thoughtful wonderings

Dove Deception

2009-01-28T18:00:00.003-05:00

I have a friend who's weakness is Dove Chocolates. Today during a frantic search for anything sweet, I came across a bag of well hidden dark chocolate Dove chunks in an unsuspecting kitchen drawer. Not sure how they got there, but I was thrilled to find them. I grabbed a handful, maybe 5 or 7, but who's counting, and sat down to watch a favorite TV show.

As I quickly unwrapped the brown foil wrapper to reveal the delicious treasure inside, I was distracted by something unexpected. There, under the rounded-corner square chocolate chunk was a white circle and a message, "Do a little more each day than you think you possibly can." Wow, that's deep, I thought to myself.

Well, I was so INSPIRED by that message that I popped the candy in my mouth and quickly opened another piece to see what inspirational words waited my viewing. This time, "Simply be, rather than do, for a moment". I reflected on that as the first piece fully melted away in my mouth just in time to pop the second piece in. Wow, these are really cool! What's next? I thought to myself. So I grabbed a third piece of chocolate and unwrapped it only to read, "Share our similarities, celebrate our differences." Oh, and I popped that piece into my mouth.

I unwrapped the next one wondering what uplifting message I'd find, "believe in yourself." Okay, that one is a bit boring...but, it was then that I realized what was happening. Those sneaky Dove Chocolate people...they got me! Intrigued by the hidden messages that are under the candy, I plowed through several pieces of chocolate before I even knew what was happening!! I wonder now, how many calories I consumed anticipating the most moving hidden message...

Now I need to go for a run...

grace & peace ~ deAnn

Where Does Time Go?

2008-11-11T21:28:00.003-05:00

I've not written on this blog in some time. I feel a stranger to it, really.

If I'm honest, I feel like a stranger to my life. Estranged, is that the word? Time passes by at an astounding rate, where does it go? A few weeks ago I was typing an email to a friend telling her how my boys are doing. I said my son is enjoying the 10th grade and the other son is happy in the 8th grade. Then on the way to school the next morning, my oldest son was talking about a classmate who's a Junior. I froze (thankfully my car was at a stoplight) and peered back to Tyler and asked him what grade he's in. Wondering if I had lost my mind, he slowly said, "ah, the 11th grade." I could NOT believe it. He's in the 11th grade! He'll be a senior next year! Regarding Evan, I got a notice in the mail telling me of his high school orientation in preparation for next years advance to the 9th grade. I could cry. Where does time go?

Sunday, clean laundry was piling up. So much so that if I planned to sleep in my bed that evening, I needed to fold the pyramid that had collected on its surface. I mindlessly folded piece after piece when I came across a pair of jeans that I couldn't tell who they belonged to: my husband, David, or sons Ty or Evan. They have grown up so fast.

Have I zoomed through life at breakneck speed and the natural growth of my two beautiful boys has gone unnoticed? I wish I could turn back the clocks just for a few moments. But as my time with them as non-adults closes in, I pray I make the most of every moment we have together.

Lord, be with Tyler and Evan. May they sense your presence every day. Protect them and guide them. May their hearts be drawn to Yours. They are Your boys, even more than than they are mine. Amen.

Published! Wow...

2008-10-14T11:50:00.003-04:00

When I was in the hospital in August, I received an email from an editor of an interfaith prayer journal publication. They liked a particular post on my Vertical Creativity blog and asked if they could publish it in their October/November prayer journal, Scared Journey. Needless to say, as I lay, full of pain, in York Hospital, I was delighted and honored at her request. Later she contacted me again and asked if she could publish a photo I had on my blog as well - a photo of a sculpture I created through prayer in May 2007 called Tilted Vessel. Again, I said, "sure!" and was honored at the opportunity. Yet, even later - she emailed me and said that my sculpture photo looks fabulous as the cover for that issue. THE COVER?! Wow - how cool is that?

When the finished copies arrived in the mail early this month, I was shocked to see that I'm also quoted under their section titled, "Illuminations." Something I said is considered to be illuminating??? Insane!

If you'd like to read the post they published, you can see it on the Sacred Journey web page.

I can't help but think how gracious and gently our God is - He knew I needed a little encouragement to keep writing or to think I have anything to offer - so He lined up Sacred Journey to contact me about my written work. But didn't stop there. He lined them up to use my artistic work (the sculpture) and my photographic work (the actual image I took of my sculpture.)

Now, I just need to reflect on this example whenever I feel paralyzed or think that my creativity doesn't matter. It matters to God and He'll use it in the most amazing and surprising ways - if we only push through and create.

Grace & peace on the journey...deAnn

Two Weak Weeks

2008-08-19T20:32:00.003-04:00

I haven't posted on this blog in so long that I had to stop and think what my user name and password is just to log on! Pathetic, huh? I was in a very busy season at work, so busy that it put me in the hospital (my theory, anyhow).

Sunday, 8/10 I came home from church and had a low grade headache. By the late afternoon my head pain had grown intense and familiar symptoms cropped up. I hopped online to see how likely it is to have viral meningitis a second time, as the symptom I had were the same as those I suffered in January 2000. Sure enough, once you have it - you are more likely to get it again. And on this Sunday, I knew I'd be going into the hospital the next day, if I made it through the night without a sooner trip. Ugh.

Monday morning came after a night of severe head pain, nausea, sensitivity to light, sound and movement, high fever, and neck and back pain. I went to my family doctor and she directed me right to the emergency department. But she wouldn't let me drive up the street to the hospital and my husband was on jury duty all day. I took a chance and texted David and thankfully he was just leaving the courthouse.

I arrived in the E.D. dressed to be admitted in my comfy sweatpant shorts and teeshirt, no make up and hair in a ponytail on top of my head, all ready out of the way for the pending projectile vomiting that I knew was in my future. Since this is my second time with this lovely illness, I knew what medications work well. Torodol (for pain) and Zofran (for nausea). But before they would dish out the good stuff, they felt they couldn't trust my word and have to do a lumbar puncture to be certain they were dealing with viral meningitis and not the deadly cousin, bacterial meningitis. I'm not real fond of having a needle in my spine tapping out the fluid that keeps my brain moist, but I new I couldn't get out of it. My biggest fear was either passing out or throwing up with that needle in my spine! But I was a big girl and did really well. The fluid was clear - good news - stating that I did NOT have the bacterial version.

Morphine and percocet didn't work on my pain, they only made me feel worse. Fortunately I was in an "isolation" room in the E.D. so it was quiet and dark. When you have viral meningitis, light is an enemy. Sound is an enemy, and even smells and movement are enemies. I was so sick. My husband came in with a cup of coffee and I couldn't stand the smell of it. He poured it out.

Long story short - I spent three days in the hospital and called four rooms "home" while there. Since being home, I've had good days and bad days. Today was my first day driving and I have to tell you - it wasn't fun. The medication makes me dizzy and I didn't realize how dizzy until I got behind the wheel of my Subaru! I walked around Rite Aid like I had forgotten why I was there or even how I got there. I'm sure the security cameras would be very entertaining to view. This feeling freaked me out! However, I managed to get home safely. Whew, I was exhausted, so I took a long nap. I didn't realize how weak I had become. Viral meningitis is one nasty illness and I pray that I never have to deal with it again. Twice is more than anyone needs in their life time.

Strangely, I feel so un-myself right now. I hope that changes soon. I wonder if there is anything I need to do or can do to feel more like myself? Guess that will come in time and with continued healing...

Thanks to all my friends that prayed big time for me! Grace & peace, deAnn

Mid Week Lament

2008-07-30T22:20:00.004-04:00

When do I let go?
When do I fight?
The desires of my heart
are sobbing tonight.

Not sure what to do
they stand and wait
for the powerful ones
that hold their fate.

The familiar verse
sprouts in my mind
as always at times
when I feel blind.

Wait patiently for the Lord
be brave and courageous
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord

Brave? Courageous?
I'm trying my Lord
and yet, wait patiently?
I am filling with discord.

You see my life's story
You know what is next
I trust You Lord Jesus
to do what is best.

So, I will sit and wait patiently
I'll be brave and courageous too
Yes, I will wait patiently my Lord,
I will wait
for You.

Location Matters?

2008-07-27T18:48:00.003-04:00

Is true sabbath really possible? I'm "the average" mom, wife, employee, neighbor, friend, housekeeper, chef, gardener, chauffeur, grocery getter, dish washer, care taker, child of God. Can even the average person like me achieve true sabbath?

A whole day of resting in the presence of God...can you imagine that? I dream what that would look like, but it couldn't happen in my house in my town with my family around. No, to me it would be at a monastery perched high on a mountain in central Israel or overlooking the sea in southern Turkey. Nothing but the sound of wind passing under the wings of courageous birds or whistling through lush green pine needles. Peace, senerity, quiet, God. ...Lovely.

But that is not my real life! It's a gift that I can recall memories that take me back to some of the places I've traveled overseas and wish I could return to them in a blink of an eye. Reality strikes and I find myself plummeting high speed towards this little old town I live in. Quaint, but not serene.

So, the struggle remains - living my sabbath mindful of God in all I do and seeking solitude, even if it's for the few moments I'm out watering my garden.

Sabbath rest is not all about location. It's about the attention of our heart on the One who love us more than we can comprehend. Then resting that truth.

May your sabbath day be rich with God's presense...
grace & peace on the journey ~ deAnn

sabbath

2008-07-06T16:04:00.003-04:00

I just turned off the DVD player. My head is spinning. I love Rob Bell's NOOMA's. So I thought I'd love hearing what he had to say in his tour, "Everything is Spiritual." I was not let down. It will make you think! Be prepared for full usage of every brain particle you own.

Here's something convicting, actually, that Rob talked about. Rest. Do you rest? What does it look like, this rest you do. God rested. He created for six whole days then He took a rest - to kick back and enjoy His creation.

Sure, I rest, but it's not good rest. Weekends, for instance, should be filled with fun, doing things you like, or in our case = demoing a bathroom. Not much rest there (yesterday). Today, Sunday - I'm lazy as all get out. Yup, I've "rested." More like "wasted." I wasted the rest.

Sabbath, that day of rest, is a time to recharge and give yourself a little break for an entire day and to prepare for the week ahead. Heck, I can do that laying on the sofa clicking through hundreds of TV channels. Then I get mad at myself because I wasted the day, doing nothing. Something about my "Sabbath" doesn't feel right. Then Mr. Bell said a few words about Sabbath that really caught my attention: it's about doing something that feeds your soul. Laying on the sofa watching the TV does NOT feed my soul - it's ticks me off.

I'm going to readjust my time of rest, and attempt to live into a real Sabbath - enjoying God's creation - maybe with my camera in hand while on a hike. Getting crazy with color on a huge canvas. Choosing a childhood memory and dive right into that day then record it on paper. Read my favorite book and write about how I heard God speak to me through it. Or a period of solitude. Whatever it is, it MUST be soul feeding not soul sucking. For me, soul feeding means I'm aware of God's presence in and around me and marveling in His goodness and beauty and creativity, or even experiencing those traits in others.

The hour and 17 minutes I sat in front of the TV watching Rob Bell scribble a ton of mind stretching thoughts on a white board the size of a train car ~ yes, that, for me, was soul feeding. Ah...sweet rest.... ~ but my Sabbath is not yet over.

My plan from this day forward: to be intentional about picking one day each week and designate it as my Sabbath, doing what feeds my soul.

grace & peace on finding your day of rest...deAnn

If you want, check out: Everything is Spiritual

found

2008-07-04T15:47:00.002-04:00

my smile was found.
laying on the ground,
it was no longer round,
and made no sound,
because it was bound,
with a large mound,
of gaffers tape.

lost

2008-07-01T20:07:00.003-04:00

I lost my smile
It was with me this morning
and even at lunch.

