LET GO FAITH
My parents named me Donna Faye. My Mother shared with me time and time again how she decided to call me Donna. She was awakened in the middle of the night with a jolt and heard the name Donna. My Dad chose Faye. It’s comforting to me to know that my name means Lady (of) Faith.
We’re told to have faith in God, in each other, and in ourselves. But, are we ever told it’s ok not to have enough faith? I had never experienced how not having enough faith could be in my best until it happened for me.
The financial pressure had eased. My youngest child, Kristin, had graduated from high school and was headed to college. The other two kids were working and paying their own way. My job had grown monotonous. The fact is, I didn’t want to work.
My husband who can logically think about what is happening gave me advice I had never heard before. The conversation went like this:
“Jim, I’m tired of getting up every day and going to work. But, I feel like I can’t quit.”
“Then don’t. If it was meant for you to quit the assurance to stop would be there. If it’s not there, then don’t quit.”
The entire spring and summer I pushed my self to make my way to the desk that had been my workplace for 11 years.
When August rolled around Kristin packed her car and headed off to college. That Thursday morning I stood on the front porch and waved goodbye as she headed off to Texas to further her education.
The next Tuesday morning a memo circulated in the office. The company had been acquired and I was informed my job would be eliminated.
The company offered a severance package. I received 16 weeks of full pay and 6 months of unemployment. Thanks to government funding and my circumstances I was offered the opportunity to go back to college. I was female, over 40, had two dependents who were full time college students, and my job had been eliminated.
Had I quit the job I would’ve missed out on the college experience and degree.
I have since coined the phrase “let go faith.” It’s part of life and its changes. I try to practice let go faith as midnight approaches. I know the day is gone, but a new one is about to make its entrance. The day ahead might be similar, better, or worse, but the day before is gone.
There are days I wish I could have again, but there are days that I ‘m glad are gone and never to return.
Enjoy each day as if it were your last. Know that He who is in control of our days knew what He was doing when He made time just and believe in a let go faith.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Advice
Advice
I have learned a few things in my days of traveling upon life’s highway. I wish I could say I don’t have regret, but that isn’t a true statement. There are times when I have asked for advice when my understanding of present circumstances were beyond my ability to make heads or tails of what was taking place. What will frustrate my sanity is when my brain is in working order, I understand the reason(s) for the present issue and all those who within calling distance are determined to tell me how to survive or how to make the road I have to travel a perfect lane.
I have taught myself the ability to accept both kinds of information with a smile and a promise to myself that I will remember not to forward any gesture of information unless asked.
I have shared my opinion a few times. Did the recipient of my advice want to hear what I had to say? I’m not sure. I hope so. Several have told me, “Thanks, Donna. Your advice helped me get the rough spots in dealing with day to day life.
That’s why I am writing my take on advice. I made it through the rough times with words of wisdom I consider to be sent from God.
Today as you read my collection of words I hope you heed what I have to say. Use it to get you through hard times.
I have learned a few things in my days of traveling upon life’s highway. I wish I could say I don’t have regret, but that isn’t a true statement. There are times when I have asked for advice when my understanding of present circumstances were beyond my ability to make heads or tails of what was taking place. What will frustrate my sanity is when my brain is in working order, I understand the reason(s) for the present issue and all those who within calling distance are determined to tell me how to survive or how to make the road I have to travel a perfect lane.
I have taught myself the ability to accept both kinds of information with a smile and a promise to myself that I will remember not to forward any gesture of information unless asked.
I have shared my opinion a few times. Did the recipient of my advice want to hear what I had to say? I’m not sure. I hope so. Several have told me, “Thanks, Donna. Your advice helped me get the rough spots in dealing with day to day life.
That’s why I am writing my take on advice. I made it through the rough times with words of wisdom I consider to be sent from God.
Today as you read my collection of words I hope you heed what I have to say. Use it to get you through hard times.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Kevin Costner in the Bodygaurd Lookalike Haircut
Ben doesn’t say much, and when he does speak it is a reflection of his warped sense of humor.
The one feature that will spark comments is his hair. It’s a beautiful shade of dark auburn that can’t be mixed in a bottle. When he was a toddler I didn’t cut it short. I couldn’t understand looking at beautiful curls laying on the floor when they looked so good on his head.
He didn’t have any hair until he passed birthday number two. The front of his hair wasn’t cut until he was in kindergarten. Now he has more hair than his two siblings put together.
It was during his first year as a teenager he came to me on a hot, humid summer day and asked, “Mom, can we cut my curls off. They’re too hot.”. I knew then it was time to let him decide how he wanted his hair.
With my trusty shears and clippers I snipped and buzzed until he looked like a young man ready to face the world.
The change in his appearance drew a favorable response. He decided to keep it short, not because everybody like it, but because of the convenience of not having to comb it.
It was a week before I was scheduled to have foot surgery. I was diligently working to have all things I order. Cutting everyone’s hair was a priority. Momma’s intention was to stand as little as possible during the recovery of my left foot’s excision. As I stated before, Ben has lots of hair. With the old clippers I would buzz the back of Ben’s head twice in order to have the hair the right length. When I buzzed the back with the new clippers I discovered I didn’t need to do it again.
Once was more than adequate and I had taken of way too much hair.
I tried to match the sides with the back and top. To my surprise Ben was shorn almost to skin.
“Mom,” what did you to do him?” That was Josh’s reaction.
“Mom, he’s as sensitive about his looks as we are.” That came from Kristin’s observation of her now buzzed brother.
Tears began to stream down my cheeks. I was afraid I was going to be hated by the entire household. The reason being a set of hair clippers that were sharp.
“It looks stupid.” This was his reaction at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. As he rubbed his head he ran from the bathroom to his bedroom. KABOOM was the next sound we heard. He had kicked his door open instead of the preferred method of turning the doorknob. He jumped in his bed and covered his head.
I was distraught. “Ben, Momma is so sorry. Please forgive me. I wouldn’t do anything in this world to hurt you.
Ben’s choice of “game” is football. His position on the High School Football team was wide receiver.
The next morning when it came time to go to school, he didn’t want to go. I didn’t have the heart to make him go. I was the reason for the drastic change in his appearance. I knew it would be the focus of everyone’s conversation.
In my mind I could visualize, “Ben, who did that to you?”
Ben with his disgruntled voice would say, “My Mom.”
Again the I would hear. “Is she supposed to know how to cut hair?
“She’s supposed to do.”
When the next day arrived Ben jumped out of bed, got dressed and made his way to the bus stop.
This was the day of the last football game of the season.
As I walked in the door after working all day, I arrived home to find Ben grinning from ear to ear.
“Mom, all the football players rubbed my head for good. They told me I look like Kevin Costner in the “Bodyguard.”
That made it ok. His peers thought it was cool and the team won their football game.
Ben’s curls are still gone. He keeps his hair short. Again he keeps it short for convenience and to conform to Uncle Sam’s requirements for the military.
I now wonder if Kevin Costner will ever know what an impact he had on a young man because of a pair of hair clippers that were sharp.
The one feature that will spark comments is his hair. It’s a beautiful shade of dark auburn that can’t be mixed in a bottle. When he was a toddler I didn’t cut it short. I couldn’t understand looking at beautiful curls laying on the floor when they looked so good on his head.
He didn’t have any hair until he passed birthday number two. The front of his hair wasn’t cut until he was in kindergarten. Now he has more hair than his two siblings put together.
It was during his first year as a teenager he came to me on a hot, humid summer day and asked, “Mom, can we cut my curls off. They’re too hot.”. I knew then it was time to let him decide how he wanted his hair.
With my trusty shears and clippers I snipped and buzzed until he looked like a young man ready to face the world.
The change in his appearance drew a favorable response. He decided to keep it short, not because everybody like it, but because of the convenience of not having to comb it.
It was a week before I was scheduled to have foot surgery. I was diligently working to have all things I order. Cutting everyone’s hair was a priority. Momma’s intention was to stand as little as possible during the recovery of my left foot’s excision. As I stated before, Ben has lots of hair. With the old clippers I would buzz the back of Ben’s head twice in order to have the hair the right length. When I buzzed the back with the new clippers I discovered I didn’t need to do it again.
Once was more than adequate and I had taken of way too much hair.
I tried to match the sides with the back and top. To my surprise Ben was shorn almost to skin.
“Mom,” what did you to do him?” That was Josh’s reaction.
“Mom, he’s as sensitive about his looks as we are.” That came from Kristin’s observation of her now buzzed brother.
Tears began to stream down my cheeks. I was afraid I was going to be hated by the entire household. The reason being a set of hair clippers that were sharp.
“It looks stupid.” This was his reaction at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. As he rubbed his head he ran from the bathroom to his bedroom. KABOOM was the next sound we heard. He had kicked his door open instead of the preferred method of turning the doorknob. He jumped in his bed and covered his head.
I was distraught. “Ben, Momma is so sorry. Please forgive me. I wouldn’t do anything in this world to hurt you.
Ben’s choice of “game” is football. His position on the High School Football team was wide receiver.
The next morning when it came time to go to school, he didn’t want to go. I didn’t have the heart to make him go. I was the reason for the drastic change in his appearance. I knew it would be the focus of everyone’s conversation.
In my mind I could visualize, “Ben, who did that to you?”
Ben with his disgruntled voice would say, “My Mom.”
Again the I would hear. “Is she supposed to know how to cut hair?
