Banning

The other day, we decided to take a drive into the mountainous region above Banning. Our end destination was to check out an RV park called Silent Valley. Though it was technically only ten or so miles outside of Banning, those ten miles were winding, sharp, and steep in places. When we turned off California State Highway 243 onto Poppet Flats Road, the elevation was at least 4000 feet.

The snowy peak we had seen in the distance, now appeared to be within our grasp, just over the next ridge.

Although Silent Valley appears, for all purposes, to be a wonderful place to stay, being essentially a town within itself, we decided not to chance taking the Raven up that hill. For now, we are just bouncing back and forth between Fisherman’s Retreat and Cherry Valley Lakes, and we will most likely still be bouncing back and forth come Christmas and New Year’s.

When I prayed about whether we should move on or not, (since Ken had itchy feet and wanted to get to Arizona before any snow falls on the passes), God gave me peace about staying in this area for now.

Besides, we are making connections here. God is presenting us with good, new relationships and He is healing old ones. We’ve hooked up with a local pastor and his wife, and they have been blessing us with their goodness. And Ken, being the gregarious one, has made several other friends as well. There are good people, here in Beaumont.

I feel good here, soul-wise. I feel at home. Ken is happy either way, whether we move on or stay, so long as a decision has been made. So for now, we stay.

Blessings to you and yours,

Love,

Jenni and Ken

Banning, as viewed from Hwy 243

Cooling Our Heels

We knew this day would come. We knew we would run out of money before we ran out of month. Why wouldn’t it? It happens to everyone, everywhere, who lives paycheck to paycheck. Being on the road doesn’t make us immune from these everyday woes. It actually makes us more vulnerable.

Our home is one wheels. When it breaks down, we become, essentially, homeless, as happened back in July in Yreka. This was a major financial setback, but (knock on wood) we have not had any problems since.

Over this past month, every semi-annual bill that could possibly come due, did. Therefore, after our valiant push to get down here to Southern California, we now must cool our heels. Kick back and relax. Stay awhile.

As for my mission, God has me working on abiding right now. That’s a word we in this modern time rarely use. We tend to want everything right now. Microwaves ruined us in the kitchen. And on the computer, we get frustrated if a page takes longer than two seconds to download. We cannot even wait to make purchases anymore. If we cannot afford it, that’s what credit was invented for.

With everything available at our fingertips, simply for the asking, we’ve really gotten into a me-me-me attitude, and it sucks. Sorry, but it does.

Stop and smell the roses, already. There’s more to life than the tip of your own nose.

So here we sit, biding our time. God has me in a wait mode right now with my mission, anyway. Maybe that was in response to me complaining that I was so tired and needed a rest, for when I prayed for answers about my Hesperia dream, I was told to be patient and to wait.

When we drove through Hesperia two weeks ago on our way to Beaumont, I was so tired that God could have placed a neon sign directly in my path, and I would probably have missed it.

Friday is moving day again. We will be traveling a whopping six miles down the road to Cherry Valley Ranch.

I like this waiting mode. Besides, it gives me more time to spend with my daughter and, after payday, we can also travel westward to the Los Angeles area, to visit other family members. Seems we’ve got family everywhere and plenty of time to visit!

Love,

Jenni and Ken

High Maintenance Hottie

Have you ever stopped to consider how others might see you? Of course you have because you know as well as I do that we are talking about all those labels we try so hard to get rid of. If we step to the side for just a moment, or we change the wording a bit, we might actually be able to laugh at our labels, instead of cry. It’s the whole, “I’m not fat, I’m fluffy,” attitude.

I had never really thought of myself as high maintenance until recently. I’ve always tried to remain independent, not wanting to put upon others and wear out my welcome, so to speak. But, when one has a chronic illness, sometimes she needs help. So I had to drop the façade of independence, in favor of a more congenial, less stubborn reliance on the help of others.

As a disclaimer, despite our grandson’s proclamation that I am always in a good mood, I most certainly am not. I just work really hard to not let others see me, as I go off the deep end, but my poor, dear, sweet husband gets the brunt of it every time.

I have wicked migraines that come on strong and fast and slur my speech and steal my words. I can be in normal conversation one moment, and then the next, I’m a babbling idiot. These meltdowns also come with an emotional flavor. After one incident, I cried and begged Ken to forgive my two-year-old behavior. He said, “Two? More like eight, because you know better.”

One evening during a whopper of a migraine, I insisted on arguing about my jeans and his shoes. I cannot tell you why we were arguing, essentially about the proverbial apples and oranges. I haven’t a clue because it didn’t make sense even as I tried desperately to argue my ridiculous point that night.