Mid afternoon, I think that's
when it happened...

During that conversation
when the tears began to fall
my spirit crushed
sin exposed
dislike revealed
stupidity displayed
self worth diminished
...all a misunderstanding.

It's gone. Lost. Scared off.
I feel it lying in the shadows
I think
Fearing to come out.

But I miss you, my smile
my heart, my soul miss you too -
without you, I have no me.

Please come back, my smile
tomorrow is a new day
a fresh new day.

Return to me, my smile
my heart is nothing
without you.

Return to me, my heart
my soul is nothing
without you.

Return to me, my soul
I am nothing
without you.

If I forgive
myself
will you, my smile,
return?

Mass-o-nutten

2008-06-29T20:21:00.002-04:00

Earlier this month, we had a WHOLE family vacation in Massanutten, VA. And I mean whole family. My boys, my husband and his kids, of course - my husband, his sister and her kids (her husband was in Fl for a business trip), and then my husband's parents. Seven kids and five adults packed in to a two story condo. It wasn't that bad, actually, spacial thinking...we all fit comfortably. The photo above is after a sudden and scary thunderstorm that rolled through the valley. After the storm had done it's damage the sun came out and fog began to lift from the mountain sides. The air was crisp yet damp as we entered into the evening. We had a few of those wonderfully strong afternoon thunderstorms while there for nearly a week.

The highlight of the Massanutten timeshare area is this amazing part in-door and part out-door water park. We had to take a second mortgage out on our home just to afford to enjoy this expensive playground, but it was worth it. To feel like a kid again running around and being silly with your own kids - priceless.

This side ROCKED! I thought for sure Brittany (my 18 yo step daughter) and I would loose part of our swim suit. But alas, we speedily raced to the end of the slide with our tops and bottoms intact! (Thank God for that - the world is not ready for such a scene!) Oh - yes, in the picture you have my son, Evan on the left, Devyn - my nephew next to Ev, David - my hubby then Christian - my step son. You can see who the winner was! Yay Christian!!!

Another cool attraction was the "Free Flow" - a crazy water ride that mimics the feeling of body surfing on a board. Brittany and I did NOT do this ride...for obvious reason....the guys shorts were being torn off exposing the defined line between tan and whitie-heinie. Yeah, I wasn't up for trying this thing! Here is my hubby testing out his abilities. He didn't do too bad either - but he looks pretty cute, if you ask me.

I love this photo of my son, Tyler. He's got a GREAT smile! He did really good on this thing and half way though the day, all the boys (including the one in his forties shown above Ty), were addicted to this thing. The girls, well, we rode the other water tubes = they have this one that is totally pitch black and you sit on a blow up tube - you have NO idea where you are going and it's outta this world!

It really was a nice trip and we had a lot of family bonding time. I'm sure we'll go back to Mass-o-nutten again...

deAnn

Dirty Dishes

2008-06-28T14:09:00.007-04:00

The other day I was out for a run. When I became tired (about 3 minutes after I left my front door) I recalled what I ate the day before: LOTS. I said to myself, you know the "encouraging" self talk we do, "I must run because I ate like a piggy yesterday. So get on it and pick up the pace, woman!" That is just what I did...ran a bit faster.

As I continued to gasp for air, my mind wandered to a thoughtful space. I had just guilted myself into running! I was no longer running because it was a gorgeous crisp day or because I enjoy the feel of pavement under my feet with each step. God was once again speaking to me through something I enjoy doing and He was saying "run for the pleasure, not for guilt."

Examining more areas of my life where I take this stance, doing out of guilt instead of love, I was astounded and saddened that this ideal permeates large areas of my life. I see my in-laws because I feel guilty if I don't, INSTEAD of visiting them out of love for my husband (and them). Even doing the dishes, it's a daily task that I despise (maybe if I had a dishwasher I'd have a better attitude?), I am good at guilting myself into getting them done NOW or I'll be a horrible housekeeper. I could approach it out of love for my family - and the fact that I can not cook for them when dirty dishes are clogging up the postage sized counter space I have in my dinky kitchen.

Okay, those are only a few examples from my life. But I'll tell you, I've been more attentitive to that sneaky feeling of guilt and examining my heart and motives to see if I can do what needs to be done in love instead of guilty obligation.

The next time I'm working out (like later today), I want to approach it not out of guilt because, again last night I ate like a piggy, but out of sheer love to keep fit this body God crafted for my soul to reside in 38 years ago.

Not To Be Seen

2008-06-07T17:22:00.003-04:00

I went to the kitchen to get a bowl of tortellini chicken soup then plopped down on the sofa next to my husband as I devoured my meal. He was watching some show on TV, looked kinda dumb but because I was eating I stared at the TV too. Then suddenly, the main actress said something that really spoke to where I am in life right now...

"We all live in hiding. In one way or another, each of us conceals pieces of ourselves from the world. Some people hide because their lives depend on it. Others because they don't like being seen. And the special cases, the ones who hide because they just want someone to care enough to have someone look for them." from the USA TV show In Plain Sight

Awesome quote, huh? Deep for a cable channel.

Why does this speak to me, you ask? The idea that some people hide because they don't like being seen. That is totally me. It's freaky too. Thursday, May 29th I journaled about this exact thing...it's a theme I see in my life. I avoid being seen. I sneak into work stealth like, close my office door and turn on just one light. I ask my husband or one of my boys to water the plants on the front porch so I am not seen by passing cars (we live RIGHT on Main Street - cars just feet from my porch). If I'm meeting someone at a restaurant, I am sure to get there at least 30 minutes before scheduled time then I wait in the car until they show up so we can walk in together. I'm always behind the camera catching everyone's image but my own. There have been a few occasions when my husband has looked at me so intensely, it's as if he's peering deep into my soul. Hate that. If you can't tell, I really don't like being looked at.

Why is this? I journaled about it too. But I haven't had a Divine revelation or any downloads from Heaven...yet. This is something I'm aware of, am sitting with and lifting before God. What am I afraid of? Do I worry too much about what others think? I never thought of myself that way. Could this be what I call,"sneaky pride"?

Or maybe this is more complex and there are no simple answers... as I continued to process this on May 29th, I wrote these words in my journal, "If I am not seen, I can not be known." Maybe there lies the beginning of the answer.

to be continued...

Go Speed Racer, GO!

2008-05-24T19:19:00.003-04:00

Meet my Grams. Isn't she beautiful? A women of great strength, character, love and gentleness. And she has the driving abilities of an Indy 500 race car driver. Yeah, she's a "lead foot."

When my little sister and I were younger - I was maybe eight and my sister, Kristin, was about five, we would stay over at Grams house all the time. We loved it there ~ the smell of Grampa's pipe tobacco and the sound of his jolly ol' laughter. One afternoon, Kristin and I rode along with Grams as she ran errands around town. She and Grampa had this crazy long Cadillac, they aptly called "the Caddy." The seats were slippery vinyl or leather, can't recall exactly, I just knew that in the baking California sun they were hotter than hot and burnt the backs of my little girl legs.

There was this tiny liquor shop at the base of "Miracle Mile" ~ which was a mile long hill, straight up out of the Sacramento river valley. After Grams purchased what she needed we rolled out of the parking lot and waited to pull out onto the road. Traffic was (and still is) very heavy along this stretch of the highway. I was sitting in the front passengers seat, which was a long bench seat. My sister was in the backseat behind me. My Grams revved up the big V8 (or larger?) Cadillac engine, anxiously awaiting an opportunity to bolt out into traffic. With her hands in the correct 11 and 2 o'clock positions on the skinny over sized steering wheel, she said, "Okay, girls, hold on!" then she gunned it! That Caddy took off like it was fueled by rockets! The force blasted me against the smooth pleather seat! My sister, not wearing a seat belt because who did way back then, had forcefully slid all the way across the back seat and landed behind my Grams. I turned around and looked at Kristin and we both busted out laughing! "Grams! You are a speed racer!" She replied, "well honey, sometimes you have to use all the ponies under the hood."

In 2005, my two boys and I traveled to California to visit my Grams - at that time, she was ninety two years old. I grew up feeding the deer at Shasta Dam. My boys, then Ty was 13 and Evan was 10, had never been to Shasta Lake and I couldn't wait to share a treasured childhood memory with them. Grams said that they started giving tours of the dam and that the boys may find it of interest. Of course, my Grams offered to drive us up there ~ Ty and Evan were thrilled as they heard how she has quite the lead foot. But I reassured them that she's mellowed out now that she's in her 90's.

Well, I was wrong. This time seat belts mandatory, and that's a good thing, we headed towards the lake. Not only is she fast from the get go - she motors right along even on the twisty tight two lane road that leads up to the dam. The boys were in the back seat giggling and mumbling that she still is a speed racer. From the front seat, joined them in their quiet giggle with intense eye contact.

After the tour, Evan was so thrilled with the experience, "That was one awesome dam tour!" Tyler filled in, "and that dam tour guide really knew what he was talking about." Evan continued, "I really liked riding in that dam elevator." "Yeah, but walking in the rain across that dam road was a bummer," Tyler pipped in. Evan finished, "I'm dam hungry, can we go to A & W for lunch?"

The photo above was taken on our trip in 2005, me and my Grams. I called her on Mother's day earlier this month ~ she's doing great! She proceeded to tell me that she was recently in the local newspaper. My cousin's son celebrated his birthday at an indoor race track called "Need4Speed." And guess, what... Grams was in the mini Indy race car - showing everyone how to drive like a pro.

Grams is my hero...

Self Image?

2008-05-18T18:40:00.004-04:00

Here are a couple more cute photo's of Tyler...

One last family photo...

(these pictures are too funny!)

See post below for the real Self Image article...

Self Image

2008-05-16T10:02:00.001-04:00

My 16 year old son, Ty, loves to play with the iMac and its built in camera. It has all kinds of silly filters and effects to mess around with. (Honestly, this is not an accurate image of him!) But it makes me crack up every time I see it!

This made me think of the way we view ourselves. Due to junked up filters, I can see me one way and another person can see me 100% different. Who would be right? Life gives us these filters and causes an inaccurate view of who we were created to be. Some popular filters are: hurt done to us or caused by us, sinful nature, poor self esteem, lack of self awareness, just to name a few...

You know what? Even if Ty really looked like this carnival mirror image, God would love him just the same because He made him. And what God makes - is beautiful beyond measure. Hard to imagine that, huh? The world would call (this image of) Ty a freak, an outcast, a detriment to society and never once stop to get to know the heart that lies underneath the "world defined" ugly.

Do I see myself like this - inaccurately and ugly? Do you see yourself that way? Do bad filters keep us from seeing ourselves and others in the beautiful way God intended? Sure, we're human. But we long for a Divine filter to view the world and all it's people the way God sees them. Beautiful beyond measure. Ahh...heaven will be like that. One day...
grace & peace ~ deAnn

Young Sea

2008-05-12T14:42:00.003-04:00

The day after my mood meltdown, I came across this poem; Young Sea by Carl Sandburg. I connected intimately with the words and the feelings expressed. I'd like to share it with you...

Young Sea

The sea is never still.
It pounds on the shore
Restless as a young heart,
Hunting.

The sea speaks
And only the stormy hearts
Know what it says:
It is the face
of a rough mother speaking.

The sea is young.
One storm cleans all the hoar
And loosens the age of it.
I hear it laughing, reckless.

They love the sea,
Men who ride on it
And know they will die
Under the salt of it.