“She’s supposed to do.”
When the next day arrived Ben jumped out of bed, got dressed and made his way to the bus stop.
This was the day of the last football game of the season.
As I walked in the door after working all day, I arrived home to find Ben grinning from ear to ear.
“Mom, all the football players rubbed my head for good. They told me I look like Kevin Costner in the “Bodyguard.”
That made it ok. His peers thought it was cool and the team won their football game.
Ben’s curls are still gone. He keeps his hair short. Again he keeps it short for convenience and to conform to Uncle Sam’s requirements for the military.
I now wonder if Kevin Costner will ever know what an impact he had on a young man because of a pair of hair clippers that were sharp.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
50% Off Clearance Price
Shopping, it is a more than a necessary evil these days. Along with purchasing the necessary items needed to be fed, clothed, and warm, it is a hobby enjoyed by the vast majority of the population.
Modern day retailers are more than willing to make our shopping trips a pleasant experience. At the same time the retailers will take that hard earned money and reinvest in advertising campaigns to get you to come back and shop again.
One of the challenges for the seasoned shopper is to find a bargain. The less money paid for an expensive item, the better the satisfaction. I have found myself going straight to the sale rack when I entered a store, not even stopping to look at the items that were full price.
“Isn’t this gorgeous?”, we will show the bargain as if it is a trophy. “I found this on the sale rack. It was marked down to 50% off the lowest price.” It’s as if the bargain is a trophy. The less we spend, the more we like it.
But do we do the same thing with the things of God? Do we look at what He has to offer and then decide to take what doesn’t cost as much?
Do we go shopping for relationships, but instead of looking for one that costs time, prayer, and maybe some heartache, we go straight to the one who won’t cost near as much.
The great thing about God is we don’t have to worry about going to the sale rack. Jesus has already paid the price for our salvation, our peace, and our redemption.
When it comes to His joy, His strength, His grace, His mercy, and His love, we don’t have to go to the clearance rack. The items are bought and paid.
You are precious in the sight of God and your redemption has been paid.
Don’t bargain shop when it comes to God.
Modern day retailers are more than willing to make our shopping trips a pleasant experience. At the same time the retailers will take that hard earned money and reinvest in advertising campaigns to get you to come back and shop again.
One of the challenges for the seasoned shopper is to find a bargain. The less money paid for an expensive item, the better the satisfaction. I have found myself going straight to the sale rack when I entered a store, not even stopping to look at the items that were full price.
“Isn’t this gorgeous?”, we will show the bargain as if it is a trophy. “I found this on the sale rack. It was marked down to 50% off the lowest price.” It’s as if the bargain is a trophy. The less we spend, the more we like it.
But do we do the same thing with the things of God? Do we look at what He has to offer and then decide to take what doesn’t cost as much?
Do we go shopping for relationships, but instead of looking for one that costs time, prayer, and maybe some heartache, we go straight to the one who won’t cost near as much.
The great thing about God is we don’t have to worry about going to the sale rack. Jesus has already paid the price for our salvation, our peace, and our redemption.
When it comes to His joy, His strength, His grace, His mercy, and His love, we don’t have to go to the clearance rack. The items are bought and paid.
You are precious in the sight of God and your redemption has been paid.
Don’t bargain shop when it comes to God.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Ziplock Bag
The rain kept coming and coming that morning. When we opened the basement door and looked down the steps water rising and making its way up the steps. We knew it could mean disaster. It's possible you saw Northern OH on CNN. People were being rescued from their roof tops. Shelby is the one that made the national headlines. We are several miles from Shelby, but the rain didn't care. Water will go to the lowest level.
We lost a wall in the basement. It was a supporting wall that gave way when with the heaviness of the flood waters. In fact, the FEMA inspector looked at us and said, "The Lord is the one who is holding up this house." We had a great time talking to him about the goodness of the Lord.
I had a lot of stuff in the basement. Most of it was just stuff, but I had started to store my quilting stash in bins. Then I remembered I had put the pieces of my Grandmother's homemade quilt in one of the storage bins. I was heart sick. Even though it was remnants of the quilt, it was part of a legacy. My Great grandmother had pieced the pieces together, my grandmother had put the blocks together and made a quilt. Through the years it had started to show wear and had torn in places. I decided to do away with the torn places and keep the parts that were good.
Everything in the basement was taken outside. Most of it had to be disposed. As I was going through the ruined stuff I located the quilt remnants. I had placed them in a zip lock bag. The outside of the bag was covered with caked mud, but the bag had protected the quilt. The water had not touched the inside of the bag. I was so tickled. Using my mind I pictured the bag floating on top of the flood waters. It was then I realized that we also have the protection of the Lord. He has us in a ziplock bag. Even though everything around us is crashing and flood waters are pouring in, we are safe. There might be some caked on mud on the outside, but inside we are fine.
It was then I remembered Psalm 91
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my god, in who I trust."
If you make the Most High your dwelling even the Lord, who is my refuge--then no harm will befall you , no disaster will come near.
We lost a wall in the basement. It was a supporting wall that gave way when with the heaviness of the flood waters. In fact, the FEMA inspector looked at us and said, "The Lord is the one who is holding up this house." We had a great time talking to him about the goodness of the Lord.
I had a lot of stuff in the basement. Most of it was just stuff, but I had started to store my quilting stash in bins. Then I remembered I had put the pieces of my Grandmother's homemade quilt in one of the storage bins. I was heart sick. Even though it was remnants of the quilt, it was part of a legacy. My Great grandmother had pieced the pieces together, my grandmother had put the blocks together and made a quilt. Through the years it had started to show wear and had torn in places. I decided to do away with the torn places and keep the parts that were good.
Everything in the basement was taken outside. Most of it had to be disposed. As I was going through the ruined stuff I located the quilt remnants. I had placed them in a zip lock bag. The outside of the bag was covered with caked mud, but the bag had protected the quilt. The water had not touched the inside of the bag. I was so tickled. Using my mind I pictured the bag floating on top of the flood waters. It was then I realized that we also have the protection of the Lord. He has us in a ziplock bag. Even though everything around us is crashing and flood waters are pouring in, we are safe. There might be some caked on mud on the outside, but inside we are fine.
It was then I remembered Psalm 91
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my god, in who I trust."
If you make the Most High your dwelling even the Lord, who is my refuge--then no harm will befall you , no disaster will come near.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Kristin, aged 4
She was and is a delight. Her blonde hair glistened in the sun. Her blue eyes sparkled like diamonds. In this picture she is four. That was several years ago. Her eyes still sparkle, we're not sure about her natural hair color, she likes to experiment with different shades and hues. I'm so proud of what she has accomplished.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Just Wait
Just wait.. Just wait....
I have often wondered if that is what it means to be Mommie?
When my children were 3, 1 1/2, and a newborn, I was astonished to how busy my days would be. Getting through the day, keeping diapers changed, the dishes washed, and supper on the table was a major accomplishment.
Undoubtedly, another mom whose children had passed the current ages of my children would comment, “You think you are busy now. Just wait until all three are walking. You find yourself going trying to go in three different directions at the same time.”
As time went on and the youngest was walking; I reached a major milestone. I learned how to juggle the three babies, housework, laundry, and pastoring at the same time.
Again... I heard.....
You think you are busy now. Just wait.....
You don’t know busy until they go to school, and you are trying to juggle homework, teacher conferences, band practice, football practice, and PTA meetings.
We made it through the days of music lessons, Christmas programs, spelling tests, and grade cards; still intact as a family.
Again... I heard....
Just wait... When the kids are teenagers you’ll have to put up with three times as much mess and teenagers’ attitude can cut to the bone.
Well, the mess would get to me at times, but we choose to be busy and on the go. I discovered the “attitude” is often frustration. Choices need to be made, confusion sets in, and frustration is evident in the attitude.
As of today my crew is 32, 30, and 29, and I’m still waiting.....
Waiting for each one to find the perfect will of God in their own heart. Waiting for the right mate to be their choice of companion. Waiting for the changes that happen as your children mature into confident, caring individuals.
When time shall be no more, like the old song says; will the waiting be over?
Can we enjoy what is happening right then, or will we hear, “You just wait! You think it is glorious now, just give it a few years and we’ll having a great time.”
I want God to show me how to enjoy each day to the fullest, remember yesterday with tenderness, and anticipate the future with confidence and faith.
Touchdown
TOUCHDOWN!!!
Why did they go in that direction? The players ram each other here while the football is on the other end. I give up. It’s been 33 years since Jim, my husband, has tried to explain plays, positions, penalties, and playoffs. Do I understand kick-off returns and draftchoices? Are you kidding? Do I now what the referee is signaling after the players stand up? It’s all Greek to me, but then there’s always next season. Perhaps Frank Gifford will teach a class just for football widows.
The lack of understanding of the game did not pass to my children Josh, Ben, and Kristin. They love the game and the Cleveland Browns.
Be assured when the idea was hashed around to visit the Brown’s training camp I was quick to suggest we travel in a different direction.
“Oh, man, that would super!!! When are we going?”
I knew it was useless to try and change their football loving minds.
As we traveled route 71N on a rainy August morning I looked out the car window and pondered, “Oh, well, with it raining we couldn’t have done much. I might as well enjoy the company with my family. It seems family time doesn’t get on the higher brackets of priority lists. I’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Lakeland Community College looked impressive. The campus setting brought back childhood memories of school. The lawn was lush and well maintained. The brick buildings stood strong. The quiet serenity I recognized reminded me of my past school days; the mist of an August morning, empty buildings waiting for hustle and bustle of students and educators, memories of a longing to be the best and knowing education was part of that process.