It is during my migraines, when I become belligerent like a child, that I am most high maintenance.

When my pain and fatigue shake me to the core, this is also when I am most high maintenance.

When I whine and cry because I am too tired to think straight and I interpret Ken’s gentle coaxing as aggressive pushing, this again is when I am most high maintenance.

He is such a gentle, giving soul, and yet he quickly gives me the evil eye if I am overstepping. It is then that I pray, very loudly, “Lord, please help me to be patient. I know I can be pushy. Please teach me to be satisfied with what I have, Lord. Please let Ken know how much I appreciate him getting me a third glass of water. Lord, I know I am so needy, please forgive me. And thank you for putting Ken in my life. Amen.”

Then he softens, knowing that if I didn’t really need help, I would not ask. Besides, he has opportunities for revenge (oh, you sadistic puppy, you), and he pokes fun at my faux pas (all in good fun, nothing sadistic here). He gets to take a cold, wet washcloth to my fiery body, to extinguish my hot flashes. After all, I do seem to be of that certain age, when women can be overheard saying, “I’m still hot. But now it comes in flashes.”

Moral of today’s story: Laughing at ourselves can be good medicine.

Peace,

Jenni

The Long Haul South

Ken and I weighed our options. We tossed around many different scenarios, on what we should do and where we should go next. We thought about staying in Chowchilla, but then opted against it because, frankly, there’s not enough of interest in that area to keep Ken out of trouble. He would have gotten restless, waiting for me to get through my next round of artemisinin, which I take three days out of every fourteen, to combat the babesia infection (a Lyme co-infection).

Now, artemisinin is not for the faint of heart. It is brutal, and it takes the rest of the two weeks to build myself back up to withstand the next round. Being caught in what has become a vicious cycle, it came down to either waiting it out a week on the valley floor, where it was forecast to be really, really hot (and boring), or spend two nights on the road, holding off on the artemisinin for those two days, so that we could then settle in down south, where we really wanted to be.

So, the first night we spent at Buttonwillow rest stop, which is still in the valley, and it was a miserably hot night with little sleep for either of us.

Speaking of Buttonwillow rest stop: The farther south we traveled along I-5, the more we saw signs about the government causing a draught and subsequent dustbowl because of the enforced water shortage. Plus, there’s signs at each rest stop about conserving water. Well, at Buttonwillow, they have not gotten the message. The sprinklers ran and ran and ran, and at least one sprinkler head was broken and poured water full force. The grass was positively soggy and the dog area was a muddy mess.

All this at a public/government run rest stop, during mandated water conservation? All this, while not ten miles away, crops are drying up and blowing away?

Somebody doesn’t have their priorities straight.

Then again, I question my own priorities, when I push myself on long hauls like this. Each move and all the driving take a lot out of me. But I wanted to be near my daughter, whom I have not seen since she came home for my dad’s funeral.

It took every ounce of strength and prayer I could muster to get us here in one piece. You know that song, Jesus Take the Wheel? Well, He was definitely the One driving yesterday.

If only I could have tapped into one of those wind turbines that seem to have sprouted up on every little hill in the Mojave Desert . . .

We spent the second night in Victorville. Being in the desert, the day may have been hot, but the night was gloriously cool and breezy.

After exploring Victorville and Hesperia a bit, we finished our long haul, arriving at Fisherman’s Retreat in Redlands, in time for lunch, then a nice shower and a dip in the pool before falling, exhausted, into bed before eight.

I slept like a rock. Twelve glorious hours. Can you believe it? Sleep priority has been met.

Love,

Jenni

You’ve Got Some Nerve

Hey you all!

I know you probably thought I was on the verge of falling off the edge of the earth again because it has been a few days after a nice run, but trust me, I’m still here, and I still ache to share all our good adventures (and even some mishaps) with you all; however, I have had one heck of a time with pain this past week. Last night I could seriously have drawn the paths my nerves follow down my arms and legs because the nerve pain was fiery and coursing through most of my body like lightning dancing across a minefield. If I could remember my A&P from college well enough, I could even have named most of the nerves.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, just when I thought I had gotten rid of last week’s migraine, I was hit by this week’s awesome, more spectacular version. Migraine 4.0, which included the new meltdown programming, so that within minutes, I could become petty, childish, and argumentative without warning.