Let only the young come,
Says the sea.
Let them kiss my face
And hear me.
I am the last word
And I tell
Where the storms and stars come from.

warning: frustration overload

2008-05-04T21:15:00.003-04:00

I'm in "one of those moods." Maybe you know it...grumpy is an understatement! It started to come on yesterday afternoon as I was sitting in my car for 9 hours at my son's lacrosse tournament. It was too cold to be outside the car, so sat inside. I was frustrated because I wore shorts and not pants. The weather man said it was going to be 74 degrees! I was mad at him. Dumb weather guy, what does he know? When I got home I knew I shouldn't be around people, let alone those I love like my immediate family, so I took a Tylenol PM and headed to bed at a ridiculously early time - hoping to sleep off my crankiness.

I have to admit, I slept wonderfully for oh...11 hours. "After that long night's sleep, I ought to be the life of the party today!" I said to myself.

Yeah, didn't happen. I sucked the life out of the party, actually. Stealth-like, I slipped into church trying not to make eye contact with anyone...I wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Hey good morning deAnn!" someone poor unsuspecting soul would say. "Oh shut up!" would be my sorry remark and I surely didn't want that to happen.

We got home from church and I just needed to be A-L-O-N-E. Know what I mean? Yeah, so I went up stairs to my bedroom to lay down for a few free moments but my bed was the K-2 of laundry! Aaargh! My frustration grew beyond a healthy level. "No one better even knock on my door right now or I'll ..." was running through my sick mind. The floor looked good - so I laid down in the middle of my bedroom, as looked up at the bottom of the light fixture I asked "God, what is going on with me? I'm driving me nuts." I didn't get an answer from Him. I wanted a magic wand to make me happy so my family would like me again.

I fell asleep there on my bedroom floor until my husband came in (he was a bit concerned as to why I was there)and woke me up which really ticked me off! He told me it was time to visit his family and that we were to leave in a few minutes. "More people?! Are you kidding me? I don't want to see or talk to anyone or anything right now. If you suck oxygen, back off - leave me alone!" was what I was screaming at a deafening pitch in my soul. But I got up off the floor, put on my shoes and stumbled out the car.

One summer day several years ago my friend and I went to Ocean City, MD. Sadly I was in one of these moods. I was incredibly frustrated with the ocean and all the dumb noise it makes - it NEVER STOPS! Waves crashing in on the beach, one after another "come on already!" I remember thinking I was insane for thinking that...wondering what was going on with me! And here I am today, in the same mood and asking myself that same question again.

Humans are complex beings. Not just physical beings, but emotional and spiritual beings as well. If one of these are "off" - it throws the rest off. Physically I feel great today but emotionally I'm a raging beast. The spiritual side of me is praying to God that my emotions would mellow out before someone gets hurt.

Thankfully, my spiritual side shouted loud enough and I have now mellowed out a tad. Enough to write about it and even laugh at how ridiculous I was. Boy am I glad that God is patient with me in these times...and I'm glad my husband is too! The poor oxygen sucking man. Back off!

The Simplicity of A Child

2008-04-26T09:08:00.008-04:00

After attending Elaine's memorial service on Tuesday this week, my 13 year old son and I had some amazingly deep conversations. One evening we got talking about God. Sometimes you never know what goes on in the complex minds of our kids... He said to me, "when I was little (haha! - that is my giggle) I used to think that my shadow was God. He went with me everywhere. Sometimes I'd stand and stare at my Shadow. I would move and He would move, at the same exact time! I'd even waive to my Shadow and it was like God was waving back to me."

I never knew my son thought of God, even when he was still "little."

He continued with his ideas of God. He told me another story..."then there was a time a while back, that I pictured God as a little Man who liked to sit on me. God would hang out on my shoulders, down my arms, on my head, on my feet, back and legs. He went with me everywhere and he kept me company. We'd talk a lot. It was nice - I felt protected because He was all over me."

I sat there on the bed listening to my son's young spiritual journey with God. He let me in to the depths of his tender heart. I was on holy ground at that very moment.

My son's next experience with God is my favorite..."It's silly, but I used to think my heart was the shape of a valentine heart. I know that it's not... I learned that in science class. But I thought my heart was shaped like a valentine and it had a little door with a welcome mat below it. One day, Jesus walked up to my door with His suitcase. He looked down at the welcome mat and decided to knock. I opened the door and He moved in. He brought His TV and furniture and stuff." What an amazing visual!! Jesus moved in and made Himself "at home" in my son's heart.

The evening was getting late and well past my son's bedtime, but he had one more story for me. This is how he experiences God today...as an early teen. "Now, God is like a close friend. We'll just hang out together and I will hear Him say, 'so, do you want to talk about anything?' and I'll talk. Then I'll listen to Him talk. It's really cool." Oh my, as I type this, tears of joy fill my eyes. I felt so honored to have heard his journey and how he's responded to the Holy Spirit in his young life. I just pray that my son always has a sensitive spirit to recognize God's voice and presence and will respond to Him in ways that bring glory to our Lord. It was awesome!

Listening to my son reminded me of the ways I thought about God as a child. My journey and my son's journey are much the same. My mind was always filled with thoughts and feelings about God - even though I was not brought up in God-aware home. Nonetheless, He was with me. He knocked on my heart's door and He moved in a long time ago.

How about you? What does your spiritual journey reflect? What was the first time you experienced God in your life? How can you approach Jesus in a simple child-like way?

"The people brought children to Jesus, hoping He might touch them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus was irate and let them know it: "Don't push these children away. Don't ever get between them and Me. These children are at the very center of life in the Kingdom. Mark this: Unless you accept God's Kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you'll never get in." Then, gathering the children up in His arms, He laid His hands of blessing on them." Mark 10:13-16, The Message

Ah, if we could always walk with a child-like faith...

grace & peace ~ deAnn

When Time Is Up

2008-04-13T21:22:00.003-04:00

Last week was tough . April 8 was the one year anniversary of my (ex) sister-in-law's death. Raw emotions still healing in our hearts. Then, in the same family, my other (ex) sister-in-law passed away on Tuesday, April 8. The same date, just one year later. Very mysterious.

Wednesday, April 9, wasn't any better. My brother called from California and shared some sad news. His mom, after fighting cancer, lost the battle and passed away that morning. (My brother and I have different moms - he's actually my half-brother).

My heart is breaking for my three brothers and for my ex-family (how do you describe that?) which I am rather close too.

It's strange to think that one moment these people were living life right next to us and the next moment, we are left with a hollow shell that resembles them. Their time was up.

As I drove to work on Tuesday after hearing of the news about my (ex) sister-in-law, I thought, "Elaine is no longer on this earth, breathing oxygen and seeing the bright spring sun calling out the tulip blossoms." It was weird to think that... I remember her crunchy laugh, good sense of humor and caring heart. She no longer lives here with us. The world should be different now. But it's not. It's the same world as it was the day before she left it. But our world, the little sphere of life we call ours, will never be the same.

I think of her husband. They were married for thirty some-odd years. They did everything together: grocery shopping, paying bills, watching TV, yard work, walking their dog, folding laundry. The most mundane parts of daily life, they did together. Not so anymore. My heart is heavy for Mike. What will he do? His life is dramatically and unwillingly changed. The void is significant. It's just he and their dog now. And a heart full of loving memories that will sustain but not relieve the pain.

Loss sucks. We live in a beautiful but painfully broken world. We love then we loose. The more we love, the more pain in the loss. Should we just not love so the pain is less? I don't believe so. We should love more because the world is so broken...it needs love and lots of it.

Jesus, it's hard living on this earth. You know it! We long to love fully but we know the risk is great. May Mike feel Your loving presence and be comforted in the coming days. Let your peace flood his heart. Protect him from himself, against deep debilitating sadness. Cause him to reach out with need and for others to reach in, to his life, sacrificially. Teach us how to journey beside those who have suffered great loss. May Your unfailing love be seen through our actions, words and compassion. Amen.

The Mystery of Salt

2008-03-02T18:04:00.006-05:00

Something is wrong with me. I have been seen perusing the magazine aisle at Giant...picking out all the cooking related publications. Who am I? What have I become?

One magazine really caught my attention "101 Tips for Cooking" ~ hey, I need all the tips I can get! What a great magazine! I'm learning so much...like the difference between chili powders (Pasilla, Ancho, New Mexico, Chipolte and Cayenne). This is good information for me to have because I own each of these and I'm not sure which one to use when!

However, the most intriguing tip, I have say, had to do with salt. Yes, I'm learning there is a big difference between salts and how to use them. For instance, reserve table salt for baking. Now I have two salt pigs (yeah, that's what the professional kitchen-people call the little containers you keep salt in) by my stove. One with Kosher salt and one with course Sea Salt. (shhh...I keep the fine Sea Salt in my cupboard. I don't have room for three salt pigs!)

Oh how I digress...Salt, it's a mysterious thing. It was a high commodity way back when. At one time Roman soldiers were paid, in part, with a ration of salt called solarium (from the Latin word "sal" which means salt.) If a soldiers performance was not up to par, it was said that he's "not worth his salt." Later, when salt was replaced with an actual money allowance to buy the salt, the allowance itself was called a solarium. Eventually, solarium came to mean the wages themselves, and this led to our calling one's pay a salary. You are now ready for Jeopardy.

My magazine says, "Salt has the uncanny ability to make food blossom into their full flavors but often it must be used at just the right time. Boil two quarts of water in two separate pots . Put two teaspoons of salt in one and none in the other. Bring both pots to a boil and place a couple ounces of spaghetti in each pot. Cook, drain pasta and taste. The pasta cooked without salt tastes dull and flat, not quite itself. No amount of salt added to a sauce or the pasta after cooking can compensate. Pasta cooked in salt water tastes not of salt, but of wheat coaxed into full flower by the mildly briney liquid. No one knows exactly how salt does this, how just a pinch boosts the flavor of almost anything from ripe sliced tomatoes to complex sauces and even sweets."

It was then that I had one of those "light bulb moments." In Matthew (5:13), Jesus says "you are the salt of the earth..." WE ARE SALT OF THE EARTH, PEOPLE! I never got that passage before now! Jesus tells me I am salt of the earth ~ in some mysterious way, as I interact with people, exposing them to the transforming love of Jesus, they then have the opportunity to blossom into their full flavor, or purpose. How incredible is that??? It's beautiful, and a bit scary - that is a quite a task.

As I look at my life and the interaction with friends and family, how can I be the salt in their lives? Jesus calls us to do this. So that we live in a flavorful world filled with His love. Awesome.

Live Into the Skin

2008-03-01T11:23:00.002-05:00

You gave me bones,
You gave me blood,
You gave me skin,
You gave me spirit.
They should all work together
to be the me You created me to be.

Bones and spirit
encapsulated by skin.
My skin is what people see
with their eyes.
My spirit is what people see
with their heart.

My bones create the structure
that my spirit lingers in.
My bones give structure
for my skin to rest upon.

What is seen with the eye
is not the true me.
Not the complete me.
I am so much more than just my skin.

Help me Jesus to live
fully into my skin.
To be the me
You created me to be.

I feel I'm on the verge
of something big,
something of You.

Abolish my fears.
Murder my doubts.
Transform my hesitation
into confident action.

I desire to live fully into my skin.
And as I do - people will see You.

In the Dentist Chair

2008-02-23T12:30:00.002-05:00

I was at the dentist last Wednesday getting my 6 month check up. The dental hygienist is really sweet and like most hygienist - she is quite chatty. (Why is that?) I love it, they ask you questions that need a response while your mouth is wide open with sharp utensils scraping near delicate gum tissue. I just hold my head still and answer her with facial expressions and eye gestures.