At the exit of the physical education facility a portion of the lane was roped off. This allowed the players to walk to the other side of the campus for their workout and not be mobbed by adoring fans.
As we stood behind the rope waiting to see the team I heard a clanking sound. I looked up to see the familiar brown, orange, and white uniforms. The noise was their cleats hitting the pavement as they walked. The players reminded me of military soldiers as they march.
“Why do they look so intense?” I inquired of my husband.
“They know they have a job to do.” He replied.
“A job to do? You mean all of that wasted concentration just to get a ball over the goal line?”
“Donna, there’s a lot more to it than that. Not all will get the chance to play, just those who are willing to show they can contribute and aren’t afraid to risk putting themselves on the line.”
It wasn’t long until I was caught up in the enthusiasm. I cheered when Michael Dean Perry walked by. Josh and Ben had their football signed by different players. The highlight of the day was Kristin’s accomplishment: Bernie Kosar’s autograph.
Do I understand any more about the game of football? No, in fact I think I’m more confused than ever.
What I do understand is this; whatever you desire to accomplish, go down within yourself and be willing to risk putting yourself on the line to make it happen.
It doesn’t matter if the defense knocks you flat, there’s always one more play, one more chance to make a first down.
I think that’s ten yards down the field toward that prestigious goal line.
Do you think they’ll change that next season?
Why did they go in that direction? The players ram each other here while the football is on the other end. I give up. It’s been 33 years since Jim, my husband, has tried to explain plays, positions, penalties, and playoffs. Do I understand kick-off returns and draftchoices? Are you kidding? Do I now what the referee is signaling after the players stand up? It’s all Greek to me, but then there’s always next season. Perhaps Frank Gifford will teach a class just for football widows.
The lack of understanding of the game did not pass to my children Josh, Ben, and Kristin. They love the game and the Cleveland Browns.
Be assured when the idea was hashed around to visit the Brown’s training camp I was quick to suggest we travel in a different direction.
“Oh, man, that would super!!! When are we going?”
I knew it was useless to try and change their football loving minds.
As we traveled route 71N on a rainy August morning I looked out the car window and pondered, “Oh, well, with it raining we couldn’t have done much. I might as well enjoy the company with my family. It seems family time doesn’t get on the higher brackets of priority lists. I’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Lakeland Community College looked impressive. The campus setting brought back childhood memories of school. The lawn was lush and well maintained. The brick buildings stood strong. The quiet serenity I recognized reminded me of my past school days; the mist of an August morning, empty buildings waiting for hustle and bustle of students and educators, memories of a longing to be the best and knowing education was part of that process.
At the exit of the physical education facility a portion of the lane was roped off. This allowed the players to walk to the other side of the campus for their workout and not be mobbed by adoring fans.
As we stood behind the rope waiting to see the team I heard a clanking sound. I looked up to see the familiar brown, orange, and white uniforms. The noise was their cleats hitting the pavement as they walked. The players reminded me of military soldiers as they march.
“Why do they look so intense?” I inquired of my husband.
“They know they have a job to do.” He replied.
“A job to do? You mean all of that wasted concentration just to get a ball over the goal line?”
“Donna, there’s a lot more to it than that. Not all will get the chance to play, just those who are willing to show they can contribute and aren’t afraid to risk putting themselves on the line.”
It wasn’t long until I was caught up in the enthusiasm. I cheered when Michael Dean Perry walked by. Josh and Ben had their football signed by different players. The highlight of the day was Kristin’s accomplishment: Bernie Kosar’s autograph.
Do I understand any more about the game of football? No, in fact I think I’m more confused than ever.
What I do understand is this; whatever you desire to accomplish, go down within yourself and be willing to risk putting yourself on the line to make it happen.
It doesn’t matter if the defense knocks you flat, there’s always one more play, one more chance to make a first down.
I think that’s ten yards down the field toward that prestigious goal line.
Do you think they’ll change that next season?
Monday, August 10, 2009
How and why I pray
When I pray at night, I ask God to let me pray for those who feel as if they have no friend, for those who hurt, for those who are desperate and without hope. Does he hear my prayer? My faith tells me that he does and that He counts it unto me as good. Although, I can't phsyically be there to give those in need a helping hand my thoughts are with them. For those who say they don't know where their strength comes from during the hard times, I like to think it is the answer to my prayers.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
HER LAST RIDE
As the rest of the world prepared for the Holiday season, Maxine called us all to her bedside. It was a frosty December Sunday morning in 1990. Maxine’s appointed time to leave us was approaching. She was my mother-in-law, my neighbor, my children’s grandmother, my prayer partner, and a dear friend. Facing life without her guidance, her friendship, and her presence was one thing I did not feel I could face.
We listened as she told us what she wanted for her funeral. A viewing here in Mansfield, a viewing in Morehead, and then laid to rest on the side of the ridge close to where she was born.
Hanging in the closet was an orange and brown dress. She sent the three daughter-in-laws to her bedroom to make sure we knew which one she wanted. “Okay, we’ll make sure it is ready.” We were sister-in-laws married to three brothers. It was Jim, Tom, and Gary’s Mom, but we knew it was our place to make sure her dress was ready
As I stood by her bed, she looked at me, took my hand and patted the top of her head. “No wig, you do my hair” The salt and peppered colored wig was part of her wardrobe during chemo treatments. She hated wearing it. She said it was hot.
I had styled her hair since my beauty school days. It would be an honor to do it again. I realized this would be the last time.
The doctor had stopped the third round of chemo treatments due to the ineffectiveness. Her hair had started to grow again. While shopping at a beauty supply store I found a curling iron just for her request. The tiny barrel, the same size as my little finger it was the right size to curl her hair.
Facing the passing of a loved one is never easy. Even when the individual has made all things right with God, you know where they are going, the emptiness left behind is hard “This isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” I listened as she told the funeral director where she wanted to be buried, where she wanted her calling hours and special instructions for her viewing
As the director was taking down the information he mentioned a detail that sparked humorous conversation.
This was going to be her last ride to KY.
“Just take me down in the back of the truck. I’ve gone that way for years, and it won’t cost as much.”
As she had always done, she was doing the same thing again. She wasn’t thinking of herself, only others and how her decisions would affect others. If I leave after the viewing here and get into Morehead that night, then you can come in the morning after a good night’s sleep and it won’t be so tiring.
“You are not going to be here to argue so let us decide what we think is best. If you roll off the back of the truck it would be almost impossible to find you, especially if you roll off of the ridge. We would never be able to find you.”
We were laughing. The thought of losing her, casket, and flowers while making our way down the highway started my imagination going.
Can you picture a whole family walking up and down the highway looking for a casket? The truck pulled over at the side of the road. All 17 members of the Caudill clan forming a search party, Tom in charge telling each one what to look for, Gary standing with his arms folded making sure Tom doesn’t forget anything, and Jim standing by ready to start looking when Tom yells, “Let’s go.”
An officer of the law drives by pulls over, gets out of his car and approaches me.
“Have you lost something or somebody?”
“Yes, officer. We are on our way to Kentucky for Maxine’s funeral. We stopped at Wendy’s to get a combo meal. Kristin, my daughter, spilled ketchup all over her brand new jeans. I went to get a clean pair out of the suitcase and when I looked in the back of the truck, the casket is gone.
“The casket is gone? Why and who would you have in a casket in the back of a pickup truck?”
“My mother-in-law; her name is Maxine Caudill. She didn’t want to go to any extra expense. It was her decision to have the “Bare Bones Burial Package”, but in the process of getting her to her funeral we have lost her.”
With my mind full of pictures, scenarios, and solutions I envisioned each of us trying to determine where we had lost her and how much time we had before we had to have her in Morehead.
How would we explain it to the rest of the family and friends? Would we ever find her? The thought was put to rest when the advisor told us we would not be permitted to cross state lines with her in the back of the truck.
In the saddest of times for the Caudill family, the humor what could happen helped us to sort out what we knew was our responsibility: Maxine’s wishes.
The orange and brown dress matched the floral arrangement we picked out for her casket spray. I’m not sure who noticed it, but the dress was not in our mind when the arrangement was chosen.
She lived her life in preparation for her passing. Although stern and somber in her character, she loved people, children, flowers, her garden, and her God.
Her final resting place is on the backside of a mountain on Jones Ridge in Clearfield, KY. God decided it was time to take her. If I could have my way she will still be here with us loving life.
She’ll be waiting for me when I go to where she is.
In memory of Maxine Caudill
March 7, 1932 - January 13, 1991
As the rest of the world prepared for the Holiday season, Maxine called us all to her bedside. It was a frosty December Sunday morning in 1990. Maxine’s appointed time to leave us was approaching. She was my mother-in-law, my neighbor, my children’s grandmother, my prayer partner, and a dear friend. Facing life without her guidance, her friendship, and her presence was one thing I did not feel I could face.
We listened as she told us what she wanted for her funeral. A viewing here in Mansfield, a viewing in Morehead, and then laid to rest on the side of the ridge close to where she was born.
