in the way of developing real intimacy.        

We did not miss a single day enjoying each other’s company throughout December until Christmas week.  Jay explained he always spent the week of Christmas with his family in New York.  The night before he left to fly back east Jay brought over a large gift-wrapped box with my name on it.  My nine year old son joined us that evening, and he couldn’t wait to see what was in the box.  I sat on the floor in front of our Christmas tree, and ripped the paper off the box.  My son shouted, “Mom, it’s a microwave!”  I assured my son it was not a microwave; the gift was just packed in an empty microwave box.  But as I opened it there was indeed a brand new microwave inside.  A microwave!  I'd spent 15 years of marriage in poverty.  I’d never owned a new appliance of any kind.  Yet here sat a brand new microwave with my name on it.  I began to cry, and my son hugged me.  “Why are you crying, mom?”  How do I explain not feeling worthy of such a wonderfully thoughtful gift?  How do I explain being overwhelmed by such generosity?  “I’m crying because I’m happy.” came my simple answer.

That was just one of many times I witnessed Jay’s generosity towards others.  Jay did not covet material things.  He dressed like a pauper in t-shirts, and worn out work pants, and old long sleeve wool shirts with worn collars.  He drove a 1979 Volvo station wagon.  He was house sitting that year in a small one bedroom solar-heated cabin.  The only things inside that were his were some David Muench framed prints, a couple of spider plants, his sound system, and harmonicas.  Jay stored his personal geology and camping equipment, and rock collection in the geology department at school.  A simple life-style suited him.  It certainly matched the way he dressed!  Hard to imagine him growing up in Westchester County, New York on a private lake just an hour from Manhatten.  Jay assured me Eastern Oregon felt like home to him, and he would choose it over Westchester County any day.

Jay flew east to spend the holiday with his family.  Seven days later he arrived back home in an Eastern Oregon blizzard.  Calling his home phone over and over (this was before cell phones) he finally picked up at 2 AM after a treacherous drive over the mountains from the nearest airport, an hour’s drive away.  Those seven days felt more like seven weeks to me.  Missing him terribly I asked,  “Do you want to come over and tell me about your trip?”  He drove straight to my house.  After a few hours we both confessed our deep feelings for each other, and Jay asked if he could kiss me.  It was a lovely, gentle kiss!  I put on a cassette tape of romantic folk music, and we danced and danced around the small kitchen floor of my rental home.  Reluctantly, he finally drove home to get some sleep.

The weekend before winter term began in January Jay and I headed to Lehman Hot Springs for a delightful soak in the outdoor springs while snow fell all around us.  Magical!  That evening after a meal of mexican food Jay sat me down in his office to view slides of his family back in New York.  When he got to photos of his sister’s wedding he commented, “If I was getting married I would want it outdoors in the mountains.  By a glacial lake would be perfect.”  A look of surprise came over Jay’s face, and his hand went up to his mouth.  “I think I’m asking you to marry me!”  These words, spoken in slight astonishment, turned his face crimson.  This man was a confirmed bachelor; his whole life dedicated to the avocation of teaching.  The summer months were spent taking care of his mother and her home, and traveling.  At 37 years old he’d never dated until I came along.  So to find himself talking marriage took him by surprise as much as it did me!  I just grinned as I answered, “I think I’m saying Yes!”

We discussed the wisdom of a long engagement to give my children a chance to adjust to the idea.  And his mother would need time to adjust to sharing her son with another woman.  But there was another reason we decided to wait a year and a half.  Jay wanted to enjoy the experience of dating before getting married.  This was all new to him; his first kiss, first dance, first date movie, first Ferris wheel ride!  He wanted to enjoy all these firsts.  I could't argue with that!  So after one month of officially dating we set the date of our wedding for June 29th of 1991, a year and a half away.  

The first day of winter term I sat across from my advisor.  Trying hard to mask my giddiness I  asked with all the seriousness I could muster, “What are the rules about a student marrying their professor?”  He looked up from the paperwork on his desk, and responded, “Wow, April.  You work fast!  Have fun!”

By the time I graduated I had eight different geology courses to my credit.  And I kept my perfect GPA.  But I assure you I worked harder for my A's than any other student because Jay didn't want any hint of impropriety!  Jay says the day he took my photo during class is the first and only time he has ever taken a student's photo on the very first day of class.  He keeps that photo on the desk in his office at school!

On a cold, rainy day on June 29th we were married outdoors at Anthony Lakes; a beautiful glacial lake at 7,000 feet elevation.  With snow on the ground and umbrellas over our heads a pastor and his wife united us in marriage.  Jay did not want me to put an announcement in the paper because he values his privacy.  However, he forgot the student he'd invited to video tape our ceremony also worked at the local newspaper.  Returning from our honeymoon to the coast we discovered our wedding photo on the front half page of the newspaper!  I thought it was a great surprise.    

Jay and I celebrated our 23rd wedding anniversary in June of 2014.  We’ve had our ups and downs, but I’ve never regretted accepting Jay’s “surprise” proposal that January in 1990.  My children grew to love him, and they each consider him a good friend.  Jay never lost his servant’s heart.  He has literally cared for me in sickness and in health!  Twice I have come close to dying, and Jay cared for me until I was well.  I found a new church family when the Baptist church informed me of their disapproval of my dating.  They also disapproved because Jay was not of my faith.  He comes from a Quaker background.  But we found a church body that loves and accepts both Jay and I unconditionally!  I have no doubt my heavenly Father brought us together.  

God orchestrated so many factors for Jay and I to find each other.  What if Jay hadn’t taken this teaching job in the wilds of Eastern Oregon the year before?  What if I decided not to go back to college?  What if my advisor hadn’t suggested I take geology for my science credits?  What if I continued to believe no man would ever want to marry a divorcee on welfare with three children?  What if I surrendered to the doctrine of my church that a divorced person remain single the remainder of their lives?  What if?

 “For I know the plans I have for you, ‘Declares the Lord’.  Plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.”  Jeremiah 29: 11-13

                        

WHY I WRITE

My breastbone is held together by wire sutures,

I've lost a child,

and survived a near death experience.

I've lived through chronic depression,
obsessive/compulsive disorder,
anorexia, and Bi-Polar disorder.

I'm no stranger to poverty,
divorce,
or chronic illness.

Yet through these, and other difficult life situations

I've been sustained by a power greater then myself.
God loves us, and desires a relationship with us!

I seek to be content in any circumstance.
I desire to learn through the hard times.

I am reminded I have much to be thankful for.

You'll find images of butterflies on this blog
because butterflies represent a birth in death,
and new life.

Perhaps you'll follow because you're curious,

or going through difficult times yourself,

or looking for an encouraging word.

I pray you find what you are looking for here.

"I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them,

become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do."

from The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
(survivor of  a Nazi concentration camp)