The Chicken Skeleton

I've been home most of this weekend because I am dog-sitting Jen and Zac's two dogs. Denver, the older one, has stayed with me often. He is a sweet, big boy, and no trouble at all. But for the first time, I also have their new puppy, Digory. He's still quite young and since I don't have a fenced yard, I decided I'd better stick around to make sure he didn't start roaming the countryside of Peachy Canyon.

Yesterday, after changing my sheets, taking Digory for a walk, and doing a few other household chores, it occurred to me that it would be a good day to make some homemade chicken soup that my dad and I could eat later in the week. I knew I had a chicken carcass in my freezer and I had been needing to use it up for some time now. And so it was that I eventually found myself standing at my kitchen sink and picking through the chicken broth, fishing out all the gross skin, fat, and bones of this chicken. It reminded me of something that had occurred years ago.

When my oldest daughter, Sarah, was in Junior High School, she was taking an A.P. Biology class. She came home one day with an interesting assignment. Her job was to get a chicken carcass and somehow reassemble the skeleton. Needless to say, Sarah did not approach this project with enthusiasm! I did my part by buying a whole chicken, boiling it, and then taking all the meat off the bones so that I could make soup with it. As I pulled everything apart I put the bones on paper plates with general labels - "breast", "legs", "wings", etc. I was trying to help her at least have some idea of where stuff went. This was long before we had the internet to Google directions. We let the chicken bones dry out for a few days before beginning the "Humpty Dumpty" marathon.

Sarah was extremely grossed out by the whole idea. After much complaining, she donned my heavy, rubber cleaning gloves. No way was she going to touch a part of a chicken! I had set her up outside on the patio where she labored for the next few hours. You know, a chicken has a million tiny bones! She actually did a pretty good job of it. I remember watching out the windows and laughing so much because she was so obviously disgusted. Her chicken was glued back together and ended up looking like it was kneeling in prayer. She told me that if she wanted extra credit, we could go to the butcher and buy head, neck, and feet pieces. We passed. Later, she was outraged because, after turning in the heinous project, she learned that everyone got the same grade, so long as they did produced a skeleton, no matter how lousy their chicken looked. Neither one of us are sure what she was supposed to learn from all this but I doubt we will ever forget that chicken!

Back to my kitchen sink yesterday. I tend to analyze things, or over-analyze according to my kids, so I was thinking about the pile of tiny bones I had set aside. I could have never put them back together in any semblance of order - no more than I could put my marriage back together, no more than I could undo the mistakes I made as a parent, and so forth. Only God, our Creator, can put the broken and mixed up pieces of our lives back into a functional whole. We think sometimes that there is only one way to do this, just like a chicken leg has one specific place to be on a chicken. However, since God designed us and planned our lives, He has the ability to "reassemble" us in any fashion He desires. I am now single. I didn't think that was what God had intended for me but obviously, it is, for this season of my life. Graciously, He has allowed me to function and even flourish, though my skeleton doesn't look the same as it once did. As always, it comes back to trusting God and His sovereignty. I am merely the bones. He is the soup maker and His soup is always going to taste better than anything I could make on my own!

Jeremiah 29:11

New International Version (NIV)

11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

I Burned Some Pages Today

I have been sick for almost two months and I am finally feeling a bit better so I decided that today was the day I just HAD to clean my room. After all, I was sharing my bed with crushed potato chips and pretzel salt. (Chips were mine, salt was the grandkids'.) I determined to do a very thorough job. I did and I'm thrilled with the results. But sometime during the middle of this process, I came across some papers that I had tucked away several years ago. I read through them one last time and then... I burned them, slowly, one at a time.

You may be wondering why this is significant enough to write about. After all, I enjoy burning stuff as much as the next guy. But these pages were special, in a way, and I'm not sure yet how I feel about their loss. There weren't many - maybe half a dozen - but they spoke of things deep and buried in my heart. There was a letter that I had written Paul shortly before he left me, e-mails between he and I after he left, and several e-mails between he and the girls, also after he left. The emotions expressed in these writings were so raw and gut-wrenching. I knew I had saved these pages and occasionally I had taken them out and read them again, just like I had done today.