Hanging in the closet was an orange and brown dress. She sent the three daughter-in-laws to her bedroom to make sure we knew which one she wanted. “Okay, we’ll make sure it is ready.” We were sister-in-laws married to three brothers. It was Jim, Tom, and Gary’s Mom, but we knew it was our place to make sure her dress was ready
As I stood by her bed, she looked at me, took my hand and patted the top of her head. “No wig, you do my hair” The salt and peppered colored wig was part of her wardrobe during chemo treatments. She hated wearing it. She said it was hot.
I had styled her hair since my beauty school days. It would be an honor to do it again. I realized this would be the last time.
The doctor had stopped the third round of chemo treatments due to the ineffectiveness. Her hair had started to grow again. While shopping at a beauty supply store I found a curling iron just for her request. The tiny barrel, the same size as my little finger it was the right size to curl her hair.
Facing the passing of a loved one is never easy. Even when the individual has made all things right with God, you know where they are going, the emptiness left behind is hard “This isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” I listened as she told the funeral director where she wanted to be buried, where she wanted her calling hours and special instructions for her viewing
As the director was taking down the information he mentioned a detail that sparked humorous conversation.
This was going to be her last ride to KY.
“Just take me down in the back of the truck. I’ve gone that way for years, and it won’t cost as much.”
As she had always done, she was doing the same thing again. She wasn’t thinking of herself, only others and how her decisions would affect others. If I leave after the viewing here and get into Morehead that night, then you can come in the morning after a good night’s sleep and it won’t be so tiring.
“You are not going to be here to argue so let us decide what we think is best. If you roll off the back of the truck it would be almost impossible to find you, especially if you roll off of the ridge. We would never be able to find you.”
We were laughing. The thought of losing her, casket, and flowers while making our way down the highway started my imagination going.
Can you picture a whole family walking up and down the highway looking for a casket? The truck pulled over at the side of the road. All 17 members of the Caudill clan forming a search party, Tom in charge telling each one what to look for, Gary standing with his arms folded making sure Tom doesn’t forget anything, and Jim standing by ready to start looking when Tom yells, “Let’s go.”
An officer of the law drives by pulls over, gets out of his car and approaches me.
“Have you lost something or somebody?”
“Yes, officer. We are on our way to Kentucky for Maxine’s funeral. We stopped at Wendy’s to get a combo meal. Kristin, my daughter, spilled ketchup all over her brand new jeans. I went to get a clean pair out of the suitcase and when I looked in the back of the truck, the casket is gone.
“The casket is gone? Why and who would you have in a casket in the back of a pickup truck?”
“My mother-in-law; her name is Maxine Caudill. She didn’t want to go to any extra expense. It was her decision to have the “Bare Bones Burial Package”, but in the process of getting her to her funeral we have lost her.”
With my mind full of pictures, scenarios, and solutions I envisioned each of us trying to determine where we had lost her and how much time we had before we had to have her in Morehead.
How would we explain it to the rest of the family and friends? Would we ever find her? The thought was put to rest when the advisor told us we would not be permitted to cross state lines with her in the back of the truck.
In the saddest of times for the Caudill family, the humor what could happen helped us to sort out what we knew was our responsibility: Maxine’s wishes.
The orange and brown dress matched the floral arrangement we picked out for her casket spray. I’m not sure who noticed it, but the dress was not in our mind when the arrangement was chosen.
She lived her life in preparation for her passing. Although stern and somber in her character, she loved people, children, flowers, her garden, and her God.
Her final resting place is on the backside of a mountain on Jones Ridge in Clearfield, KY. God decided it was time to take her. If I could have my way she will still be here with us loving life.
She’ll be waiting for me when I go to where she is.
In memory of Maxine Caudill
March 7, 1932 - January 13, 1991
Friday, August 7, 2009
The Middle Ant
THE MIDDLE ANT
I stepped onto the path of a new beginning at the age of 16. I entered the ranks of the working population. Assisting customers as a cashier and stocking shelves at the neighborhood grocery store brought about a new era of expectation, accomplishment, and the main reason for working--money. I wanted to go to school. I was working and saving money in order to learn a vocation. The profession was cosmetology and the goal was to earn the license to work as a hairdresser.
Thirty years later, at the age of 46, I had experienced a career change, been married 27 years, raised three kids, and was back in school. But, this time it was to enhance my skills. The current trend of corporate downsizing had eliminated my position. Here I was again, new environment, new expectations, and looking for new accomplishments. I enjoyed the campus environment. Each passed test, finished semester, and making the dean's list gave me the sense of accomplishment.
One spring morning as I scurried down the sidewalk to my midmorning class; I looked down. What I saw would forever change the way I look at myself, who I am, and understanding my place in the spectrum of achievement. What caught my eye looked to be a weird bug crawling down the sidewalk.
The previous days' spring rain had saturated the ground. Earthworms had found their way out of the wet soil and on the sidewalk. Some were crawling, some were squished, and others looked as if they were trying to figure out where to go to be out of the sun. The warm sun had dried the squished worms. I was careful to watch where I placed my feet. I didn't want earthworm remains on the soles of my shoes.
As I edged closer to the creature I was taken back by what I witnessed. There were three ants strategically placed along the dried carcass of an earthworm, one on each end and in the middle. The two on the end would drag the carcass a few steps , stop ,and then wait for the middle ant to bring up the center. As soon as the middle ant caught up with the end ants, those on the end would pick up the ends move few steps, stop, and wait for the middle ant. I was watching the perfect picture of team work.
I walked to class pondering what I had seen. The sight of those three ants set off a wave of understanding in me that still leaves me in awe. Seeing the ants work together and the reason for the middle ant brought back the years of coping with low self esteem.
"Why do I feel like I'm always just a few steps behind, and then, when it seems I catch up, I'm alone again?" I'm not sure when I started to ask myself that question, but I don't remember not asking it or not dealing with the fact that nothing felt like it was good enough. According to my standards, my achievement was never up to par with those around me. When I did get to where I wanted to be, it felt as if I had to work twice as hard to catch up,again.
The low self esteem issues would reduce me to self loathing. Counseling helped, but the trying to perform and to be accepted always nagged me as an underlying current of self doubt. I was told I was codependent and the codependent person will try to please those who can't be pleased. "Why, because, it's no challenge to be accepted by those who do accept you."
I know how to encourage others to be who they are, take pride in what you achieve, and don't let any one or anything stand in the way of your destiny. But, when it came to me I tried to fit in a box I had in my mind. A box that kept me from reaching the potential that is in me and not understanding my place.
My place was to be in the middle and bring up the slack. I'm sure there are those who have been frustrated with me when they had to stop. They have to wait for me to catch up before they can move forward. I'm comfortable with the place that's considered the middle. It's a place where you have to stand alone It's a place where you rely on your strength that's within you and not in the acceptance of others.
Will I ever not have esteem issues? Could be, but I now know the issues keep me grounded, not full of self centeredness and willing to help those who feel as if they can’t measure up to the self imposed expectations.
I stepped onto the path of a new beginning at the age of 16. I entered the ranks of the working population. Assisting customers as a cashier and stocking shelves at the neighborhood grocery store brought about a new era of expectation, accomplishment, and the main reason for working--money. I wanted to go to school. I was working and saving money in order to learn a vocation. The profession was cosmetology and the goal was to earn the license to work as a hairdresser.
Thirty years later, at the age of 46, I had experienced a career change, been married 27 years, raised three kids, and was back in school. But, this time it was to enhance my skills. The current trend of corporate downsizing had eliminated my position. Here I was again, new environment, new expectations, and looking for new accomplishments. I enjoyed the campus environment. Each passed test, finished semester, and making the dean's list gave me the sense of accomplishment.
One spring morning as I scurried down the sidewalk to my midmorning class; I looked down. What I saw would forever change the way I look at myself, who I am, and understanding my place in the spectrum of achievement. What caught my eye looked to be a weird bug crawling down the sidewalk.
The previous days' spring rain had saturated the ground. Earthworms had found their way out of the wet soil and on the sidewalk. Some were crawling, some were squished, and others looked as if they were trying to figure out where to go to be out of the sun. The warm sun had dried the squished worms. I was careful to watch where I placed my feet. I didn't want earthworm remains on the soles of my shoes.
As I edged closer to the creature I was taken back by what I witnessed. There were three ants strategically placed along the dried carcass of an earthworm, one on each end and in the middle. The two on the end would drag the carcass a few steps , stop ,and then wait for the middle ant to bring up the center. As soon as the middle ant caught up with the end ants, those on the end would pick up the ends move few steps, stop, and wait for the middle ant. I was watching the perfect picture of team work.
I walked to class pondering what I had seen. The sight of those three ants set off a wave of understanding in me that still leaves me in awe. Seeing the ants work together and the reason for the middle ant brought back the years of coping with low self esteem.
"Why do I feel like I'm always just a few steps behind, and then, when it seems I catch up, I'm alone again?" I'm not sure when I started to ask myself that question, but I don't remember not asking it or not dealing with the fact that nothing felt like it was good enough. According to my standards, my achievement was never up to par with those around me. When I did get to where I wanted to be, it felt as if I had to work twice as hard to catch up,again.
The low self esteem issues would reduce me to self loathing. Counseling helped, but the trying to perform and to be accepted always nagged me as an underlying current of self doubt. I was told I was codependent and the codependent person will try to please those who can't be pleased. "Why, because, it's no challenge to be accepted by those who do accept you."