But enough of that. Through it all, God continues to hold my hand as he blesses us again and yet again, share with me through others His grace and wisdom, and comfort me in my darkest, most anxiety riddled moments, as my fear that my pain will never end tries to rob me of my hope. He is one awesome God.

Our grandson asked me the other day how it is that I am always (his word) in a good mood. He knows of my pain. He does his best to comfort this elder of his in his sometimes awkward teenage ways. He repeatedly tells me I am too young to be his grandmother and he sometimes prefers to call me Jen. I know in his heart he knows I am his grandmother even if not by blood, and I know the depth of his love because I have been there since he was born. So it does not bother me if he calls me Jen in public and Grammy Jen in our private moments. These are the moments that bring me joy. This joy I carry always, a gift from God, and it allows me to choose to be in a good mood. I choose my attitude every morning like I choose a matching pair of socks. I could be bitter and angry about my chronic pain, my constant exhaustion, my past hurts, but I choose to follow my joy and I choose to share it through having a good mood. I choose not to take anyone else down just because I am full of pain and misery. It is all about choice. And I choose a good mood especially so that I do not hurt the ones I love.

May God bless you in your afflictions, as He has for me, a lowly sinner.

Love,

Jenni

 

The sculptures, by the way, we found in Winters, California. As you can see, they are for sale. Quite spectacular in person, and life size. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy what I have to offer.

TRAVELERS, AT LAST

Hooray!

We’ve finally made it to the scenic highways and byways of our magnificent country.

Well, actually, we haven’t gone all that far . . .

Wilsonville is only a stone’s throw from our hometown of Portland, Oregon. Why, you may wonder, would we drive less than an hour to our first destination? It would take us two lifetimes to see all we want to see, at that rate.

Every Fourth of July, St. Paul puts on this absolutely amazing rodeo. Now, St. Paul is only a stone’s throw further south of Wilsonville. We could not stay any closer to St. Paul because,as I hinted, this rodeo is a huge happening around these parts, and RV spaces fill up fast. I made our reservations a good two months early, and this was the best I could do, proximity-wise.

I suggested, and Ken agreed, that we go to the St. Paul Rodeo as an awesome kickoff for our great adventure, our new life, so to speak.

And so, a few pictures from the first day, which was Professional Bull Riding only, and the second day, which included just about everything, including fireworks at the closing of both days. Can’t imagine what tomorrow’s fireworks show might include, being the Fourth and all. The past two shows were great.

Enjoy!

Here, Ken is trying to earn a Marines t-shirt. They said that if he managed three, at age (almost) 75 and a year after shoulder surgery, he could have his choice of whatever they had to offer. Well, he didn’t quite make one, but as you can see, he did pretty darned well for his age and the condition of his shoulder. The young Marines were impressed all the same, and shook his hand with pride, knowing Ken to be a veteran. It’s too bad he didn’t get a t-shirt. I really wanted the one that said, “Pain is injury leaving the body.” Profound for a bunch of jarheads, eh? Kidding, kidding. They were all super nice and I wanted to hug them all for their service.

These are massive animals, and yet they jump around as if they were kittens.

How high can a horse fly ? ? ? ?

Yes, the clown is in that barrel.

This fine young cowboy forgot to put the quarter in for his horsey ride.

Bless you all, and a special prayer and blessing for the families of the firemen lost in the Arizona fires this week.

I’ll write again soon. Oh, it feels so good to be back writing. I hope you enjoy what I have to offer.

Love, Jenni

Heavenly Joy

There are times in our lives when nothing seems to go right. There are also times when it seems nothing can go wrong. We have all had both kinds of days. When we are in the former, our psyche, our very soul, seems to get beaten down by all the pressures, stresses, and negatives of life.

Then there are those days when all goes joyously far beyond our wildest  dreams and expectations. These are the days we all crave. We get a sort of high. Our smiles become contagious, and we cannot help but be good to one another, just for the shear pleasure of seeing another person smile.

I crave these days just as much as the next person, but with my illness, I oftentimes must work the process in reverse. My days don’t often go beyond my wildest dreams (though sometimes they do), yet I can still feel that rush, that soul healing joy I desperately crave, by first giving and smiling and loving on others.

This is one of the secrets to my joy. Listen closely, now. It lightens the burden on my soul when I give freely of my worldly, oftentimes cherished, belongings.

Have I lost you? Let me elaborate. My physical being is a mess. I have Lyme disease, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, adrenal fatigue, arthritis, migraines, blah, blah, blah. The list goes on and on, unfortunately. Needless to say, I am in constant pain, and this state of constant pain puts a damper on my naturally good mood.