I had thought that perhaps the time had come to let go of them. Previously, they had served to remind me of how bad things had been and helped me see how far I had come. They also served to remind me of how deceived and "off" Paul had become during that time in his life. Sometimes, when I would remember our life together, I felt like I was looking at it, at Paul, through rose-colored glasses. I tended to downplay the ugliness that had transpired and think of the good memories. I don't think that is wrong, necessarily. Paul certainly wasn't/isn't all bad and we had a lot of good years together. At least I thought so. But I didn't always see him with a proper perspective and these pages I had written back then had brought some reality to my clouded outlook. I suppose it was sort of a defensive mechanism. It kept me, at times, from throwing caution to the wind and begging him to come back to me.

The fact of the matter is, Paul will always be a part of me. That is how God designed marriage and just because Paul is no longer physically in my presence does not mean that he has been cut out of my heart. This is one of those things that I have to live with much like Donny and Melissa live with infertility or Chris Pickens lives with A.L.S. None of us are spared the pain that this corrupt world brings. However...when Paul first left, I knew I would survive. I knew immediately that it wouldn't kill me. Thankfully, I had enough faith to reassure me of that. But I never planned or imagined that I might be living victoriously through this hardship.

I think that in my mind initially, living victoriously meant God bringing him back to me, restoring our marriage, being one of the few that survived infidelity. But who am I to define what "victorious living" really is? Maybe it means being where I am today - a woman just beginning to grasp the magnitude of God's grace in my life, just beginning to understand the privilege and power that there is in praying for my family (yes, including Paul), just beginning to realize that joy is mine in Christ, regardless of my circumstances. Is my situation any harder, more unique, more distressing or discouraging than yours? NO! We all bear burdens in this life - family members who don't know the Lord, loss and grief, aging parents, aging ourselves, children's heartaches, sinful choices. The list is endless.

I'm encouraged by my "book burning". God is so patient and loving with me, with all of us. He allowed me to keep those reminders for as long as I needed to. But then, He gently allowed me to release the heartache they represented to Him, to let Him deal with it. I am trusting Him that I don't need to be reminded any longer of those dark days. My circumstances haven't changed and I still have much to pray about. But I am just a little closer to realizing the victorious life that is mine to claim as a child of God. And even as I cry through my prayers for all the situations that weigh on me, I feel the blossom of joy blooming inside me, knowing that God has got it all under control!

The Holidays

I was thinking the other night about my dad and the challenges he faces as he ages. I began to pray for him and I was asking the Lord to be his strength, comfort, and to give us both peace and wisdom as we face the days ahead. As I lay in my bed praying, I realized...He is my strength, my dad's strength, our peace, our wisdom. I don't have to ask Him to be that. He already is!! Praise God. I just have to live like I believe that. Then came Christmas and I felt that I was moving through the season, simply tolerating it. When did it become something I just needed to "get through?" I missed the joy in celebrating Christ's birth and all that it means to me. Oh, I can list off lots of reasons for a less-than-wonderful attitude. But as I've pondered this, God has again reminded me that He is my strength, peace, wisdom, and JOY! I've been living my life as if I were waiting - waiting for resolution, waiting for peace, waiting for something to happen.

I kept trying to write but the truth is that I've felt so depleted and I guess I feel like when I write I should be able to end with some profound truth. Pride! Who am I to think that I've got it all together and I need to share it with the world? It is enough that "God Is!" He exists, He loves me, He has saved me. He is the only One I need. I don't need to be waiting for anything. He has done it all already and He knows what is coming for me. Yes, He felt my loneliness during the holidays. Yes, I'm still sitting here in front of an awesome fire - alone. I need to quit my griping. I am so blessed. So here are just a few highlights of my holiday...

We were not able to be together as a family on Christmas Day this year so we gathered at my house on December 19th for our traditional "soup supper" and to let the little ones open their presents from me.

Jason, Sarah, and Gabriel Baker.

Zac, Jenny, Logan, Felicity, Kian, and Arrow Hanna.

Donny and Melissa Stiver.

Me, my dad (Papa to everyone), and my brother, Tim.

Presents!! You can barely see it but in the background on the table is a beautiful picture of my mom and dad at Melissa and Donny's wedding. Next to that is a picture of Sarah, Jenny, Melissa, and my mom. The girls are wearing matching dresses that I had made them for Christmas. 

Sarah and Felicity have a special bond because they are both very beautiful, prissy, girly girls! Lissy is wearing a dress that I made her for Christmas.

The Paso 5.

A couple of days later, Sarah, Jenny, and I took the five Paso kids to the "Follow the Star" presentation at FBC. It was a great experience although Kian got scared and I had to carry him through the stations and Lissy clung very tightly to Aunt Sarah's hand. Jenny was kept busy with Arrow and the two older boys were left to their own devices!