I know how to encourage others to be who they are, take pride in what you achieve, and don't let any one or anything stand in the way of your destiny. But, when it came to me I tried to fit in a box I had in my mind. A box that kept me from reaching the potential that is in me and not understanding my place.
My place was to be in the middle and bring up the slack. I'm sure there are those who have been frustrated with me when they had to stop. They have to wait for me to catch up before they can move forward. I'm comfortable with the place that's considered the middle. It's a place where you have to stand alone It's a place where you rely on your strength that's within you and not in the acceptance of others.
Will I ever not have esteem issues? Could be, but I now know the issues keep me grounded, not full of self centeredness and willing to help those who feel as if they can’t measure up to the self imposed expectations.
Another Day on the Job
ANOTHER DAY ON THE JOB
Do I work or do I stay at home? It is a question asked by Mothers everywhere. On one side of the issue are those who say the Mother’s place is in the home. The other side of the issue is the Mom should have her own identity or a life outside of husband and children.
It is the dilemma I faced as my children were entering school age and expense was growing by leaps and bounds. My husband’s employment did not include the benefit of medical insurance. If I chose not to work it would a choice of not having any medical coverage.
It was a decision made by both us. I would work in order to have the medical coverage.
The guilt was horrendous. Each day as the time would approach when I knew they would be dismissed for the day, I would ask God to watch over the house, send an extra angel to walk beside Josh, Ben, and Kristin as they made their way home.
It was a choice I didn’t want to have to look back and say, “I wish I would have done this different.”
Although we normally don’t think of ladies working in the bible, I asked God to let me see how He felt about this issue.
While reading the account of Moses I saw the midwifes in a new light. When they were delivering babies, they were doing their job.
God had placed who was needed to save the Israelites deliverer. I’m sure the midwives had no inkling of who they were delivering that day. He was just a baby boy, but the promise of Israel was to be his legacy..
All they were doing was their job.
My children are grown. We reminisce about the days of hurried mornings, trying to find homework, and running to catch the bus.
Do I regret my choice to continue working? No. It taught my children the meaning of work and what it takes to be responsible.
Are you concerned with your place? Does it seem you have no significance in what you do?
Just keep in mind two little midwives who were in their God appointed place doing their job. Their contribution brought about the deliverance of Israel in the wilderness.
Do I work or do I stay at home? It is a question asked by Mothers everywhere. On one side of the issue are those who say the Mother’s place is in the home. The other side of the issue is the Mom should have her own identity or a life outside of husband and children.
It is the dilemma I faced as my children were entering school age and expense was growing by leaps and bounds. My husband’s employment did not include the benefit of medical insurance. If I chose not to work it would a choice of not having any medical coverage.
It was a decision made by both us. I would work in order to have the medical coverage.
The guilt was horrendous. Each day as the time would approach when I knew they would be dismissed for the day, I would ask God to watch over the house, send an extra angel to walk beside Josh, Ben, and Kristin as they made their way home.
It was a choice I didn’t want to have to look back and say, “I wish I would have done this different.”
Although we normally don’t think of ladies working in the bible, I asked God to let me see how He felt about this issue.
While reading the account of Moses I saw the midwifes in a new light. When they were delivering babies, they were doing their job.
God had placed who was needed to save the Israelites deliverer. I’m sure the midwives had no inkling of who they were delivering that day. He was just a baby boy, but the promise of Israel was to be his legacy..
All they were doing was their job.
My children are grown. We reminisce about the days of hurried mornings, trying to find homework, and running to catch the bus.
Do I regret my choice to continue working? No. It taught my children the meaning of work and what it takes to be responsible.
Are you concerned with your place? Does it seem you have no significance in what you do?
Just keep in mind two little midwives who were in their God appointed place doing their job. Their contribution brought about the deliverance of Israel in the wilderness.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Color My World
COLOR MY WORLD
The choice to serve God was made at a young age. I chose to walk in the path of
the Lord regardless of what would come my way. I admit there were times when the
curiosity of what was in the world was something that would try to draw me to change
my lifestyle.
I was 43 when a special confidence was made real to me. I knew
beyond any shadow of any doubt I was who I was supposed to be and doing what I
was supposed to be doing. I had walked with the Lord for thirty-three years.
Choices and decisions have always been difficult for me. I asked God to help me
understand why I struggled with this area of life. He took me back to my childhood.
I was a curious child. I can remember my relatives telling my Mom it was cute to
see such an inquisitive child. “She doesn’t miss a thing,” would be my Mother’s reply.
School brought a new environment and a place to understand there was a different
world outside of the small river town my family called home.
Art class brought a challenge for this student who was artistically challenged. I
had always “colored” my picture the way I thought it should be. I took it to my Mom, she
would grin and say, “That looks wonderful, Donna.”
But my “scribbling” with the crayons didn’t bring the same words of acceptance
from the teacher. “You need to stay within the lines.” I can still hear those words in my
mind today. I began to watch the other students color and I compared my picture to
theirs.
I was taken back and astonished. I could see how they were coloring their
pictures. Then I understood what the teacher meant. But, I had another dilemma. I didn’t
know what colors to choose.
Some things were easy—the sky should be blue, the grass green, and the sun
yellow. But how about the flowers? Should I go the conventional route and use the
primary colors, or should I look into my box of different colors and give the flowers a
new dimension of expression.
I began to watch the other students and their choice of colors. I could then
determine if I like the outcome of their decision. That way I knew what color to use for
my picture. This way of making decisions worked wonderful for art class, but I found
myself doing the same thing outside of the world of crayons, scissors, paper, and glue.
As I grew older choices and decisions were still a struggle. I again found myself
listening and watching others who had made choices. I tried to learn from their mistakes.
I was always afraid of making the wrong choice.
My dream was to live life as a Christian young lady. I was going to be the one
who everyone would look at and say, “She is a perfect example of what a Christian
should be.” The problem with that is I looked to others for complete and total acceptance
instead of accepting myself and the way God had made me.
My dream has changed. Now I look at each day as a way for God to let me
know him in a different way. I strive to be the best I can be everyday. I give of myself
100 per cent everyday. Although, there are days when my 100 per cent is more on one day than
it is on other days.
And I keep striving to dream. I wanted to see my written work published. This has
happened several times. Next, I want to see a collection of my written work have a
book. Will I ever have a best seller? Only God knows. If that is in his plans for me then
I’m willing to accept that. But, at the same time, my words can be written and meant
to be read by a few.
I do not want to stand in front of God at my judgment and hear that my work was
idle words.
The choice to serve God was made at a young age. I chose to walk in the path of
the Lord regardless of what would come my way. I admit there were times when the
curiosity of what was in the world was something that would try to draw me to change
my lifestyle.
I was 43 when a special confidence was made real to me. I knew
beyond any shadow of any doubt I was who I was supposed to be and doing what I
was supposed to be doing. I had walked with the Lord for thirty-three years.
Choices and decisions have always been difficult for me. I asked God to help me
understand why I struggled with this area of life. He took me back to my childhood.
I was a curious child. I can remember my relatives telling my Mom it was cute to
see such an inquisitive child. “She doesn’t miss a thing,” would be my Mother’s reply.
School brought a new environment and a place to understand there was a different
world outside of the small river town my family called home.
Art class brought a challenge for this student who was artistically challenged. I
had always “colored” my picture the way I thought it should be. I took it to my Mom, she
would grin and say, “That looks wonderful, Donna.”
But my “scribbling” with the crayons didn’t bring the same words of acceptance
from the teacher. “You need to stay within the lines.” I can still hear those words in my
mind today. I began to watch the other students color and I compared my picture to
theirs.
I was taken back and astonished. I could see how they were coloring their
pictures. Then I understood what the teacher meant. But, I had another dilemma. I didn’t
know what colors to choose.
Some things were easy—the sky should be blue, the grass green, and the sun
yellow. But how about the flowers? Should I go the conventional route and use the
primary colors, or should I look into my box of different colors and give the flowers a
new dimension of expression.
I began to watch the other students and their choice of colors. I could then
determine if I like the outcome of their decision. That way I knew what color to use for
my picture. This way of making decisions worked wonderful for art class, but I found
myself doing the same thing outside of the world of crayons, scissors, paper, and glue.
As I grew older choices and decisions were still a struggle. I again found myself
listening and watching others who had made choices. I tried to learn from their mistakes.
I was always afraid of making the wrong choice.
My dream was to live life as a Christian young lady. I was going to be the one
who everyone would look at and say, “She is a perfect example of what a Christian
should be.” The problem with that is I looked to others for complete and total acceptance
instead of accepting myself and the way God had made me.
My dream has changed. Now I look at each day as a way for God to let me
know him in a different way. I strive to be the best I can be everyday. I give of myself
100 per cent everyday. Although, there are days when my 100 per cent is more on one day than
it is on other days.
And I keep striving to dream. I wanted to see my written work published. This has
happened several times. Next, I want to see a collection of my written work have a
book. Will I ever have a best seller? Only God knows. If that is in his plans for me then
I’m willing to accept that. But, at the same time, my words can be written and meant
to be read by a few.
I do not want to stand in front of God at my judgment and hear that my work was
idle words.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Two Things Will Change
Two Things Will Change—
The Way You Walk, The Way You Stand
“He’ll be different when he gets back home.” More than one made the same comment as word got around Ben had joined the Army.
“I don’t want Ben to change. I like Ben the way he is.” I didn’t speak the words for anyone to hear, but I would repeat them in my mind and in my heart, and make it a simple prayer from a loving Mom to her God.