But the Lord is good. He has shown me how to find bits of joy amongst my pain, interspersed with my tears.

Best of all, He has shown me how to get a booster shot when I need it, to energize and heal my soul. It is as simple as giving. Donating. Even tithing (and now I hear a bunch of non-church-goers going, “ugh”). It does my soul good, knowing that something I am able to give can do so much good in someone else’s life.

Ken took a load of building supplies to the Habitat Restore Store this morning.

My heart swelled, and so did his.

Ken took an equally large load to the Salvation Army thrift store.

His smile threatened to push his ears clean off his face, as his mood soared. And mine did, too.

Even with two truckloads gone, we still had a lot to make decisions on. Then I remembered freecycle. It is a yahoo group here in the Portland area. I imagine there might be more chapters around the country. It is worth checking out. We gave away some large ticket items that we simply could not sell. Ken said he would haul them to the appropriate places for donation, but I was feeling so good, soul-wise, at this point that I suggested we list them on freecycle. Within an hour, the first large item was gone, the second is pending pickup tomorrow, and the third, well I’m waiting to hear back as to when she wants to pick it up.

My joy is overwhelming today, even though my body is riddled with pain and my stress level is through the roof.

My stress is so high because we have only a few days left here in Portland before we hit the road, and we have a ton of work to do still. Having access to this “heavenly joy” will allow me to keep on, minute by minute, keeping faith that God will get us over this hurdle. It will allow me to do what little I can to help, with a smile on my face, instead of tears and heartache for all that I cannot physically do.

I wish you this level of joy. I pray that you have instances in your life where the “pay it forward” system of living and giving will touch your heart and your soul with an over abundance of joy and gratitude.

I had a season of being on the receiving end more often than not over the past year or two, and the receiving also blossomed into wondrous joy, as I realized that others did care and did want to help this tired old soul. They lifted me up with a box of apples, boxes of pears, green beans, a car for our use for three months without charge, a hug and friendship when I needed it most, a bouquet of flowers from a neighbor for “no reason,” many homemade meals delivered hot and ready to eat, and so many other large and small blessings.

I am grateful for all the blessings we have received. And I am grateful for every one of you.

Jenni

PRIORITIZE

If you only had twenty eight days until "hit-the-road" day, and you knew that at least half those days would be stolen by pain, how would you prioritize your time?

I have a house to go through, making decisions on what to keep, take, store, sell, or donate. Ah, but the good thing is, if we leave stuff behind, the boys (son Trevor and his best bud William) will say, “Score!” They will be taking over the lease on the duplex.

I have friends to say goodbye to, at least for a year, though we will still have email (though sporadic at times) and the good ole tellie.

I have financial and medical/medication issues to magically make "transportable."

I have a neighbor who wants me to finish up our cooking lessons before I jet out of here. She still needs my secrets on lemon meringue pie, yeast dough, and pad Thai.

I have two boys I worry about. I pray we have raised them well enough, Ken and I with Trevor, and William’s parents, that is. I know they are both 21 and I had a kid on the hip by that age, but they are boys and I worry. I pray I’ve imparted enough of my hard knocks wisdom (ha ha) to them to keep them out of trouble, to keep them in their jobs and in this duplex. They do listen. I will give them that. I will miss them dearly when we go. I cannot seem to convince them to move south with us. But I think mama is having trouble cutting the apron strings.

I have my doctor, finally, wanting to send me to a pain specialist, finally. Did I say finally? Only in order to see a pain specialist, I have to be physically available in one area for months, until we find resolve. Finally, he makes this decision, but I only have 28 days left in Portland, and we won’t make it to New Mexico until October.

Winter was not kind to me. Winters never are. I joked often that the week wasn’t complete until I had fallen. Then it was fallen twice in a week. Then it was daily falls. It isn’t funny any longer. I now walk fulltime with a cane.

I’ve added another diagnosis to my list, and we are contemplating yet another, if we can figure it out. Yipee. But if we do figure it out, maybe we could finally get a handle on why my pain has gotten so out of control this past year. It has been far worse than in a long time.

My father passed away on the first of Spring. With the passing of my father, it has been like a major chapter in my life closing. Emotionally painful, yes, and yet there is a release. Maybe this is why God kept us here in Portland for so very long. That and all the surgeries my guys went through. Ken three and Trevor two in the span of two years. It has been a very tough three years we’ve spent in a duplex only slated for one year.

When God closes a door, He opens a window. For a breath of fresh air? A change of scenery? Or to at least have an opportunity to empty the chamber pot. Excuse the humor being a bit crass. It has been a very tough few years, frankly. And a very tough day, to boot.