The "play dough station" was probably the favorite and that was just while we were waiting for our turn to "travel."

Aunt Sarah trying to comfort Arrow but that Mama's boy wasn't buying it!

Christmas night, Melissa, Donny, and Donny's parents graciously included me in their Christmas dinner and the next night, Donny's mom, Susie, cooked a fabulous Swedish smorgasbord and insisted that I join them for that too. It was all delicious and it was so hospitable for the Stivers (who had come all the way from Wisconsin) to share their family time with me.

The next week I got to babysit Arrow for the first time. Actually, I had all three Hanna boys while Jenny took Felicity for her 5-year old vaccinations. I got Arrow to sleep by wearing him in a sling and then took the whole sling off, with him in it, and put him down in the chair. I still got it!! Isn't he sweet?

And then there's New Year's Eve! Who wouldn't enjoy a hot date with this young man and "Ice Age - Continental Drift?"

And the finale? God is so good! He surprised me with a visit from Tammera and her family. Her wonderful husband is sensitive to her need and desire to be with her family and so they drove out from Tucson, bringing sweet Audrey, Asher, and brand new baby Callan. Callan was only 11 days old when they arrived! Eli knew they might not get another opportunity to come out any time soon and so, though it was a long and arduous trip, they came! They left yesterday and though it's sad, I'm left with the memory of their precious fellowship.

My dad, meeting Callan for the first time. (By the way, Callan is wearing a sleeper that I bought for him. I had bought the same one for Arrow. You know, how cute would that be? Cousins, two months apart, in matching outfits. Arrow never got to wear his.  :(  He was too big!)

Can you see the difference between the two boys? I know, it's subtle. Look closely!  :)

Lissy will be a wonderful mother one day, just like her mama! 

 A rare occasion - all eight of my grandchildren in my living room. I told the girls that I didn't care what shape the kids were in. I just wanted them all in the same photo. Praise God! This is as good as it gets.

And here they all are with my dad and me- just prior to meltdown!

And so I sit here tonight, reflecting on the year. We've had our struggles, no doubt. I still have much to work through. But really? How can I complain? Look at these pictures! I am overflowing with gratitude to God!

Funks

It's funny. It doesn't seem to take much to get me in a funk sometimes. Last weekend, for some odd reason, I tromped up to the water storage tank. It's in the upper orchard area and can't be seen from the house or driveway. I think I went to pick a few lemons and while I was up there, I decided to check the tank. Sure enough, I found about four very small but very definite leaks. Everything is original around here which means that the tank is of the 1985 vintage. So there I was, last Sunday afternoon, in the cold, trying to patch the tank with J-B Weld. I knew it needed to be dry in order to stick but I tried anyway and you know what I was thinking? "This is a man's job!" But of course, the man is MIA so it's me. Now, I'm a pretty handy woman and there is no reason why I can't take care of some of this stuff. It was just the principle of the thing, you know? And for a short time, I gave in to the temptation of anger and blame.

When it became apparent that the J-B Weld was not going to stick on the wet tank (duh) I decided to turn the well pump off, use up most of the water until the water level dipped below the leaks, patch, let dry, turn pump back on, and voila! Water again, hopefully within a day or so. Good plan, I thought. I really had no idea how long it would take for us to use up that much water but the tank looks giant to me so I turned the pump off Sunday night. I was hoping that we'd have water for the next four days or so and that I could do my repairs on the weekend when I didn't have to worry about getting a shower before work. Again, good plan, I thought. However, when did we run out of water? Tonight! During Bible Study. After only two days. I came home in a funk.

I grabbed a flashlight, put on my boots and once again tromped up into the orchard. Finally, it occurred to me that I was on dangerous ground, attitude wise, and that I'd better take a minute to pray. I asked the Lord to help me not blame the leaks on a guy who hasn't even been around for two + years. After all, things wear out. I can't blame everything on him. I realized how selfish and spoiled I am. At this point, I hadn't had water for a whole two hours but I'd gone into survival mode like it was going to last forever. I checked out the tank again, decided that I couldn't attempt to patch it by flashlight late at night, gave up and turned the well pump back on. We'll have water by morning and I'll shut it off in a day or two and try again.