The Army would prepare him to be a soldier , pay for his education and send him to basic training.
I was proud and sad at the same time. Proud of his desire to be part of the military and sad to see him have to face basic training without me there to watch it take place.
The house sounded empty without his warped sense of humor and spontaneous laugh.
As his graduation date from basic training grew close, we counted down the days until we would see him again.
“Look at the way he walks, and he stands so straight.” That was my first reaction after I saw Ben in his military Class A’s.
“That is part of the military’s training,” my husband replied.
As I watched my boy, who was now a soldier, walk with the confidence of a warrior the Lord quickened me.
“Ben is ready for battle. He is prepared to fight the enemy. When the military calls him to go fight, he’ll be ready.”
“Yes, Lord, I understand that, but more than one said he would change. Has anything changed? He still looks the same, acts the same, and laughs the same”
“What do you see different about him?”
“Two things: the way he walks and the way he stands.”
“Exactly,” was the one word I heard from the Lord.
As I watched Ben eat his first Big Mac in three months, drink the biggest Coke McDonald’s sold, and enjoy the french fries , two scriptures came to mind.
Having done all to stand…then stand……They shall walk, and not grow weary……
Each of us as Christians are prepared to fight the enemy. Just as the US military prepares each soldier to go to war, we are prepared to war against the enemy.
Don’t be discouraged when going through testing. It may be the only thing that needs to be changed is two things—the way you walk and the way you stand.
When that is changed you are prepared to go against the enemy.
The Way You Walk, The Way You Stand
“He’ll be different when he gets back home.” More than one made the same comment as word got around Ben had joined the Army.
“I don’t want Ben to change. I like Ben the way he is.” I didn’t speak the words for anyone to hear, but I would repeat them in my mind and in my heart, and make it a simple prayer from a loving Mom to her God.
The Army would prepare him to be a soldier , pay for his education and send him to basic training.
I was proud and sad at the same time. Proud of his desire to be part of the military and sad to see him have to face basic training without me there to watch it take place.
The house sounded empty without his warped sense of humor and spontaneous laugh.
As his graduation date from basic training grew close, we counted down the days until we would see him again.
“Look at the way he walks, and he stands so straight.” That was my first reaction after I saw Ben in his military Class A’s.
“That is part of the military’s training,” my husband replied.
As I watched my boy, who was now a soldier, walk with the confidence of a warrior the Lord quickened me.
“Ben is ready for battle. He is prepared to fight the enemy. When the military calls him to go fight, he’ll be ready.”
“Yes, Lord, I understand that, but more than one said he would change. Has anything changed? He still looks the same, acts the same, and laughs the same”
“What do you see different about him?”
“Two things: the way he walks and the way he stands.”
“Exactly,” was the one word I heard from the Lord.
As I watched Ben eat his first Big Mac in three months, drink the biggest Coke McDonald’s sold, and enjoy the french fries , two scriptures came to mind.
Having done all to stand…then stand……They shall walk, and not grow weary……
Each of us as Christians are prepared to fight the enemy. Just as the US military prepares each soldier to go to war, we are prepared to war against the enemy.
Don’t be discouraged when going through testing. It may be the only thing that needs to be changed is two things—the way you walk and the way you stand.
When that is changed you are prepared to go against the enemy.
Mamma's Teacup
Mamma’s Teacup
The cup is a part of a set dishes Mom received as a Christmas present. The brown cup with the light brown border grew to be her mug of choice. She was a tea drinker. One of my dearest childhood memories is being awakened in the morning seeing Mom standing beside my bed with her favorite cup in hand. As the years passed the cup continued to be her favorite cup for tea. I asked her why she liked the particular cup over the other cups she had accumulated through the years of housekeeping.
“It keeps the water hot.” She would tell me in no nonsense way.
The debilitating disease of Alzheimer began to take away her abilities in the early “90’s. I had to sit back and watch as the disease took away my Mom, a loving caring individual, deteriorate into a shell of what she had once been. As the deterioration continued the ability to sequence the tasks to make tea was gone. Although the ability was gone, she learned how to get her tea. She would go to the cupboard get the cup and take the cup to Dad.
It was sad to watch, but at the same time-precious.
One Sunday as I awakened I looked on my nightstand and saw my Bible. I reached for it picked it up and let it open. The pages fell open to Psalm 23. Verse 5. Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies, thou anointeth my head with oil: my cup runneth over. (Psalm 23:5 KJV). The recorded words of the 23rd Psalm has been in my heart since I was five. I can recite it, I’ve read it, heard it used numerous times for the text for sermons.
That morning I saw Verse 5 in a brand new way. Like Mom, we know what we want, but due to circumstances beyond our control the ability to get it is gone.Just as Mom would know how to get her tea, we can do the same with our heavenly Father.
Reach down in the cupboard of your heart, get your cup, and take it to Him and let him fill it.
The cup is a part of a set dishes Mom received as a Christmas present. The brown cup with the light brown border grew to be her mug of choice. She was a tea drinker. One of my dearest childhood memories is being awakened in the morning seeing Mom standing beside my bed with her favorite cup in hand. As the years passed the cup continued to be her favorite cup for tea. I asked her why she liked the particular cup over the other cups she had accumulated through the years of housekeeping.
“It keeps the water hot.” She would tell me in no nonsense way.
The debilitating disease of Alzheimer began to take away her abilities in the early “90’s. I had to sit back and watch as the disease took away my Mom, a loving caring individual, deteriorate into a shell of what she had once been. As the deterioration continued the ability to sequence the tasks to make tea was gone. Although the ability was gone, she learned how to get her tea. She would go to the cupboard get the cup and take the cup to Dad.
It was sad to watch, but at the same time-precious.
One Sunday as I awakened I looked on my nightstand and saw my Bible. I reached for it picked it up and let it open. The pages fell open to Psalm 23. Verse 5. Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies, thou anointeth my head with oil: my cup runneth over. (Psalm 23:5 KJV). The recorded words of the 23rd Psalm has been in my heart since I was five. I can recite it, I’ve read it, heard it used numerous times for the text for sermons.
That morning I saw Verse 5 in a brand new way. Like Mom, we know what we want, but due to circumstances beyond our control the ability to get it is gone.Just as Mom would know how to get her tea, we can do the same with our heavenly Father.
Reach down in the cupboard of your heart, get your cup, and take it to Him and let him fill it.
The Turtle
THE TURTLE
He’s part of the Caudill household. I say he because I don’t know how to see if the critter is male or female.
We found him roaming along a creek bank. My boys captured him and brought him home to stay with us. He’s a painted turtle. “You’ll not have him very long. Turtles don’t last very long when they’re not in the wild.” We heard the same comment over and over. He was the size a half dollar. He now measures four inches across the back of his shell, and still growing. He has been a part of us for twelve years.
When we talk to him he acts like he understands every word that is said.
His main diet is reptile food obtained at the local pet store, but he gets an occasional treat of bugs and flies.
Shake the container of reptile food and immediately he’ll turn his head to the direction of the sound. It is mealtime and he is ready to eat.
Plop, splash, splash, splash, are the sounds that come from the aquarium as he jumps into the water. He knows what is in store.
Sprinkled into the water the food floats just waiting for the turtle to partake.
He’ll jump and splash in the water asking for more even though his food is all around him.
On more than one occasion I have looked at the turtle and remarked, “ I have already given you what you asked for. It’s as much as you need - all you need to do is look around you.
For the turtle to see his food I have to walk away.
In a little while I’ll venture back to the aquarium and check on him. I’ll find him on top of his rock. His tummy is full and life is wonderful until time to have his feast again.
Haven’t I done the same with you?” I was quickened by those words one day as I was trying to show the turtle where is food was. I would point at the food, but he would try and bite my finger through the glass.
Knowing God speaks through everyday circumstances I replied, “Well, Lord, since you have asked me that means you probably have.”
Remember the dark days and fearful nights when you asked me why I have turned my back on you. I didn’t leave you. I just stepped back. I wanted you to see what I had given you.”
Just as the turtle depends on the Caudill household for his entire existence I am learning to look around me and see that God has already given me more than I need.
His Word says that nothing can separate me from his love, he knows my need before I ask. I know He will see to all I need the same as the Caudill household takes care of our turtle.
He’s part of the Caudill household. I say he because I don’t know how to see if the critter is male or female.
We found him roaming along a creek bank. My boys captured him and brought him home to stay with us. He’s a painted turtle. “You’ll not have him very long. Turtles don’t last very long when they’re not in the wild.” We heard the same comment over and over. He was the size a half dollar. He now measures four inches across the back of his shell, and still growing. He has been a part of us for twelve years.
When we talk to him he acts like he understands every word that is said.
His main diet is reptile food obtained at the local pet store, but he gets an occasional treat of bugs and flies.
Shake the container of reptile food and immediately he’ll turn his head to the direction of the sound. It is mealtime and he is ready to eat.
Plop, splash, splash, splash, are the sounds that come from the aquarium as he jumps into the water. He knows what is in store.
Sprinkled into the water the food floats just waiting for the turtle to partake.
He’ll jump and splash in the water asking for more even though his food is all around him.
On more than one occasion I have looked at the turtle and remarked, “ I have already given you what you asked for. It’s as much as you need - all you need to do is look around you.
For the turtle to see his food I have to walk away.