Not sure how we (she) got on the subject but the topic of certain religions that don't believe in medical care sprouted up. Listening to her rant and rave about the stupidity of such a thing, I laid reclined staring into the retina piercing spot light that was shining into my face. I suddenly recalled a memory that has been laying dormant in my mind for 30 years...

My mom married a man named Allen when I was quite young. He had been married previously and had three little boys. He was in the process of gaining custody from his ex-wife. As a little girl, I thought this was weird...kids living with daddy? I thought kids were only to live with mommy then visit daddy on weekends. Being a very curious eight year old, I probed for more information about this situation. I found out that Allen & his wife had been involved in a strick (cult-ish) religious group. Not sure, but I think he wanted out of it because it had gotten a little too weird for him. He divorced his wife and fought for custody of their three boys.

Jesse came to live with us first. Yay, a little brother! He was just a toddler and cute as could be. He was the youngest of the three. Then after some time, Matthew came to live with us - he was maybe kindergarten age. A little later, Jacob moved in - he was early elementary. I was the oldest by far - and my little sister, Kristin, was second oldest of us five kids.

On a rainy weekend day, all seven of us piled into Allen's big orange Dodge van and headed north. Again, being curious, I had to know where we were going. But that information was not divulged. What seemed like hours later, we pulled into the drive way of a strange gathering of buildings. We were in the mountains, away from any city. Being the oldest and with the most comprehension, I was told that we were there to visit Allen's dying mother. He never mentioned his mom before. "Why is she dying?" I asked. "She has cancer, honey. She doesn't have much longer to live." I wasn't sure how to act, I've never been around a dying person before,and I didn’t even know this person.

I remember walking into her room, not sure what to expect. Allen introduced me to his mother. She was very nice and spoke softly, like it hurt her to speak. The air was filled with a stench that I will never forget. I asked my mom about it and another person in the room responded that it's the smell of death. My new "step grama" was literally dying right there before my eyes. The cancer was eating her body and she was in her final days. This is why we made the trek, so Allen could say good-bye.

On the drive home my never still mind wondered about this lady who was lying in a bed at her house. My sister and brothers were resting and quiet so I crawled up to the front seats and wedged myself inbetween Allen and my mom. I asked why she wasn't in the hospital, getting better. Allen explained to me that his mom was also part of this religious group and they didn’t believe in medical care. He said that they believed that if God wanted to heal her, He would. If not, oh well. No doctors allowed. I didn't understand this. What kind of God is that, I wondered.

For days my mind raced vividly with thoughts of a God who would tell His "believers" not to seek medical care for the sick. This did not sit well with me. Even though I had no prior religious background in my short life, I knew this wasn't right. And who are these people that believe this stuff. A strange lady I met only once had made such an impression on me, and she was "one of them."

A week later, we went back up to the mountains to visit Allen's mom again, but this time - she had no life. My first funeral...and open casket. I had never seen a dead body before. My mom said I didn't have to go up to the casket if I didn't want to. My other siblings were not allowed. My curiosity and unexplainable compassion lead me to the long wooden box. I wanted to see this lady, the one who died because "her God said no." The closer I got, the more my heart pounded. Finally, I was standing right next to the box. Stretching up on my tippy toes, I slowly peered over the edge and there she was. But that didn't look like her. I was astounded by the difference one looks like with life inside and one with no life inside. Wow. Something huge happened here!!!

My little mind began to ponder deep thoughts for an eight year old girl. Big thoughts about mortality, God, beliefs, and how people differ in their views. Who do I believe God to be? How could I find out who He is? However, my heart sensed that God is a loving person, one that would want His people to be healthy even if that meant seeking medical care. So, is there more than one God? The God of my step grama and the God I sensed speaking into my young soul, even then... Through this experience, odd as it was, God was wooing me to Him through that short encounter with my dying cult-religious step grama and the curiosity He planted in me before the beginning of time. It was at this time that I began serious dialog with God: I talked - He listened. I can't tell for sure, but I think that was the beginning of my spiritual journey...

It's funny how a simple thing like listening to my dental hygienist vent about something she thought was absurd can crack open a long buried memory asleep in the neurons of my mind.

Nothing.

2008-02-05T20:02:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted anything to my blog in over one month. What's up with that? And then tonight, I actually have time (my oldest son is on the phone with his girlfriend, my younger son is playing a racing game on XBOX and my husband is still at work) and here I sit - in front of my screen wondering what the heck to write about. It seems that I should write something of deep meaning or extreme interest or a revelation I've had about God, myself, someone else - anything. But here I am, staring at the little toolbar on the bottom of my screen. You know what I'm talking about...on the far right is the clock, then a little envelope signaling that an email has entered my Outlook inbox. I see an icon I've not noticed before, I don't know what it means or where it came from. I must investigate.

I feel as though I'm living a Seinfeld episode - the show about nothing. Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I'm uninspired. Is it possible to loose the creative juice? "Use it or loose it." I wonder if that applies to me right now. Writing is much like going to the gym. Once you go, you feel awesome! But it's the getting there that is painful. You make every excuse not to go and before you know it, you're out of shape and have gained a few pounds. Yup, that's me.

Now I totally understand the importance of writing on a regular basis. Writing alone keeps you sharp, interesting, it allows the creative juices to keep flowing - although, sometimes it's only a trickle. I'm out of shape. I'm out of routine. I need to live by the Nike ad - "just do it." I need to take my own advise, practice what I preach! Maybe I need the accountability of a gym partner?

Ah, I don't know... I just need to buck up and WRITE. Even this incessant rambling, made up of pixels and other technological things that I don't understand, is beginning the journey back to finding my hidden voice.

Do you ever get to this place? Wondering where your voice is...wondering if it's changed, or if it's changing. I guess it's all part of the creative journey, and I'm just on an unfamilar part of the path...but it's all good...

Cabining: Axe in Hand ~ Continued...

2007-12-29T13:05:00.000-05:00

While I was all sweaty and dirty after my run, I figured I’d try to split some wood for the rest of our stay in Cabin H. I was nervous. I’ve never done that before, or at least it’s been a long while and my back is not in its 20’s anymore. I grabbed the axe and the sledge hammer from the car then reluctantly confident I headed to the massive pile of rain soaked logs. I tried to replicate what David did when we were here last time. Now I was the Lumber Jack and had to provide fuel to keep humans alive. I never knew how heavy wood could be after lying in the rain for days. I muscled one good size log onto the designated and well used chopping block only to have it slip off the edge. I also learned that rain soaked logs are very slippery. But I just laughed at myself and was thankful that there were no other people with in sight.

“Okay, this can’t be that difficult. Just hold the axe over my right shoulder and swing it over my head with all my might!” Smack in to the waterlogged log the axe head went, getting permanently wedged into its grain. The log would not let go. This is when I discovered the use for the sledgehammer. If I couldn't pull the axe out then I’m going to pound it down as far as I can into the log and hope that it gives way and releases my tool. With the sledgehammer in hand I tapped on the back of the axe head. I learned tapping doesn’t work. No, one must use great force and pound metal upon metal, teeth shattering pound after pound. Slowly I was making headway – the axe was making its way through the grain with each bone jerking blow I made with the sledgehammer. Then VICTORY! The waterlogged log succumbed to the abuse and let go of my axe as it split into two large pieces. My joy was visibly evident. I had conquered nature, I had created burnable sized pieces of wood for fire that sustains lives, human and critters alike.

Then an obsession formed. I couldn’t stop myself from splitting wood. The work was hard and back breaking, literally, but it was extremely fulfilling. Put a log onto the chopping block, a mighty swing of the axe and then there was two pieces of log. Then there were four pieces of log. And in some cases, there were even six pieces of log. Finally, a project I could see progress with each swing of the long wood and metal tool. Start and finish in one single event. Now that massive wood pile is not so massive after Lumber Jack deAnn came into its life.

We’ll be warm tonight. And the next campers of cabin H will be warm too. Maybe even the campers after them as well. It was a good day

Cabining ~ Saturday Morning 11/10/07

2007-12-04T22:00:00.000-05:00

A cloudy sun peeked out from behind the light blocking roll shades in my room and I figured I needed to finally get up and try to get the fire going again. The cabin had chilled off to nearly the pre-habitation status of our arrival. Deb, still in bed, I tried very hard to crumple newspaper silently while working fast enough so that my fingers would not freeze and fall off. Scraps from trim molding went on next and for a dynamic scene, I threw on not one, but two of the Quick Start logs. Lit a match and before I knew it – I had once again created fire. It’s a neat feeling to create something, especially fire when the cabin is so cold you can see your breath as steam puffing from your nose and mouth. I created fire, I created warmth that sustains human and critter life. I was rather proud. However I was rather cautious of the amount of wood used as we were nearly out and had to get through the whole day and night and morning of Sunday.

Coffee was next on my list. I needed coffee now to warm me from the inside. French press coffee while camping tastes so amazing, one could probably trick me and use Nescafe or Folgers and I’d think I was having the best cup of joe ever. Deb got up, she said that she heard me crumpling newspaper so she got out of bed. Guess I wasn’t as silent as I thought.

Snow was no longer falling; instead it was its fully liquid kissing cousin. It was gently falling on the roof and the sound practically lulled me back to bed. But I resisted! I donned my running gear and set out to conquer the cold wet morning. Which I felt I had earned the right to do, since I did create fire after all. The run didn’t last too long. Only 2 loops around the camping ground road. The air was really damp and quite cold, my face felt as if it was beginning the first stages of frost bite. I knew there was a second cup of French Press waiting for me so I cut the run a bit short. Wimp.

(more from this cabining trip to come in a future post...)

Memories, The Best of Presents

2007-11-27T22:15:00.000-05:00

I loved Christmas as a little girl. Not (only) because I got presents. But my family had some neat traditions and every year I looked forward to them.

My younger sister and I would help Grams bake cookies every year. This ritual began in early December so that she could pack them up into cute little packages then give them to her best friends, the Bridge club, and her golfing buddies. There were always just enough left to keep in the pretty Christmas tin that sat on the table next to Grampa's chair.

Then there was the annual Smith Family Christmas Tree Hunting Trip. We'd get permits to cut down 4 trees in the deep forest near Mount Lassen. With our 4x4 vehicles, my aunt, uncle and cousins, my whole family, and Grams and Grampa would convoy up to the snow line. When the time was right, we'd turn down an unpaved snow-covered logging road. Our noses pressed to the car windows, "there's a pretty one!" we'd yell hoping we'd stop to take that tree home. But my dad, he was an explorer, would drive deeper into the woods to find the perfect spot. Once found, we'd stop our vehicles, pull on our snow boots, bundle up and start our search. I always remember how peaceful and quiet it was way up on that mountain. Only the wind's voice could be heard as it passed through the pine needles on the tall swaying trees. I'd close my eyes and take in natures silence, wondering what it would be like to sit at the top of the trees, feeling the sun's warm rays on my face. I miss those days.

The night time street fair in Nevada City, I walked around holding hot cocoa just to stay warm. Men in tall black top hats played my favorite Christmas song on their hammered dulcimers. I stood reverently next to strangers as we gathered around the gifted musicians. No words, just the beauty of their talent created the most captivating arrangement of "What Child is This." The sweet and mysterious notes radiated from their tandem stringed instruments brought swollen tears to my eyes. I will never forget that beautifully cold evening.

Christmas, it's so much more than just presents. What wonderful holiday memories am I providing for my boys? What will they look back and remember when they are married and have children of their own?

Memories last, presents do not. Memories are stories and must be told, that keeps them alive.
Merry Christmas ~ this season, may you and yours be amazing creators of lovely and lasting memories, the priceless gift.