We will be leaving Portland, Oregon, on June 30, 2013, whether we are ready or not.

Ken has been feverishly remodeling the Raven to accommodate my needs and so that we have the most economical use of space possible. After travelling some over the past few summers, we really found out what would work best for us.

I am sorry I have not been around lately. As I mentioned, winter was very hard on me. The pain and the migraines were too much. I’m trying to find the quality in a life so full of pain, but it is difficult. Life goes on, even with the pain, and so we must get on the road. We must get on the road, especially if we plan on wintering down south this year.

It may be a month before I write again, but I will be back. Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for all your prayers. I know there must be many souls out there praying for me, because I experience God’s miracles every day. Even in this life so full of pain. I am so grateful for all of you.

Our first destination is actually only about 50 miles away from home, but what a sendoff—spending the Fourth of July at the rodeo in St. Paul! Next will be Neskowin, to say goodbye to some friends. And then we travel in a generally southerly direction until we reach Mexico (at which time we will bounce off the border and stay put in New Mexico or Arizona for the winter).

The St. Paul Rodeo in St. Paul, Oregon, July 2-6, 2013.

See you then!

The Poppy and The Pod

I wrote the following in the wee hours of this morning, before all the pain and exhaustion from such a busy weekend caught up to me. Before the natural high wore off, allowing all that pain to return, as I emotionally let down my guard.

Please read it as a prayer and a dedication I am making into my new life. I have been struggling with where God wants me, what He wants me to do with my life. Through months or searching and prayer, I may be getting close to His dream for me. And as you know, His dreams for us don’t always line up with our own. His dreams eclipse ours, outshine ours unlike nothing we could ever have imagined.

Thank you for being my readers. May God bless you as He has blessed me.

Love, Jenni Lynn

 

THE POPPY AND THE POD

October 15, 2012

Yesterday I found myself back within my element. Talking with even more likeminded people. Listening. Learning. Absorbing. Stretching. Growing.

I found myself back at Wordstock. The Oregon Convention Center. On the escalators, beneath the giant poppies. I stopped to study these gigantic glass ornaments. They catch the backlight and come aglow. My eyes shift toward the top of the escalator. A large alien-looking green pod sits alone. Closed to the outside world. Heavy and dull. Frightening in its obscurity.

Within this space, this element of mine, I stretch my bubble. I poke it in all directions. I open my eyes to all the possibilities. The learning. The conversations. And then I act. Like a real person. A real woman. A real writer. A real illustrator. A person of good, strong character. I act and feel how I have always believed normal people act and feel every day.

Within this space, this element of mine, I am the poppy, unfurling my colors before the sun. I am no longer the pod, so full of potential but ever frozen in time.

I have no excuses for my past. I will no longer rely on qualifying statements about my efforts.

 

This is me. Living within my joy.

Head held high. Smile broad and bright.

Eagerness pouring from my every cell.

And love.

Compassion.

Courage.

 

This is me. Having the courage to step out in faith.

Trusting God has my back.

My front.

My every footfall.

 

This is me. Meeting the real me.

Enjoying the discovery process.

Seeking only His opinion of me.

Desiring to live up to His vision of me.

 

This is me. Living in love.

Loving God. Loving myself. Finally loving myself.

Trusting His love won’t abandon me.

His truths won’t fade away or change.

 

This is me. Living in trust.

Humbled to be chosen.

Accepting forgiveness when I fail.

Relaxing into the ocean of His truth.

Closing my eyes and allowing His miracles to wash over me.

 

This is me, Lord.

The me you made me to be.

 

Coffee in one hand, cheese-covered guilt in the other. Candy wrappers stuffed hastily in my pocket. You know this about me, and yet you still love me. You still have compassion and not pity for me. You still want glorious things of me and for me. Nothing I do can make you stop loving me. No matter how much I act out or feel like a failure. Nothing.

Like the flood rushing down from the mountains with the spring rains, no dam can hold back or cut off your love. It will wash over me. Drown me in peace and grace. Fill my lungs with righteousness. Only you can love me like this.

Nothing. And only you. Unconditional love at its finest. It is you or nothingness. And no matter how difficult it has been to grasp your depth of love, I cannot begin to fathom nothingness. I pray I never have to.

Teach me, Lord. Teach me speak. Teach me your ways. Put the correct words in my mouth and lead me to the correct actions. Make me aware of you, always. Do not count me among the Israelites who asked never to see your face or hear your voice ever again. Teach me speak, as only you can. I long to hear your voice, feel your presence. Your nearness.