In a little while I’ll venture back to the aquarium and check on him. I’ll find him on top of his rock. His tummy is full and life is wonderful until time to have his feast again.
Haven’t I done the same with you?” I was quickened by those words one day as I was trying to show the turtle where is food was. I would point at the food, but he would try and bite my finger through the glass.
Knowing God speaks through everyday circumstances I replied, “Well, Lord, since you have asked me that means you probably have.”
Remember the dark days and fearful nights when you asked me why I have turned my back on you. I didn’t leave you. I just stepped back. I wanted you to see what I had given you.”
Just as the turtle depends on the Caudill household for his entire existence I am learning to look around me and see that God has already given me more than I need.
His Word says that nothing can separate me from his love, he knows my need before I ask. I know He will see to all I need the same as the Caudill household takes care of our turtle.
...And I Will Heal Him
….And I Will Heal Him
The hopelessness of the illness tightened a firm grip. Josh, my
oldest son, diagnosed with mental illness. I was now exposed to a segment of the human population I never dreamed would touch my life, usurp my time or change family priorities.
“Josh is a seriously ill young man.” The sinking emotion of sadness gripped my heart again while the doctor gave us no hope for his future. “Be prepared for Josh to never be able to function outside a structured environment ever again.”
Bipolar and schizophrenia were terms I had studied in psychology class, heard discussed on television documentaries , and read about. Those terms were being used to describe why Josh was acting so different.
There is no cure, only treatment. The odds weren’t in our favor regarding a normal life for Josh or for us, his parents, or his brother and sister.
The sadness felt like a big black hole trying to swallow me in its darkness.
“Lord, if this is the path you have chosen for him and me, then I know your grace is sufficient for me to endure this.”
February and September of each year brought fear and worry. February should mean the end of winter was just around the corner. September brings warm colors and the splendor of fall. But now it usually meant a hospital stay for Josh. Bipolar runs in cycles and it’s not unusual for the symptoms to manifest at the same time during the year. His mind would race, his brain couldn’t communicate what was happening or what he was feeling.
The first time it happened it seemed like the way you treat an infection, give the patient meds and they get better. The second time he relapsed it was attributed to a medication communication.
Then he seemed to get better. Surely this is not going to happen again. Then the day came in February when he relapsed again. Our hope was dashed. Would he ever be better? The psych ward was frightening. I kept thinking, “He doesn’t belong in here.” Why can’t they put him in a regular room?” It was embarrassing to say Josh was in the hospital psyche ward.
That, I learned, is the stigma associated with mental illness. “ My child does not belong here. He doesn’t have a drug issue, he doesn’t drink, he’s never been violent. This is a place for psychos, not my son.”
But as I soon found out, it didn’t matter that I didn’t want him there. Hospital policy was to place him in lock down. To the doctors, nurses, and security guards at the hospital the psych ward was the place for him. He needed special care, watched around the clock, special medication, and therapy. The staff was trained to give specific care for his specific needs.
As I sat in church that October Sunday morning I pondered what had transpired during the past months. I picked up my “Word From the Lord Journal.” It’s a written account of my fears-my dreams-my prayers and hopes. When I’m inspired to write down what is happening around me or when I’m moved to jot down what I’m feeling I write it in my “Word From the Lord” journal.
I sat in the church pew reading what I had written. The year had been a roller coaster of emotion. His second hospital stay brought the same hopelessness.
“Lord, I’m praying for Josh today.” “Give me wisdom to know how to help him.” “Lord, does he need to be taken to a special hospital? If so, guide me to the right one.” “Lord, I feel so helpless.” “Will this end for Josh?” “Will I wake up one day and this will be over because it feels like a bad dream?” “Why can’t he just snap out of it?”
A special word from God is like a flash of lightening during a storm. As the clouds roll back the light comes through the ability to see everything is there. Sometimes it lasts for only a few seconds. During those few seconds you will see what is around you as if it is the middle of the day. The darkness might return but those few seconds you can see.
During the praise and worship service I was able to let the singing uplift and encourage me. The hopeless feelings that had usurped my mind and my emotions overwhelmed me and again made me feel like there was no hope.
My dear friend, Joyce, began to speak words written by the prophet Isaiah. “I create the fruit of the lips…..” That needs written today went though my mind. As I opened my Bible to Isaiah 57:19 I proceeded to write down in the journal the words penned by the prophet many years ago.
“I create the fruit of the lips; Peace, peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near saith the Lord: and I will heal him.”Isaiah 57:19 (KJV)
I looked at the last four words again with a surprised reaction. I read them again.
My hopelessness took a back seat to hope. I don’t know what Isaiah had in mind the day he penned those words. He was following the inspiration in his heart as his hand formed letters. The interpreters wrote the passage in words that we could understand.
But, that October Sunday morning God gave to a praying Mom the hope that her son would be ok and the God I serve has His hand on the entire situation.
Josh is stable after five years. He still requires medication and we encourage him to see his doctor and follow the doctor’s advice.
There are very few who are not touched by the stigma of mental illness. So many that I talk with tell me of a family member, a friend, or someone dear who deals with the illness on a daily basis.
A mental illness diagnosis changes your life forever, but reading those words penned by the prophet Isaiah many years ago gave me hope.
The hopelessness of the illness tightened a firm grip. Josh, my
oldest son, diagnosed with mental illness. I was now exposed to a segment of the human population I never dreamed would touch my life, usurp my time or change family priorities.
“Josh is a seriously ill young man.” The sinking emotion of sadness gripped my heart again while the doctor gave us no hope for his future. “Be prepared for Josh to never be able to function outside a structured environment ever again.”
Bipolar and schizophrenia were terms I had studied in psychology class, heard discussed on television documentaries , and read about. Those terms were being used to describe why Josh was acting so different.
There is no cure, only treatment. The odds weren’t in our favor regarding a normal life for Josh or for us, his parents, or his brother and sister.
The sadness felt like a big black hole trying to swallow me in its darkness.
“Lord, if this is the path you have chosen for him and me, then I know your grace is sufficient for me to endure this.”
February and September of each year brought fear and worry. February should mean the end of winter was just around the corner. September brings warm colors and the splendor of fall. But now it usually meant a hospital stay for Josh. Bipolar runs in cycles and it’s not unusual for the symptoms to manifest at the same time during the year. His mind would race, his brain couldn’t communicate what was happening or what he was feeling.
The first time it happened it seemed like the way you treat an infection, give the patient meds and they get better. The second time he relapsed it was attributed to a medication communication.
Then he seemed to get better. Surely this is not going to happen again. Then the day came in February when he relapsed again. Our hope was dashed. Would he ever be better? The psych ward was frightening. I kept thinking, “He doesn’t belong in here.” Why can’t they put him in a regular room?” It was embarrassing to say Josh was in the hospital psyche ward.
That, I learned, is the stigma associated with mental illness. “ My child does not belong here. He doesn’t have a drug issue, he doesn’t drink, he’s never been violent. This is a place for psychos, not my son.”
But as I soon found out, it didn’t matter that I didn’t want him there. Hospital policy was to place him in lock down. To the doctors, nurses, and security guards at the hospital the psych ward was the place for him. He needed special care, watched around the clock, special medication, and therapy. The staff was trained to give specific care for his specific needs.
As I sat in church that October Sunday morning I pondered what had transpired during the past months. I picked up my “Word From the Lord Journal.” It’s a written account of my fears-my dreams-my prayers and hopes. When I’m inspired to write down what is happening around me or when I’m moved to jot down what I’m feeling I write it in my “Word From the Lord” journal.
I sat in the church pew reading what I had written. The year had been a roller coaster of emotion. His second hospital stay brought the same hopelessness.
“Lord, I’m praying for Josh today.” “Give me wisdom to know how to help him.” “Lord, does he need to be taken to a special hospital? If so, guide me to the right one.” “Lord, I feel so helpless.” “Will this end for Josh?” “Will I wake up one day and this will be over because it feels like a bad dream?” “Why can’t he just snap out of it?”
A special word from God is like a flash of lightening during a storm. As the clouds roll back the light comes through the ability to see everything is there. Sometimes it lasts for only a few seconds. During those few seconds you will see what is around you as if it is the middle of the day. The darkness might return but those few seconds you can see.
During the praise and worship service I was able to let the singing uplift and encourage me. The hopeless feelings that had usurped my mind and my emotions overwhelmed me and again made me feel like there was no hope.
My dear friend, Joyce, began to speak words written by the prophet Isaiah. “I create the fruit of the lips…..” That needs written today went though my mind. As I opened my Bible to Isaiah 57:19 I proceeded to write down in the journal the words penned by the prophet many years ago.
“I create the fruit of the lips; Peace, peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near saith the Lord: and I will heal him.”Isaiah 57:19 (KJV)
I looked at the last four words again with a surprised reaction. I read them again.
My hopelessness took a back seat to hope. I don’t know what Isaiah had in mind the day he penned those words. He was following the inspiration in his heart as his hand formed letters. The interpreters wrote the passage in words that we could understand.
But, that October Sunday morning God gave to a praying Mom the hope that her son would be ok and the God I serve has His hand on the entire situation.
Josh is stable after five years. He still requires medication and we encourage him to see his doctor and follow the doctor’s advice.
There are very few who are not touched by the stigma of mental illness. So many that I talk with tell me of a family member, a friend, or someone dear who deals with the illness on a daily basis.