I Don't Understand

2007-11-05T16:47:00.000-05:00

I don’t understand how You
Sit with me, the ugly me
When my doubts are high
And trust runs low

I don’t understand how You
Walk with me, unmotivated me
As I wander aimlessly about my day
questioning why was I created

I don’t understand how You
Love me, loveless little me
With my cold heart of stone
Pushing everyone far away

I don’t understand how You
Say “you are beautifully mine”
Don’t You see who I am?
The darkness in my soul?

I don’t understand how You
Forgive me, every last thing
Even as a repeat offender
You amazingly forgive
I don’t understand…

I don’t understand how You
Can use me for good when
I feel everything is awful
Useless, dangerous, empty

I don’t understand how You
The loving Creator of the universe
Cares about me, one of billions.
You know my name
You see each tear I cry
And there have been a lot lately

I don’t understand how You
Constantly reach out to me
With Your endless love
Gently handling my wounded soul
Nursing it back to health
Breathing new life into me
Giving me chance after chance

I just don’t understand…
But, I can’t thank You enough.

Meeting God at the Wall

2007-10-17T21:22:00.000-04:00

While packing for my trip to Israel in March, I dreamed what it would be like to sail on the Sea of Galilee or to stroll the Via Delorosa, the SAME road Jesus struggled to walk as he carried his cross to eminent "death." Sure, I also wanted to see the Dead Sea and the Western Wall (a.k.a. The Wailing Wall.) I was told it was special to place a prayer scroll in the crevices of the wall, so I asked two friends if they had a prayer I could deliver for them.

As we traveled Israel from north to south - the day came to enter the old city of Jerusalem. My senses were on overload -so much to see, so much to hear. And many real Jewish bagels to eat (they are the best I've ever had!) As I walked through a metal detector guarded by Israeli soldiers, my eyes were drawn to the mass of people to my right. Clearing the security station I wandered toward the crowd. "What is this all about?" I thought. Then - there it was, the famous Wailing Wall. I stood amidst the crowd, still as can be, as if all alone but in a sea of unfamiliar faces. Every detail of what my senses took in was slowly processed as it filtered through my mind. What I was witnessing was sacred. I was standing on Holy Ground and I was not worthy.

The day I visited the Wall was the Jewish holiday of Purim. Every child and pre-teen, and even some adults, were dressed as Spongebob, a princess or some other character (which is customary for Purim.) Because of the holiday, the square was flooded with Jewish families there to worship, celebrate bar/bat mitzva and to socialize.

It seemed different that I had imagined it would look. Yes, it was grand and stark white due to the natural stone it was crafted from. But it had a presence. A stone wall, with a presence bigger than it's sheer size ~ this wall had experienced thousands of years of violent history. This wall is very important to many people and this day, that was very apparent to me.

The time came, I had to make my way to the wall in order to place my friends' prayers into the cracks of the gigantic stone blocks, if I could find room. Every nook and cranny was stuffed with little rolls of paper filled with cries of pain or even gratitude. The wall is divided: men on the left, women on the right with a 6 foot wall separating to two. The men's side is about three quarters of the wall and the ladies had the remaining quarter. Literally there were hundreds of women stacked 20 or so deep from the wall. I patiently and reverently stood in my place and slowly crept forward as the crowd progressed. I watched in awe the of young ladies with their prayer books as they went through their rituals before the Great Wall. I had my camera and desperately wanted a picture to remember the moment. But I felt as if I was violating the sacredness of the space if I whipped out my digital SLR (not a small camera). But I did, very discreetly not to disturb anyone.

I stood in silence as my heart raced. It became grander the closer I got. When I was about 2 or 3 ladies from the Wall I felt emotion welling up from a deep and distant place inside of me. Uncontrollable emotion (which is happening now as I recall this experience). When I was only one woman away from the Wall, I couldn't wait any longer to engage it. So I carefully reached past the praying lady in front of me, placed the prayer scrolls on a high ledge then laid my left hand flat, palm to the ancient cold stone. Feeling it's story. I felt a connection to it immediately. Strangely, but it was as if I had been there before, crying out to God at that very Wall. My emotions were overflowing as I made my way back through the crowd.

When leaving the Wall, you don't put your back to it. Instead you walk backwards while facing the it. I did this the best I could without tripping over the mass of women, plus my eyes were wet with streaming tears. It took a while to compose myself after that deep religious experience. God's presence was so real, more real than I've sensed, ever. It was as if I was truly standing on His Holy Ground, right beside Him. It was overwhelming. Beautiful. And and honor. I am forever changed because of the gift God gave me. Meeting with Him at the Wailing Wall.

Trying Too Hard

2007-09-30T22:34:00.000-04:00

Straining to hear
she turns off the music.
Still, unable to hear
she closes the window
to block out the sounds of life below.
Concentrating so hard
she longs to hear His voice!
But, instead a 1000 other voices interrupt.
Agendas, to do lists and should have done lists,
she intentionally tries to ignore them.

Feeling defeated and disappointed,
she determines He's not speaking.
So, she give up the fight,
relaxes her tired ears...
and suddenly...she hears.

December 4, 1988

2007-09-14T11:51:00.000-04:00

This morning I was traveling through the back roads between Dallastown and Jacobus on the way to meet a friend for coffee. I was listening to a song on a CD when the lyrics caught my attention. I hit track #9 again to listen from the beginning. Prompted by the gifted song writer, vivid images filled my mind.

Just days from turning nineteen, I found myself in a place I did not wish to be...in a hospital room in a wing filled with the smell of death. In the bed, my step dad, Jim. On his left sat his mom, my grama. On his right sat my mom. I stood awkwardly near the foot of his bed. Silence filled the room. Poisoned with cancer, we waited for death to take him captive.

I don't know why I felt I needed to be there that day. He was admitted on Friday because my mom and the visiting nurse could no longer care for him at our home. Even though unconscious it was obvious he was in severe pain. The cancer was having it's way with his flesh. My mom, as skinny as a rail after three months of living in hell, needed a break. She and my grama took a walk out side. I promised to stay with him. As they left the room and headed for the clean sweet air, I stood there looking over a man who I loved dearly. Slowly, I moved closer. Why was he hanging on like this? Then I remember a conversation I overheard right after he was diagnosed. He promised my mom he'd never leave her. I think he believed that. And so did she.

Tears fell over my cheeks as I gazed at his beautiful but sunken in face. His eyes opened but focused on the ceiling tiles. Moving even closer I could see the grimace on his face caused by the pain that was filling his body. Holding on to keep his promise. Silly man. I took his hand in mine and leaned close to his left ear. I forced out these words, "Rest, please rest. I will take good care of mom, Kris and Nick. I promise." I could almost feel him relax as if those were the words he needed to hear before embarking on the journey before him.

Just then my mom and grama entered the room. They took their normal places on either side of him, I stood close to my mom. Then it began. His breathing became irregular. The tension in the room could be felt so clearly. His chest quickly rose tall as his eye widened. Mom and grama stood up, knowing what was happening. Then his chest slowly fell, as his body exhaled for the last time. A peace came across his face and could be seen in his body as well. The excruciating pain was gone. But so was he.

After a brief moment of pure silence the room filled with uncontrollable cries and tears and hugs. I've never seen my mom like that before. It was horrible. A memory I wish I could erase. I don't remember much after that. But I do recall walking out of the hospital, feeling as if we were abandoning him. It was early December and the sun was setting low in the sky. It was a stunning display. I stood there soaking in the last days rays and reflecting on the beauty in the sky. Mom asked me what I was doing. I turned to her and said, "Mom, Jim's painting the sky for you. Isn't it pretty?" She and my grama stopped and turned to the West. All three of us stood silently in the parking lot, watching the day come to an end through water filled eyes.

Jim was a very talented artist - oils were his preference - he enjoyed painting nature scenes. His final masterpiece was spectacular.

It's funny how words, even words from a song, can spark such deep memories. The lyrics read "love is watching someone die." Powerful words. And so true.

Memories, Sweet Memories

2007-09-07T19:27:00.000-04:00

When I look back on my childhood, the global memory I have is one of happiness even amidst financial and emotionial hardship. My mom and dad divorced when I was about four years old and my little sister was just a wee baby. I only have a few memories of being a family, all of us together which included my three older half brothers from my dad's first marriage. Vague snapshots buried deep in my mind and continue to fade with time.

As a very young girl I couldn't understand why mommy and daddy didn't want to live together anymore. Too young to understand...but this meant that I couldn't live with daddy either. I missed my dad and brothers so much. I saw them a couple times a month, we didn't move very far away from them. My mom worked hard to provide a roof and food for me and my sister. At one point I remember we had to move into this house behind a liquor store on Placer Street. It was a scary house for a five year old. The front door didn't close all the way. There were already tenants living there and they didn't like the fact that the three of us moved in. They showed their unhappiness by chirping as loud as they could and scurrying about on the floor hoping to scare us out.

We didn't have money for a TV so my entertainment was watching the walking skeletons with wiry hair come and go from the store on the corner. Drinking from a brown bag then coming out with two more. The people living beside of us didn't like each other very much. Often we'd hear them yelling bad words, the kind five year old girls shouldn't say let alone hear. I don't remember any rooms in that house besides the living room. We had no furniture. Only a blow up mattress and a couple of blankets mom managed to collect from co-workers. Mom, my baby sister and me would bundle up together at nighttime trying to keep warm in a room with a front door that never closed all the way. I felt unsafe. My mom cried a lot.

Then suddenly things would got a little bit better. Mom saved up enough money for a security deposit for a fancy apartment complex on Echo Lane. Blue shag carpet, clean white walls and a front door that didn't only close, it locked! I felt safe. Still we didn't have much furniture and we had even less money. My mom was rather creative. She fashioned a beautiful bookcase out of square cement blocks layered with long pieces of wood she brought home from the hardware store where she worked. This bookcase was the only piece of furniture in our living room and it was the altar of our home...many framed snapshots of me and my sister. One with us dressed in matching white and green polka dot jumpers that my mom made. It was more economical for her to make our clothing.

When I was pretty little, I had sudden nose bleeds. It always so scary. That amount of blood pouring non stop from my little nose, soiling everything in site. I was afraid all my blood would leave my body! My first nose bleed was in the blue shag carpet apartment. Thankfully it was dark blue. I thought my nose was drippy with allergies so I wiped it with my sleeve, like any other six year old. However, I became absolutely frantic when I noticed the bright red color all over me and running down my face. I screamed bloody murder! My mom came flying from the kitchen to see her oldest daughter sitting on the floor covered with blood and with terror in her eyes. Panicked, she swooped me up and placed me in the bathtub, constantly yelling over my scared crying, "it's okay, honey. It's okay!" But I didn't believe her. I saw fear in her eyes and that made my cries louder. My poor sister who was three followed us in the the bathroom, saying over and and over again, "what's wrong with sissy? Mommy, what's wrong with sissy?" As you could imagine, it was complete chaos.

All of a sudden there was four people in our tiny apartment bathroom. The neighbor, who we shared an adjoining wall with with us, heard the racket and came right over. He was standing there behind my mom as she leaned over the tub telling me to lay back and keep my nose up to stop the bleeding. I don't remember this man's name and I had never seen him before that night. But he was the nicest and most calming man I've ever met. Tall and handsome, now that I look back and recall. His soft confident voice assured us that everything would be fine. He took a washcloth and ran it under cold water from the sink. Then came over to the tub to relieve my mom of so she could call the family doctor. She left the bathroom to make the call from the kitchen, no cordless phones in every room of the house back then.