All the while, I knew this was a small problem; a minor setback. Why did it put me into such a funk? I'm still pondering that but I think that I do pretty well in the larger dramas of life but it's the little things that trip me up.  Satan is well aware of that as well. I don't guard myself adequately. I'm either relying on my own abilities to take care of all the little details of life and forget to bring God into the equation, or perhaps I get worn down by some of the bigger difficulties that I've experienced and even though I've gotten through them with the Lord's help, I fail to realize how depleted my strength is and so I am easy prey for an invitation to a pity party. Shame on me. I should know better.

All this random blathering on about the well...and what is my conclusion? I think I need to praise God for these smallish problems because they draw my attention to weaknesses in myself and shift my focus just a little more towards my Creator. And every time God allows me to gain a small victory over my sinful, selfish tendencies, He prepares me a little more for those larger dramas of life that are sure to come. Thank you, Lord. I will be in the orchard again this weekend, again without water, again attempting a patch job. I'm hoping and praying that my attitude will be totally different this time and I'm grateful that God is giving me a second chance.

Struggle

I feel so dried up lately - tired, discouraged, stagnant. One of the struggles revolves around church. I've gone to the same church for 16 years - ever since we moved to Paso. It has been my home and it's all I know here. But I can't go there anymore, at least not for now. When I'm there on a Sunday morning all I can see is the ghost of my almost ex-husband. I've tried and tried, prayed, pushed myself, but I just cannot get past it. My girls are struggling with similar issues so we've all been looking around for a new church home. It is a painful process but we are all feeling desperate, in a way, for something; desperate for the family-feel that church provides, the accountability, the sense of belonging. But I'm almost 60 and starting over is not as easy as it once was. Our family has suffered quite a number of different losses over the last few years and at times we wonder whether it will ever end. That got me to thinking about what we expect in this life and what the Bible says about our suffering.

Romans 5:3 tells me that suffering produces perseverance and from perseverance comes character and from character comes hope. And hope does not disappoint us. Not only that, it says we are to rejoice in our suffering. Uh, let me confess right now. There's no rejoicing going on here.

Romans 8:18 says that our present sufferings are not worth anything compared to the glory that is waiting for us.

So what's wrong with me? Why aren't I rejoicing? Why aren't I hopeful? I was reading a devotional by Max Lucado the other day. He was talking about how this world is not our destination. We're passing through, on our journey, but heaven is our final destination and that is what we need to be looking towards. He said,

"Do you feel as if your best years have passed you by? Hogwash. You will do your best work in heaven. Do you regret wasting seasons of life on foolish pursuits? So do I. But we can stop our laments. We have an eternity to make up for lost time. Are you puzzled by the challenges of your days? Then see yourself as an uncut jewel and God as a lapidary. He is polishing you for your place in his kingdom. Your biggest moments lie ahead, on the other side of the grave.

So “seek those things which are above, where Christ is, sitting at the right hand of God” (Col. 3:1 NKJV)."

I think I forget this a lot. I'm not looking up towards heaven. I've got my head down just watching myself put one foot in front of the other as I plod along. I'm tired of crying about my life. Don't get me wrong. I've got some legitimate pain and so do my girls. But how do we grasp the victorious living that is ours in Christ?

"seek those things which are above..."

I almost missed it. Colossians 3:2 repeats the thought - "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things." Is that the answer? I've been reading in Jeremiah. He was a prophet to Israel and for over 23 years he preached the same message: "Turn from sin. Obey God. Worship God." His message never changed and it was a pretty simple one and it is basically the same message that Colossians presents. I don't want to over simplify things but maybe I think too much. I want to glorify God. I want to please Him. I want to serve Him. I really do. But I struggle so much with the burdens of this world. I'm just looking down too much. Max Lucado said, "Are you puzzled by the challenges of your days?" Yes! I am!


O.K. I can be puzzled. I don't have to have all the answers because God's got it covered. I'm His jewel that He is preparing. He is going to bedazzle heaven with me! That is an awesome thought. I need to hang onto it and look up. I've struggled all week to get these thoughts written because I thought it might help me sort things out. Somehow, I have to take what I know in my head to be true and get it to my heart so I can live it out. I'm finding it easier said than done. I was listening to praise music tonight and the words of a song really hit home...


What could I say?
What could I do?
But offer this heart, oh God, completely to You.
I'll stand with arms high and heart abandoned
in awe of the One who gave it all.
I'll stand, my soul, Lord to You surrendered,
All I am is Yours.


 “’For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts’”.
(Isaiah 55:8-9) 

I pray that God gives me the courage and strength to offer myself completely to Him and to seek the things that are above. I'm sick and tired of my view of the ground.