A mental illness diagnosis changes your life forever, but reading those words penned by the prophet Isaiah many years ago gave me hope.
My Belly Hurts
MY BELLY HURTS
When a little one is ill, that’s the time when Grandma helps Mommy deal with the uncertainty of illness, provides needed rest, and dishes out comfort. Nobody takes Mom’s place, but there are times Grandma needs to stand along side Mom when she is exhausted. Grandma will rearrange her schedule and not allow anyone or anything to stand in the way of getting to her own offspring in order to make sure the grandbaby is provided the best of medical care.
When the phone call came informing Grandma and Grandpa that Garrett, the oldest grandson, had been admitted to the hospital, the car was packed and we headed to the western part of OH.
“Mommy, my belly hurts bad,” Garrett had complained for several days and was unable to keep anything in his stomach.
His Mom, my daughter Kristin, is an RN. She had followed the doctor’s instructions but nothing helped. He still complained with severe stomach pain.
After two days of treatment in the area hospital, Garrett was transferred to the area children’s hospital.
In Grandma’s thinking, they didn’t move fast enough. Garrett was in pain. He couldn’t hold food or liquid in his stomach. I wanted instant relief. This was a children’s hospital. You would think the medical personnel would be all about making Garrett’s stomach pain go away.
But, again and again, a nurse or a doctor walked in his room, put the stethoscope up to this stomach and listen. No one knew anything or seemed to be concerned that he was suffering.
“Where is your sense of urgency? Can’t you see this little one is in pain? What are you doing for him? Tears fell down both my cheeks. I wanted someone to help my grandson. We were in the area’s children’s hospital, but they didn’t seem to want to help him.
The second day several doctors came to his room. They had the reason for his discomfort. Garrett’s bowel had stopped working. “But, why won’t you give him anything for the pain?” Kristin knew how to talk to the medical personnel better than I did. Grandma was ready to knock a few heads together.
“If we give him medication for the pain, it will slow down his bowel. It is beginning to work on its and if we slow it down he’ll be back in the same shape.”
I was ready to slap my own face. I should have known they weren’t ignoring him. They were acting in Garrett’s best interest.
I thought of hurting people. How much time and energy do we spend trying to take away the pain of those who hurt? But, if we take away the pain, does it slow down the process of working through issues?
“Why does my heart hurt so bad?” I’m sure I sounded like a broken record praying those words over and over again. My emotions seemed to know nothing but heartache and pain. But, could it be God was helping my heart to work?
Does happiness require a pain free life? I always thought so. But, if you have the courage to believe that pain helps work out painful issues that come your way then the will to work through the pain will make you strong.
When a little one is ill, that’s the time when Grandma helps Mommy deal with the uncertainty of illness, provides needed rest, and dishes out comfort. Nobody takes Mom’s place, but there are times Grandma needs to stand along side Mom when she is exhausted. Grandma will rearrange her schedule and not allow anyone or anything to stand in the way of getting to her own offspring in order to make sure the grandbaby is provided the best of medical care.
When the phone call came informing Grandma and Grandpa that Garrett, the oldest grandson, had been admitted to the hospital, the car was packed and we headed to the western part of OH.
“Mommy, my belly hurts bad,” Garrett had complained for several days and was unable to keep anything in his stomach.
His Mom, my daughter Kristin, is an RN. She had followed the doctor’s instructions but nothing helped. He still complained with severe stomach pain.
After two days of treatment in the area hospital, Garrett was transferred to the area children’s hospital.
In Grandma’s thinking, they didn’t move fast enough. Garrett was in pain. He couldn’t hold food or liquid in his stomach. I wanted instant relief. This was a children’s hospital. You would think the medical personnel would be all about making Garrett’s stomach pain go away.
But, again and again, a nurse or a doctor walked in his room, put the stethoscope up to this stomach and listen. No one knew anything or seemed to be concerned that he was suffering.
“Where is your sense of urgency? Can’t you see this little one is in pain? What are you doing for him? Tears fell down both my cheeks. I wanted someone to help my grandson. We were in the area’s children’s hospital, but they didn’t seem to want to help him.
The second day several doctors came to his room. They had the reason for his discomfort. Garrett’s bowel had stopped working. “But, why won’t you give him anything for the pain?” Kristin knew how to talk to the medical personnel better than I did. Grandma was ready to knock a few heads together.
“If we give him medication for the pain, it will slow down his bowel. It is beginning to work on its and if we slow it down he’ll be back in the same shape.”
I was ready to slap my own face. I should have known they weren’t ignoring him. They were acting in Garrett’s best interest.
I thought of hurting people. How much time and energy do we spend trying to take away the pain of those who hurt? But, if we take away the pain, does it slow down the process of working through issues?
“Why does my heart hurt so bad?” I’m sure I sounded like a broken record praying those words over and over again. My emotions seemed to know nothing but heartache and pain. But, could it be God was helping my heart to work?
Does happiness require a pain free life? I always thought so. But, if you have the courage to believe that pain helps work out painful issues that come your way then the will to work through the pain will make you strong.
Blank Piece of Paper
BLANK PIECE OF PAPER
“He’s going to use that writing ability for the edification of his people.”
Shock is the only way to describe how I felt. There it was, brought forth just the way I had asked for it. It happened Wednesday evening, October 5, 1983.
I needed to know beyond any shadow of doubt God was the one telling me to write down what I could see, feel, know, and understand. To explain I need to go back to the year of 1980.
September of that year had found me in a disconcerted state of mind. August had made itself a real trying time. Jim, my husband, had been in the hospital, Ben, our middle child, had been in the hospital, and Jim’s place of employment had burned to the ground.
Jim’s employment had made it necessary for him to be away from home most of the time. My days were full and busy. My children were almost four, almost two, and six months old. Nighttime brought welcome rest and silence, but with Jim gone most of the time, I was lonely. I filled the empty hours by reading.
I had always been an avid reader, but this time the books became my friends. The works on the printed pages became real. Thanks Lord I Needed That by Charlene Potterbaum is the one I read the most. She had the ability to take her difficult situations and see the hand of God working the issues to her good.
On a humid September night I began to read how God had spoken to her heart years before and told her to write down what I was reading.
I was ecstatic! I realized God had looked down through time and knew I was going to need her words to help me through some very difficult times. I felt so secure in God’s love. Snuggled in my bed between the sheets I heard God speak to my heart and say.
“Donna.”
“Yes, Lord,” I answered.
“This is what I want you to do.”
“What?”
“Write.”
“Write? Are you sure You’re talking to the right person?” I humbly inquired.
“Yes,” He assured me.
This looked impossible. The thought had never occurred to me to be a writer.
“Lord, I’ve never questioned You before, but this time it’s hard for me to believe I’m hearing You correctly. Besides, what would I write about?”
“Write down what you see, feel, know, and understand.”
Bewilderment took hold of my emotions. Who would want to read what I have to say? I have my own philosophy about giving of myself, but who would be interested?
As the hours passed into days, I still questioned what I had heard down in my heart. Something peculiar began to take place. Undoubtedly, lying out where it would catch my eye would be blank paper. It was as if the paper would call to me and let me know it was there.
“Lord, there it is again,” silently I would pray. “I feel I’m wrong in questioning You, but I’m asking for some kind of confirmation.”
Friday afternoons the ladies of our church were invited to the home of one of the members. Her name is Brenda. She has the ability to listen to the Lord’s instructions and follow them regardless of the fact she doesn’t understand the meaning.
Early in the day on this particular Friday, Brenda felt compelled to get the book How To Live Like a King’s Kid and turn to page 38. To her astonishment, instead of words of instruction, she found a blank page.
“Ladies, I don’t understand what this is about. Maybe you can explain it.” You could hear the bewilderment in her voice.
A smile quickly graced its presence on my face.
“I know what it’s about.” I began to share with her and the other ladies what the Lord had told me and the significance of the blank page. Brenda was relieved to know she had followed the right instructions.
“One more time, Lord,” I prayed. “Only this time let it be through the working of the Holy Spirit through the Word of Knowledge. When the minister looks at me and confirms the writing ability without prior knowledge from me, then I will not question the task at hand anymore. ”I had only heard about prayer being answered this way.
In October, 1983, Rev. George Lewis was conducting revival services at the Steward Road Church of God. As he finished his sermon, he began to call different members of the congregation to the front. One of them was me. I stood and listened as he prayed and shared with each one what the Holy Spirit would reveal to him for them.
As he stood before me, he began to tell about the special anointing God had placed upon my life. I felt inspired and thankful.
Those who could see me told me my eyes were as big as saucers and my lower lip just about hit the floor when he spoke the words writing ability. The only way I knew how to express the emotion was to cry.
There can be no more question about my quest. It is to put down on paper what is within me.
The dream is to be a published author.
There are times when I’m so overwhelmed. I try to make each phrase clear, concise, and grammatically correct. At the same time I want the words to flow like a cool spring of water on a hot summer’s day.
I take a blank piece of paper and attempt to shape the words into a picture as if the picture is being painted. With its own personality it is appealing and heartwarming. When mistakes are made it is restructured, reworked, and retyped until it has the flow that feels right.
Down into myself I go and try to find the right words to express the stirrings I have within. It’s Donna’s heart going into those words, through the pen, and on the paper
Do you have a quest? Don’t let life pass by without the search of your purpose.
It is entirely possible what lies within you is a source of strength for someone else.
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