Laying there in the cold hard tub looking up at a stranger who was tenderly cradling my head of endless blood-matted blond curls in the palm of his hand gave me a comfort I hadn't experienced until that point in my short life. My body, tensed with fear, slowly began to relax as he used another washcloth to gently wipe away the tears from my eyes. My little sister stood in the door way looking on to make sure I was okay. When he attempted to sit me up blood would again rush from my nose. So, lying me back again, with another washcloth filled with cold water, he showed me how to hold it on my nose, slightly pinching the bridge, evidently slowing the blood flow.

After speaking with the doctor, mom entered the bathroom, now much quieter, filled with knowledge pertaining to my situation. This strange man picked me up, still laying flat to avoid another flood, and with my mom's guidance he placed me on my bed, the top bunk. They propped so many pillows under my neck that I was practically looking at my head board upside down. The salty taste of blood oozed down my throat. It was horrible. He got me a drink of water with a bendy straw so I could sip without having to sit up. The doctor instructed that I lay like this with a cold cloth under my neck and another sopping up any run away seepage from my nose for an hour. I was much calmer, but still scared that something serious must be wrong with me. This man and my mom stood at eye level with my top bunk watching over me. I remember him asking if I knew how to spell Mississippi. I gave it my best shot and came up wrong. I'm not sure my mom could even spell it correctly. He proceeded to help me learn by saying the letters to a catchy little tune. To this day when I hear someone mention that state my thoughts take me back to that very moment..."Miss - iss - ippi" over and over and over again.

This man was a genius. I was so enthralled with my new talent that I had forgotten about why I was laying there flat on my back in the first place. I grew sleepy after all the evening's commotion and I must have fallen off to dreamland.

I don't think I ever saw that calming stranger again. A man who came at just the right time, to bring peace to a frantic situation. Calmly handling me with care and soothing the fears of my mom and little sister. In the midst of my trouble, he distracted me from myself and taught me a new song. I was so comfortable that I fell asleep in his presence.

He was my Jesus.

Forever, Unchanging

2007-08-27T21:40:00.000-04:00

Ebb and flow. Here today - gone tomorrow.
It depends on the mood I am in
or the kind of day I've had.
Sometimes it's shy and distant.
Other times it burns hot like a wild fire-
searing, cleansing and intentional.

But, the ravaging fire turns into a
vulnerable little flame, barely shedding light.
Be careful! Don't stand in the wind!
Stand in the soft breeze, gently
fanning the flame back to health.

Not so with Him. It's not inconsistent.
No! It's always constant, just like the
waves washing on the beach.
Forever in rhythm with His heart,
beautiful song.
Never dependant. Always ready to be received
if we are courageous enough...
Warm, peaceful, forgiving and never ending.
Always transforming, covering past regrets.

It's so far beyond mere mortal expression.
We look right past His offering,
forever seeking it from broken others,
in it's flawed state, never satisfied.
Birthing temporary joy or devastating pain.

But not so with Him.

Open wide your heart
and receive His loving and tender gift.
It's forever, unchanging.

Desert Island

2007-08-21T16:43:00.000-04:00

Desolate, dry, very little life.
Surrounded by acres of water
but no moisture makes it to land.
An island, all alone, drifting.
Drifting because it is not safely
anchored to the Earth like all other islands.
Drifting, lifeless, hot and dry.
No greenery, no waterfalls,
no mountain peaks of snow.
Only dust.
Lonely dust.
Other islands try to welcome the free floating desert, but it chooses to move away,
farther away. Becoming not just lonely,
but all alone.

Observation

2007-08-11T13:06:00.000-04:00

I have just finished a book that took me on an unexpected adventure to places I rarely go. Even though the book is closed, every page read, I can't seem to remove myself from the places my mind wants to take me, places too mysterious for my limited human brain to comprehend. Usually in these moments, I walk away from such thoughts because I can not "figure them out" and that frustrates me. (not the walking away, but the not being able to figure them out.)

But this present mindful adventure is different. It's set me on a journey to think bigger of our God, the Creator of our Universe - filled with super nebula's, never ending black holes and forever blackness of Space. This same God created the gazillion atoms that make up the period at the end of this sentence. How does He do it? He's so mysterious. God is in all of it - the exploding star 4 million light years away AND in the electron's that rotate around the atoms nucleus of the air you just took into your lungs. It all exists because of Him and His non-stop creativity.

We live in a world of four dimensions: Height, Depth, Width, and Time. It's believed that there are up to 11 dimensions. But we mere humans can only detect and live with four of them. What are these other dimensions? Why can't our minds conceive them? What I do know is that God is in them, as He's in everything. It's mysterious.

Sometimes we think we have God figured out. We don't "need" Him anymore because we are in control of the situation. Or we think of Him as too small - like He can't handle our messy daily life with all it's challenges and deadly struggles.

On this forced mental journey this particular book has sent me on, I find myself looking at many aspects of my life differently - that's it! That is it! I spend too much darn time "looking" at my life, my world. With these grand thoughts of our Massively Creative and Wonderful God - I find myself desiring to "experience" my life, my world - with deep sensitivity to His Hand, His Work.

I would like to better understand our God and experience the wonder in it's fullest. But, I can't do that if I'm zooming too fast through the dimension of time and clogging my head with "to do" lists and strategic thoughts about how to afford things I can't afford. This darn book I just completed has me making more room for His Awe, pondering the depths of the space our planet floats along in. It's also challenging me not to look at the simple items of life, such as a paper clip, a kibble of cat food, spilled coffee, or that hard toothpaste that gets stuck on the side of the bathroom sink, as dumb or annoying that eventually leads me to a task. But, instead, for a moment I consider the microscopic atomic particles that make up these items, so small our eyes can not see, and remember that God also created them.

I love thinking abstract thoughts of our God. He's not simple - He Himself is abstract and beyond our capability to understand. He is multidimensional, not flat and boring. He is colorful and creative, that's proved by the natural beauty that speckles our breathtaking Earth. God is not too small to handle my "issues" - He simply asks "can I please have them? I want to fill your soul with deep shalom. I Am your God."

Time-aholic

2007-07-19T20:43:00.000-04:00

It's ironic. The small time keeper on our wrists is called a "watch." Not a wrist clock. But a wrist watch. Maybe it's because we spend so much time watching it as it directs our every waking moment. We spend time watching our wrist watch.

It's July. Wasn't it just Christmas? Time. It is flying past like there is a huge black hole sucking the days away from me. It's scary, actually. I'm 37 years old. What is 37 "years" to God? Does he have a wrist watch and says "oh, it's time for a gentle rain storm" or "Gosh, I'm late in answering that prayer!" Yeah, I doubt it.

God's "beyondness" is unmistakable. Compared to Him, we are so small. His life is eternal, no beginning or end. Ours is fleeting, so brief in time.

Yet in our limitations, we can know Him. He has scattered evidence of His magnificence throughout the universe, in the heights of the heavens and the invisible depths of the atom.

I find that when I ponder the vastness of our universe and the beauty that it holds or the microscopic world of protons and electrons, the idea of "time" as we humans know it, leaves my mind for a brief moment. And then I feel relief. Until the alarm beeps on my Palm Pilot reminding me of an appointment I must attend. Time. We are never free from it's pull, it's constraints. We say we want to be closer to Jesus, but we have a hard time "finding time" to spend with Him. How do you find time? Like it's lost or something. No, for me, I waist time.

I need to be a better steward of my days. Each of us oxygen sucking pile of skin and bones is given a limited amount of life on this planet. How are we living it? And we try to so hard to fight the affects of time; cover the grey hair, apply special lotions and emollients to fill in the gaping crevices on our face, eat Centrum Silver to chemically keep our bodies feeling as young as possible, buy a sports car or seek a relationship with a much younger person in order to "feel" young. We humans are down right crazy!

We spend so much time watching our watches, attempting to find time, or discovering ways to run away from the affects of time. This really has me thinking about how I fill up my each and every day, week after week, month after month, year after year. How much of it is leaving a positive imprint on those around me? How much of it is dedicated to deepening a relationship with the Eternal One who knows no time? We are but a mere blip on the eternal "time line." The way I live my life on earth will have an affect on heaven's eternity. That is a deep thought, one that I must think long and hard about...

I'll end with His words from Ecclesiastes 3:11

"God has made everything beautiful for it's own time, He as planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end."

Dear God, I long to live fully into the days you've given me. I don't want to make excuses. Help me to think outside the limitations of the human timeline and to be more aware of Your Eternal presence as I move about on this planet. You will call me out of the realm of time one day and ask me to enter your eternity. But until that day comes, Lord, I desire to love more fully, to approach my use of time wisely and to experience the world you created with wonder and awe. The God who Was, who Is and who will always Be. Amen.

Little Word~Big Meaning

2007-07-10T20:39:00.000-04:00

Seems that when I travel far distances I come home with a word or phrase that runs through my mind like a news ticker on the bottom the CNN television screen. Repeating over and over just as a tragedy is covered by the media and you just can't seem to get away from it.

My two weeks in California with my family was a great time of connection, sharing and exploration. While there I had some big questions for God regarding an area of my life which I feel He implanted me with a holy passion. He was very quiet.

Then I came home. I kept thinking of the questions I was asking God while in California and wondering what to think of His silence. Then a word, small at first, quiet, unobtrusive, was lingering in the shadows of my mind. I began to notice it's growing presence. Finally I stopped, acknowledged it and asked God if this was from Him...The powerful word: reThink.

God what do you mean? reThink what exactly? I sat with this word for a few days as it held me hostage. The ticker tape scrolling along endlessly: reThink ~ reThink ~ reThink.

David and I loved visiting my family and fell in love with the beauty of the northern California coastline. He hopes we can make it out there once a year. We could do that, if we would reThink the way we spend money.

I have some friends I rarely get to spend time with. I miss them, their laughter and the wisdom they infuse into me. I wish I had more time to hang out. We could if I would reThink how I use my limited time.

High cholesterol runs deep in my paternal family line. So it was no surprise when my doctor told me that mine was well over 220. Thankfully my good cholesterol is so high that it off sets the badness of my bad cholesterol. But, my doctor said, I must keep eating smart and continue regular exercise in order to keep the ratios in the "good" zone. So, I need to reThink my eating and activity patterns. (They've gotten a little sloppy since my vacation.)

Back to these big questions I had for God regarding this holy passion He's set into my heart. Yup, the direction I was moving with it, well I feel He's suggesting I reThink that too. The passion is, in the context of community, help people discover the creativity God planted in every person, encourage development of this Divine gift and cheer them on as they meet God in a new dimension while they move out into the world with what they create. I feel God say don't steer this passion away from the church. But instead, reThink it. Direct this passion towards and into the church. And just the other day, He's givien me opportunities to implement this vision at Living Word!

reThink. Seven perfectly lined up letters with much power to change the world. At least, my little world. And God speaks again. One tiny word with so much meaning. reThink. So now when I have thoughts about anything, I stop and think again. Being more aware of His guidance I plan to move with Him instead of moving on my own.

What would God be asking you to reThink? Or is there a different word that keeps bouncing around the hallows of your mind? A word that maybe should have your attention...

Mr. Riggins & God

2007-07-09T20:20:00.000-04:00

I moved a lot as a child. I mean a lot. For instance, between the day I was born and the day I graduated High School my family lived in 37 different houses. I went to countless elementary schools and finally four high schools. No, my dad was not in the military. No, my family was not in the witness protection program. For whatever reason, which remains a mystery to me today, we moved a lot.

I have vivid memories of a particular house that was located on the corner of Glenwood Drive and a busy California state highway. I remember this house well because we suffered a brush fire behind and on the side of our house one hot dry summer. As a young girl, being the oldest of 6 kids and in charge of them while my parents worked, seeing red flashing movement through my baby brothers race car bedroom curtains scared me to death. (We all got out of the house safely and had no damage either.) I also remember the hordes of neighborhood kids that congregated on our little cement front porch. This was the cool place to hang out. Seriously, it was cool. It was always shaded and in the 100+ degree days, there was no other porch you'd want to sit on.