Let me rise and do great things in your name, but keep me humble so that I may stay in your presence and not let conceit destroy me.

There is a brisk clip to my gait as I carry out these joys. These promises you’ve given me. I no longer feel like a fake. No longer on the fringe of life and love. No longer self-marginalized. You’ve instilled confidence in my heart.

I turn my flush petals to your brightness, seeking and accepting your warmth and love. Thank you. Thank you seems inadequate. I love you. Even my love seems inadequate compared to yours.

I am yours. I am your poppy.

No longer the pod.

 

My life comes aglow only with your illumination.

I live to carry out your desires.

I live to ring your quiet bell of grace.

 

I long to hear the trumpets that signal all hope.

Amen.

Love, Jenni Lynn

Dammit Anyway!

I picked up this cute Dammit Doll last weekend from a church rummage sale just down the street from our home. In fact I found a lot of cool stuff and books, but I won’t bore you with what I am reading these days (Hunger Games trilogy) (True Faced) (The Bible).

Maybe I could do a few book  and web reviews in another post, but not today.

The note around her neck reads,

When you want to climb the walls

or stand right up and shout

Here’s a little dammit doll

you cannot do without.

Just grab it firmly by the legs

and find a place to slam it

And as you whack the stuffing out,

yell DAMMIT! DAMMIT! DAMMIT!

It would come in really handy right about now, if only I had the strength to wield such a tool today.

This past week held several doctor’s appointments, and more than several medication changes. And if you know me personally or know Lyme disease in general, then you realize that medication changes bring a worsening of symptoms before things start to improve. Dammit, anyway. For the Lymie, the saying, “It is darkest before the dawn,” is lived out every time we make strives toward a healthier life. Even increasing activity/exercise in the Lymie’s life can cause an undue amount of pain and fatigue, until the Lymie’s body adjusts to the new level of activity, or totally craps out. It is no fun having your legs give out beneath you and being unable to get back up, until strength and control returns to you. Very frightening, indeed.

It becomes more and more difficult to push through these dark, painful times, even though I know the improvement will come. No matter how slowly the improvement seems to come, and it does seem to be at a snail’s pace, I can see the improvement, over the larger picture.

And now I find myself getting deeper and more philosophical than I had wanted to be this morning. (I need to save that for this afternoon, when I finish my study of Micah.) So, in getting back to a lighthearted mood, here’s my dammit list, plain and simple:

• Dammit. The basement flooded again. That’s what we get for living in a really old house with really old plumbing.
• Dammit. We cannot winter in Arizona with the other snowbirds. I believe the change of climate would do my SAD (seasonal affective disorder) great wonders, maybe even eradicate it.
• Dammit. I have so much to do, but I must take care of myself during this time, first and foremost, and either place all else on hold or delegate.
• Dammit. I didn’t lose more than four pounds over the last several months. Only four. I guess that little bit of walking I was doing every day did make a difference.
• Dammit. Finances.
• Dammit space issues/cramped quarters.
• Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
• Dammit anyway.

So, since I cannot swing the Dammit Doll without hurting myself worse, I shall have to let it all go. Let God take it and let God love me through this.

Lord, I release all my troubles to Your capable hands. Thank You for loving me even when I least deserve it, even when I say dammit. Thank You, Lord, for being my Savior. Amen.

P.S. To our beloveds in California: We may just have to fly down this year, maybe even for the holidays. How does that sound?

These Hands

A few days ago, these hands fed me Chinese food, with only the use of chopsticks.

Since my early years, these hands have been able to draw and paint and create. Their abilities have always amazed me.

Through these fingers, my words flow into the computer.

These hands have held and caressed and cherished and loved many babies and wonderful people throughout my lifetime.

Yet today, these hands struggle with holding a spoon.

These hands cannot grasp a pencil, let alone a paint brush.

And every reach for a letter on this keyboard sends shooting pain through my hands and wrists.

The above words bring tears to my eyes and frustration to my heart, when I think about all I could do, if God would just release me from this pain.

Yet if I think about it, again referencing the above list, maybe my pain serves the purpose of allowing me more time to carry out the most important thing on the list, for these hands can still hold and love others, even in their current state of pain.

Thank you, Lord, for enlightening me. For, I sat down here at this computer keyboard to whine and moan about my troubles, and You showed me Your goodness and guided my hands to type what I really needed to hear this morning. I love You and how You weave Your amazing truths into my small life. Amen.