Little Miracles

Today I was praying for God to undo something I potentially may have forgotten to do. I couldn't remember if I did it and probably would never know if I had remembered to do it or not. If I forgot to do it, it would affect many people...not for long...but they would be affected, maybe even confused.

So, I prayed for God to give me a miracle and go before me and go to my past. I prayed that he would do what I may have forgotten to do.

I believe the God that healed me of arthritis and fibromyalgia is the same God that can reverse time and ensure the simple was done completely.

Nothing is too small to take to God, nothing is too insignificant. You don't get three wishes and that's it. The Bible says that if you believe, ask and it shall be given; it never mentions a limit.

I use to think I may be bothering God, or perhaps jumping in front of someone in line that was getting ready to pray about cancer, or divorce, or bankruptcy. There is no line with God. He is almighty, huge, able to perform beyond what our little minds can comprehend.

Take all your burdens to him ... and while you're at it...take all your blessings to him too!

Perfection

Babies are expected all around me which has caused a furry in my sewing studio. I have been producing baby items for the many, many baby showers that I have been invited to. I also have some very special people in my life expecting little sweeties, such as my daughter with my second grandchild and my sweet niece with my 'Gram-aunt' child.

My desire to always do things incredibly perfect often times hinders my productivity. Cutting, re-cutting, sewing, seam ripping, re-sewing, adding embellishments then adding more embellishments and still not feeling it is quite the way I want it.

At some point, I need to be happy with what my talents turn out. I need to enjoy the process, the prayers during the project and the final product. Perfection is but a figment of my imagination

So, as the baby goodies are being made, I am more and more giving way to the enjoyment of the thought of the little one that will be using the item rather than centering the entire experience around my craziness. I need to always keep my goal in mind: Making a gift that a child will know that I love them - that's it. I'm not perfect and the baby should know it right from the start!

This evolving revelation is freeing at every stitch produced. I hope it spreads to other areas of my life.

Dad & Mom

As a child, I yearned for time with my folks. I loved spending any time allowed in the kitchen with my mom, watching and sometimes helping her do laundry, combing her hair while she watched Mary Tyler Moore, or quietly sitting at her feet while she talked on the phone, I loved it especially if she giggled.

My dad has always been a man's man. He is an expert in anything he touches including woodworking, gun smithing, watch making, electronics...you name it. I would sit across from him as he doodled a prototype for something he would make by hand, I'd sit next to him and watch boxing on TV or run and get him a fresh beer (hoping he'd let me drink the warm last inch left in the mug).

As a young adult, I respected my parents but soon found myself wanting to prove I could do without them. I wanted them to see that I could have my own house, take care of my own children, have a successful marriage, gain a career and be completely sufficient without their assistance.

Now as the years tick by as quickly as seconds on a clock, I will be 50 years old in 3.5 seconds (years). I find I need my parents now more than ever. All the things I loved about spending time with them as a youngster, all the conversations I enjoyed listening to, all the processed, quips, rules I didn't understand then but figured they knew what they were talking about...they all still hold true to my longings today.

There are things in addition that I need now. I need their touch, I want to know their thoughts - on everything from why canned green beans taste better than frozen to why we voted differently in the last election. I want to learn everything from them, I want to know who they were, who they are and who they ever hoped to be.

It's funny how fast time goes by. Seems like only yesterday I feel asleep on my mom's lap and my dad carried me to bed. I want that too.

God Knows What To Do With It All

I have so many, more than I can recall in one moment, times that are scary and dark in my life. Yet, how would you know unless you have known me all my life or if I have shared them with you.

I think, why WOULD I share them? They're so messed up. But surely God has a purpose for all of the darkness from my past now that I serve Him.

Maybe, to share is to heal, to heal is to learn, to learn is to teach.

I'm no longer sad about most of the scary and dark moments (there are a few I am still sad about) but I do ponder their existence in what would appear to be my average, ordinary life.

Isn't it amazing that someones life can be made up of so many events and we not ever know them? I wonder about the experiences my friends have lived through that I don't even know about.

When do you lay it out? Who do you lay it out to? It doesn't seem there would ever be anyone in my life that I could tell the beginning forward to current chapter; I figure they would be in disbelief anyway.

I keep writing it all down in my journal as I remember events, people, places, smells, voices, conversations, and all the rest. Maybe someday, it will all come together and make sense as to it's existence. If not, I'm okay with that. God knows what to do with it all . . .

. . . even if I don't.

HFD, Pop

I called my dad to wish him Happy Father's Day. He sounded good for a week shy of his 80th birthday. I tear up every time I have a conversation with my dad, wishing I had the minutes back over the years that I tossed aside.

My dad lives over 700 miles away and I would be lying if I said I didn't wonder if each conversation would be our last. I savor every voice inflection, play on words and wittiness my dad is so gifted at.

Thinking back over the years of the times that rise to the surface of my memory are those of spending time with my Pop. The time I was 11 and we sat on the sofa for a good thirty minutes playing tic tac toe on my Ziggy erase-board, or the time when I was around seven and had gotten a groovy floppy hat for our fishing & camping trip to Wyoming only to lose it the first time we stopped at a river to fish. Somehow by the time we had made it down stream to the bait shop he had gotten me another one...and it was dry. Or the time I visited him and fell sick; he laid beside me all night holding my hand, I can still feel his age softened hand in mine. The afternoon I spent in his garage workshop making a beautiful church bird house together is a moment pressing in time for me or the time we shared conversations so special I dare not repeat for risk of losing the way they resinate in my mind.

My dad. My authority hero. I call him 'Pop' because it fits his personality best. Happy Father's Day my dear.

Fam Time

Spent the weekend with my extended family in laws. Had a great time. I realized that all families have their quirks. There is the one that needs to plan everything and direct, the one that is easy going, the one you are always looking for or waiting on, the one that is the prodigal son/daughter and the one that is the steady-eddie. Then there is the one that you can't wait to see; the one that makes the trip all worth while. I love that person.

Recovery is slow but promised

I looked at my last post, some time in September 2009. Things happened, my mind couldn't form words together to print. Then two days before Thanksgiving, my brother killed himself. Wednesday before Thanksgiving I cooked, Thursday - Thanksgiving I held hands around a table full of food thanking God for the ones I love and have loved in my life. Friday I traveled across the US to my brother's home. I met my only living sibling left, my little sister. We began the emotionally and physically draining tasks of clearing out my brother's belongings, setting up a memorial service and consoling his young daughter.

The busy-ness of tragedies have robbed me of necessary mourning and processing death. My little sister and I traveled to do the same thing when our sister died in 2003; leaving behind three children. Both siblings were single parents.

So, 6 months later I am just beginning to process...process what, I don't know. I feel the gravel working it's way out of my tissue to the top of my skin like horrible road rash has a way of doing.

I'm not in despair but often times feel like I am just looming around. Writing has always been my friend and often times I find God's words this way.

I'm on my way to a productive, one foot in front of the other type day. For anyone that reads this I hope you gain hope in knowing recovery may be slow but it is a promise I hold dear to; I hope you can too.