Down the street about 6 houses and on the same side as our house there lived a tall old man with rich black hair. I'm sure he must have used Grecian Formula. This man seemed really old to me! (However, I wonder if he wasn't my age now.). Mr. Riggins. I can't remember if he had a wife or kids. But he was a nice old guy who always invited me and the other neighborhood hoodlums - um, I mean kids, over for cold lemonade and cookies. This was his "hook" to keep us there while he read from a dusty old book...something called The Bible.

All the kids thought Mr. Riggins was a nerd but they really liked the lemonade on those hot California days. They would be nice to him while we were in his house then as soon as his door would shut behind us, they would call him names and say mean things about his "religion." I played along so my friends didn't think I was a nerd too.

Most of the time the things that Mr. Riggins read from the Bible seemed really interesting to me and I actually wanted to ask questions. But that would be signing my death certificate if my friends caught wind of this. So, I began to sneak down to the Riggins' house without my friends so that I could have total freedom to pick this man's mind and learn more about God. Mr. Riggins became a great teacher to me and naturally I was devastated when I overheard my parents talking in our living room about beginning the search for a new home. I told Mr. Riggins of our pending move - he saw how upset I was and asked me if I've ever prayed. I hadn't really other than praying I'd find a brand new portable cassette player/recorder under the Christmas tree that year. Mr. Riggins explained that Jesus really wanted me to talk with Him through prayer...to tell him that I was upset, sad and confused. "God why do we have to move all the time? I feel like luggage. Why unpack? Making friends and then leaving them hurts so much!" Mr. Riggins explained to me how to talk with God. He also showed me the Lord's Prayer in the Bible and I loved that! I worked so hard to memorize it and there would never be a night that I didn't say that prayer before my eyes fell to slumber.

The day came. The big move. Lots of family over to help load up every pick-up truck and van within a 10 mile radius. Off to a new house, new school, new friends...again. Before we said our final good bye to Glenwood Drive I asked my mom if she could drive me down to Mr. Riggins house so I could say good bye to him too. As I got out of our rusty little car and sadly approached his front door I was surprised when he opened it before I even had time to knock. In his hands were a portable bottle filled with his famous lemonade and a small container of cookies. He smiled at me and I smiled back, his kindness was overwhelming, even to a young girl. I told him that I'd miss our times talking about the Bible and all it's characters, especially God and His son, Jesus. Just then, from no where, he suddenly had a Bible in his hand. Slowly and surely he held it out in front of me and said, "DeAnn, keep asking questions, take this Bible and continue to read the story, the greatest story ever told." My very own Bible? I couldn't believe it! Wow and it's from Mr. Riggins - my great teacher. I didn't know what to say. I can only hope that I said thank you.

So, off to a new house, new school, new neighborhood - but this time with my own Bible and with the know-how on praying. God was tracking with me even when I was a little girl. He put Mr. Riggins on Glenwood Drive knowing that my parents would move our family there. God wanted me to meet Mr. Riggins. And through my times with him, I met God.

I never saw Mr. Riggins after that day. But I've thought of him thousands of times over the years. And I think he'd be happy to know that God used him significantly to reveal Himself to me. And that I still have the Bible he gave me, my very first Bible.

Thinking is Dangerous

2007-07-06T20:02:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking...can a person be both Lazy and a Super Achiever at the same time?

Let's define "lazy" ~ unwilling to do any work or make an effort. Encarta Dictionary of North America.

Now let's define "achiever" (and we'll just add super ourselves) ~ somebody who is successful and motivated to go on being successful. Encarta Dictionary of North America.

These words seem to be polar opposites. How can you be both? It's funny, I sometimes feel that I am both. For example, I become passionate about something and I move forward full force. Then after a while I get tired, loose interest or something then become what I feel is lazy. This is a character trait that drives me mad. I'll have a whole day to myself and dream up all kinds of cool things I want to do (run, paint, write, read) then reality hits - I see the pile of dishes in my sink and the basket filled with dirty clothes and carpets that need to be vacuumed. So, I choose to do the chores instead of doing the things I wanted to do - being creative.

Then I get bummed and with that comes the sensation of laziness. It's such a strange cycle. Life happens and we must be there to tidy up. But I am still searching for the balance between my normal duties as a mom/wife and allowing the creative artist in me to emerge and develop.

So, I'm going to conduct an experiment - no more housework for me! I'll swing the pendulum far to the other direction and see how that works. I will commit to acknowledge my creativity and instead of folding laundry I'll create. And I'm not talking about creating a nicely stacked pile of folded clothes. I've said NO to my creative right brain long enough. Laziness will no longer be an excuse. I am going for a run right after I the grocery store...

One Saturday Morning

2007-07-01T08:29:00.000-04:00

We take so much time pulling the annoying little dandelions and other various weeds from our flowerbeds and lawn. Yes, they are called "flowerbeds" but some flowers are not welcome there. WE choose the flowers we want displayed proudly in front of our house...Black Eyed Susan's, Coral Bells, Lupins, Daisy's but NOT Queen Anne's lace (it's a tall weed). Not the micro sized daisy like weed either, or the purple flower weed. We don't want them! They mess up our plan! They uglify our glorious gardens!!! Aren't weeds one way the evil one likes to mess with us?

I was on a much needed walk/run yesterday morning. I used to run several times a week but have gotten out of the habit. It was so pretty outside yesterday morning and I had time (and the conviction) so I donned my Asics running shoes and hit the macadam. It was such a great feeling to be outside doing something I really enjoy. Running always is a time of connection with God for me. I rarely, if ever, plug my ears with Earbuds, because I want that time on the road to be a conversation between me and God. Yesterday was no different. I've keep my life so busy as of late that I don't run = I don't have those wonderful conversations with my Maker. I miss that. I have to think, He does too.

Being so out of shape, I stopped to walk up this LONG uphill grade. Honestly, even when fit, I can't run the whole thing! It's a beautiful hill - which by walking it I can fully take in all it's wonder and awe. To my left was a field of healthy corn. Have you ever heard the music the breeze creates as it rushes over the thousand's of broad leaves that make up the average cornstalk filled field? It's a new sound I discovered yesterday - a sound I never knew existed. I thanked God for that audible gift.

There was a patch of land between the corn field and the macadam road - oh, about 5 feel wide or so. It was a glorious flowerbed!!! Multiple shades of purple, yellow, pink and white. So many different textures and dimensions. I was in awe by the way these innocent well placed flowers were dancing in the morning's cool breeze. I had to stop once again on the side of the road just to listen to their song. I loved this flowerbed - it's wild simplicity gave me such peace. Wildflowers. Also known as "weeds." A whole flowerbed along side a country road planted by the Master Gardner and it was the most amazing flowerbed I've ever seen. There must have been a gazillion wildflowers swaying together keeping the rhythm of His breath. I was surely in awe. I thanked God again, for this visual gift.

Why do we try so hard to keep wildflowers from OUR flowerbeds? Those ugly and pesky little tyrants. One here, two there. AAAGH! People buy chemicals to kill the buggers! But, when there is a whole field of them - we are moved by their simple beauty...strange huh?

Pictures From Our 2005 Trip

2007-06-09T15:58:00.000-04:00

Tyler and Evan in the back seat of my brother's airplane!

Tyler and Evan messing around when I was trying to get a nice picture with them in front of the pretty flowers.

Evan with big carving from a redwood tree in the Redwood National Forest.

Beautiful Northern California coast line - somewhere around Eureka, CA.

(see post just below this post - they kinda go together)

Heading West

2007-06-09T15:25:00.000-04:00

In two days we fly to Reno, Nevada. We'll rent a car and drive over the Sierra Nevada Mt. range into northern California. We'll arrive in the quaint mountain town of Grass Valley. Sounds like a nice place, huh? Well, it is. My brother and sister-in-law live there.

My mind races to the great memories we'll make while on this two week trip to my old stomping grounds. (we: me, my husband and two boys). The place where I grew up, well, kinda. Redding, California. I moved to Pennsylvania 17 years ago this month. I was so very young. Many people ask me "how the heck did you end up here from California? And WHY?" That is a story for another post...but what I'd like to think about right now is my half filled suitcase laying on the floor in front of me.

I'm attempting to share a suitcase with my husband. I've left him half of it - my half is already fat and bloated. I look at it right now and wonder if I need all those clothes? It's so freaking HOT in Redding, I won't need to wear much, so why pack all that stuff? Shirts/tanks: CHECK. Shorts: CHECK. Undies: CHECK. Bathing Suit: CHECK. One pair of pants and sweatshirt, just in case: CHECK. And that overfills my share of the suitcase.

I don't get to see my family very often. However, I was blessed to have taken my boys out there in 2005 for a nice visit. This year, it's the Smith Family Reunion. (Yes, my maiden name is Smith). This time me and the boys are bringing my husband for the first time! Should be great fun.

Why bring all those clothes? My family is not excited about seeing my clothes. They are excited to see me! And David. And Tyler. And Evan. Maybe I think they'll be impressed with my clothing choices from Target and Bon Ton. Or with the few pounds I've lost since I was out to visit last. Vanity, I tell you. I'm so vain!

God doesn't really care about our clothes. He doesn't care much for any of the stuff we have, really. He cares about what the human eye can not see...our heart. The person within. The love and character we have. I should be more concerned about my inside appearance than my outside appearance. It's the inside, the heart, that matter most - no matter what I'm wearing.

Back to my suitcase. Maybe I should do some unpacking of "stuff" and spend more time packing my soul with things of God: prayer, silence, loving others, kindness, honesty, laughter, hugs, a well placed smile, gentleness, and humility.

I can't wait to see my California family - I can't wait for them to see my boys and how they've up in two summers. I can't wait to introduce my husband to the city I have fond memories of. I can't wait to hug my grams. I can only hope that my California family notices Jesus in me more than they notice my clothing. Which will I "wear" more proudly???

How Much is Enough?

2007-05-24T08:26:00.000-04:00

Faith. How much is enough?

I was reading the story in Acts 3 of the crippled man who was a professional beggar at the Temple Gate, the one called Beautiful. Everyday someone carried him from his home (?) to this Temple Gate so that he could ask for handouts from those entering the Temple. This man, crippled from birth, didn't sit outside the local Jerusalem Wal-Mart to beg the shoppers. No, he asked to be taken to the Temple. The Temple.

One day while sitting there, Peter and John came walking through the Beautiful Gate on their way to morning prayers in the Temple. The little crippled beggar saw them coming and held out his hand asking for change. He got change alright. But not the kind he was used to. Instead of receiving a few coins from a passerby, this time the crippled man received a greater gift. Peter and John, through the power of the Holy Spirit, gave him a big change - the ability to walk!

Now, I'd have to imagine that the crippled beggar was a bit surprised by this gift! He was thinking a few coins but they gave him what he really needed and what he wanted deep down in his heart. Something the beggar probably never thought about asking for because it would be impossible to get. "Why ask for things that I know are impossible to have?" could have been the beggars thought, "so I'll simply ask for change from men so that I can live day to day, that's realistic."

Or maybe this beggar had faith deep down but felt stupid asking for such a miracle? We'll never know that. But what we do know is that because of some level of faith - the man received a life change. He would no longer be dependant of others to haul him around so that he could "make a living." Now he could find work, make his own money, support himself...and even contribute to other beggars who sit at the Temple Gates. In an instant, he was no longer a beggar. He was a changed man with a new identity.

Faith led to receiving change. In many ways, I am like this crippled beggar - asking for simple change so that I can get through the daily grind of life. But, deep in my heart is there more that I long for? Something that I think "why ask it because it seems impossible." Could I consider that God desires me to have that impossible thing? But because I don't have enough faith, I won't receive it? "Oh ye of little faith..." rings though my mind right before I hear "nothing is impossible with God."

The Scriptures say that Peter, John and the previously crippled man walked together into the Temple where the man danced back and forth singing praises to God. People noticed that this was the crippled beggar and were astounded with what their eyes were seeing. Then they, too, broke out into dance in honor of God's goodness. It's contagious!!! As this man entered into major change in his life, he was not alone. The gift givers walked with him. How comforting is that!?

I'm at a place in life where a silly dream that's been brewing deep in my soul is emerging though the prompting of the Holy Spirit. A change is coming - and it's not just simple change. It's exciting but fear of the unknown seems to be the stronger emotion. Why can't I freely dance and praise God and trust Him as I walk this journey with Him, just as the crippled man did? Where was his fear? Where was his anxiety of how life would look after receiving the ability to walk?

How much faith is enough? Obviously, I could use a little boost in the faith department. God knows this and has been so gracious to not just walk with me in this time, but take me by the hand, assuring me I'm okay and that He'll not leave my side. I believe He wants to see me dance with joy, praising Him so that others see it and will praise Him as well!

God, I hope I'm not hurting Your heavenly hand with the tight grip I have on it. This time I will not chicken out - but please keep infusing me with faith and courage so that I stay in step with You, move with You, together - on this exciting journey of change. You never cease to amaze me. Your love and grace are evident and I'm overwhelmed by Your goodness. Thank you for leading me into the unknown. May I find comfort because I know my tiny fragile hand is gently held by Yours.

Silly God

2007-05-20T19:10:00.000-04:00

Today I was bored so I decided to look at the books that I've collected over the years. (which are now collecting dust on the bookcase.) One caught my eye, "Inspiration Sandwich" is it's title. The cover was once vivid in color but due to it's age, it's now faded and nondescript. I pulled this book off the shelf and it opened naturally to a page where laid a paper. A bookmark that once was a receipt from a catalog purchase - dated October 11, 1995. I vaguely remember the day I bought this book and the feeling I had then came rushing back to me again today as I held this little paperback in my hands.

I had to chuckle at God. "Inspiration Sandwich" is a book to inspire - a book to unleash the creative self. Right now where I am in life, I thought, how ironic is this? God has been trying to tell me something for well over 12 years and I just keep ignoring Him or look the other way. Why? Can't I accept the fact that I have a creative vein in me that was there at birth and continues to grow through my adult life? Why do I cram it down and say it's not there? What am I afraid of?

It seems pompous to say "I'm an artist." The cultural world view of the artist is one of fame, fortune, super talented or insanely crazy with wild hair and bare feet. Well, I don't really want to be associated with any of those descriptions. Therefore, I'm not an artist. (However, I do have wild hair...another gift from God?)

Now, do I really believe this? That I'm not an artist. Not for one micro second. What is an artist? Hum...well we can talk for hours about that! Well, I could anyhow, if you were so bored to listen. The deal is, I'm an artist. You are an artist. How will you respond to that?

Okay, back to God being silly. He's been pointing me in a particular direction for so many years and I'm just now starting to connect the dots to see the beginning of an image being created right before my eyes. He's also been incredibly patient with me! So now the big questions is HOW WILL I RESPOND TO GOD'S DIRECTION? The answer is simply put but challenging to carry out: Move With Him.

Okay, I Did It...

2007-05-14T15:52:00.000-04:00

For several months I’ve been collecting acrylic paints, canvases and brushes. I even purchased a table top easel and a painting pallet. These items have been collecting dust in the corner of our dining room. The excuse I use for not painting is I have no room. Sure, I could set everything up on my dining table but where would we eat?

This weekend my husband and boys were away and I had the whole house to myself from Friday morning to Sunday afternoon. It was lovely. Saturday I got up and had “paint” on my Wish I Would Do List. It was towards the bottom. A few months ago I traveled to Israel and while there God implanted an image in my heart, in words it would be “move with God.” I see the image and have desired to paint it for some time. Saturday - I had the opportunity, no cooking meant no need for the dining room table.

A bit reluctantly I set up my easel, got out my paints, pallet and brushes. Then I walked away from it, scared to death of that screaming white canvas. I see the image in my mind as clear as day – but how do I get it out? I stared blankly at the canvas - I didn’t know where to begin. I grew frustrated. So, I sat down and turned on the TV. From my sofa I could see the canvas sitting quietly and patiently there on the easel – watching my every move. I tried to ignore it. Fear of everything hindered me from creating an expression from God.

Finally, I got up, walked over and said “FINE! I’ll paint!” I squirted some pale yellow paint on my pallet then mixed it with white and slathered it over the entire canvas. “Oh, that felt kinda good” I thought to myself, “now what?” I gravitated towards shades of green then painted a swirly line from one corner diagonally to the opposite corner, this dark green line represented God. I filled a narrower brush with a pretty apple green color and created a companion line right next to the God line. This apple green line represented me, how close I want to be with God and to move with Him all the time.

“What’s next?” That’s all God gave me to see. “But there must be more!” The canvas looked empty. So, I painted with blues: big circles and little circles on the upper diagonal half. They represented my dreams and hopes, but I didn’t really like it. What I painted on the lower diagonal half was even worse! I couldn’t stand this painting! Back to the sofa and a funny movie in hopes of finding laughter, which I really needed at that point. “Why did I spend all this money on painting stuff when I can’t stand it?” was the only thought in my mind. “I hate painting! I’m not cut out for this.”

The movie was stupid, which I believe was God’s plan so that I’d return to the canvas. I tried three different ways to cover up the ugliness of my painting but I just wasn’t feeling it. “Move with God” was not being accurately displayed through my art. However, I kept at it, more determined than ever. I painted carefully and decided that it wasn’t so bad, even though it’s not really what I feel it should be. But, someone may like my painting…maybe?

The next morning when I came down the stairs in search for coffee, I was aptly greeted by my painting. “Oh, my, I can’t give up my day job!” Early that afternoon my husband came home and saw my art on the table and said “oh, this is your painting?” Ahh, yeah! I explained to him that I wasn’t happy with it because it was not what I see in my mind. It was such a struggle for me – painting this piece. All my fears came true – it’s crap, no one will like it, people will laugh.

Well, that’s when it hit me…right there sitting on the dining room floor processing this with my husband. “deAnn, this painting is not for just anyone. It’s for you. You are the only audience,” it was like a news ticker tape crossing the bottom on my mind and it was an urgent message from God.

What I realized was it’s not about the finished project. But it’s about what I learned through the creative process. My fear of painting, to explore a realm of creativity that is foreign, inhibited me from expressing what was deep inside my heart. I painted what I thought other people would want to see or would think was nice. That did not settle well in my soul. My painting was too clean, too nice, to edited. It’s not messy and real like the image that still lingers in my heart and cries to be released - this is the painting I need to create! This painting would not include the use of brushes…but my fingers and hands instead. And when I imagine letting go to paint from my heart like that - I sense freedom and pleasure in the most divinely intimate of ways!

So, now back to the canvas to paint from my true self that image God placed in my heart while in Israel: move with God. Now I’m excited to create! The chains of bondage have been released – true art can emerge from my soul and I can’t wait to see what God teaches me through that experience. Discovering and developing creativity from the true self is found through the process, what you learn about God and about yourself. It’s not so much about the final product. I believe that if you let go, travel deep into your soul and find the artist within – the final product will be one of amazing beauty and other people may see that beauty too ~ that picture into your soul.

I'll begin my true painting very soon then I'll post the 2 paintings together and we can see how they differ...continuing the artistic adventure...

Creating Without Fear

2007-05-12T15:23:00.000-04:00

Love this book we're reading by Brenda Ueland, "If You Want To Write." She encourages us to work at our writing or whatever creative thing we like to do. Our culture tells us that duty comes first. But I'm exploring Brenda's thoughts as her words penetrate my heart and make a home in my soul. She says:

"Duty should be a by-product. Writing, the creative effort, the use of imagination, should come first, at least for some part of everyday of your life. It is a wonderful blessing if you will use it. You will become a happier, more enlightened, alive, impassioned, light-hearted and generous to everybody else. Even your health will improve. Cold will disappear and all the other ailments of discouragement and boredom."

I'm feeling a bit of creative constipation these days. Know what I mean? You desire to create something, anything, but a force holds you back. This is silly, but I have a pile of canvases of all sizes leaning against a wall in my dinning room. I've begun quite a nice collection of colorful paints and all kinds of brushes. It's all there. Waiting for me. Calling to me. I ignore it. WHY? What's holding me back? Well, maybe the fact that I've never painted outside of elementary school art class. What if my painting is horrible? What if people laugh? What if I laugh? Really, I have to ask myself, what would be so bad about that?

In hear in the back of my mind a tiny quiet voice, "deAnn, create. Just sit before the canvas. Allow Me to move your hands and guide your color choices. It will be beautiful, I promise. Relax. Leave your fear aside and create because you are My creation."Okay, despite the scariness, I'm going to log off, give in to The Voice and see where He takes me...

Keep On Keeping On

2007-05-12T13:43:00.000-04:00

This morning I decided to take advantage of its beauty - so I loaded my cross bike onto the roof rack of my car and headed West towards Brillhart Station. Riding is therapy for me. Usually it's a time for reflection, prayer, and being in awe of the many shades of green that cover the landscape this time of year. This morning was no different. As I traded in four wheels for two, I began my journey pedaling through the cool dewy air. I forgot to mention that I subscribed to a podcast from Mars Hill Bible Church of Grand Rapids - so with my earbuds buried deep in my ears, I listened to Rob Bell's sermon from last Sunday as I traveled south on the Heritage Rail Trail. The sermon was really challenging to me. I wanted to fully take in every word and discover their meaning and find application for them in my life. Well, in focusing so intently I realized I was a dangerous woman who was moving rather fast on a gravel path. I noticed, because of my concentration on the sermon, I pretty much had fixed my eyes on the ground about 6 feet ahead of my front tire. This is not good. When riding a bike, kayaking, driving, snowboarding, what have you, your eyes should be constantly glancing ahead to see what is coming BEFORE it's 6 feet in front of you...maybe to notice a young man zig zagging his rusty bike across the path without thinking anyone else may be using the rail trail today. He enters into my 6 foot zone and I freak - grabbed for my rear brake and skidded sideways for what seemed like eternity. It's a mystery that I didn't cream that young man or even fall in the midst trying to avoid him. I think I scared him (and the others sitting on a near by bench taking a rest from pedaling) more than anything.

So I got to thinking about this...there are the people, maybe the super ambitious, that strain their eyes trying to see what's coming way down the pike, rarely, if ever, looking right in front of them. They miss the suicidal squirrels playing frogger on the rail trail, hit the poor thing and get thrown from their journey. Then you have people who, maybe due to fear or lack of confidence, fix their eyes just a few feet ahead. These people are dangerously surprised by the large obstacle that's in the path 14 feet in front. If they'd only looked up they would have seen it and could have gone around it, if possible. Or stop, get off and figure out how to navigate through it. I learned today that a healthy balance between looking right in front of me and looking ahead is the best (and safest) way to journey. I never want to run ahead of God or keep my eyes down, afraid to see what's coming. I want to move with God - at His pace with confidence that He'll lead me and help me figure travel the path ahead. I'm not saying there will never be surprise squirrels that cause me to fall. But if I do fall, when journeying with God and others in community, I will have hands of grace offered to me. They will lift me up, place me back on my bike and give me a nice big push to get moving again.