Place in This World

Two years ago at this time I was an empty nester. The lids under my mascara enhanced lashes were almost always swollen. It was sad. But the house was happy, because it was clean and tidy. There was no one here to move its cheese. If I hadn't been crying all the time, I probably would have enjoyed the clean and tidy house.

Last year at this time Pilgrim was here. California kicked him out. No, I'm kidding! He missed his mother. No, I'm dreaming! I think he just ran out of steam for running so hard to make ends meet. California is expensive. So, Fash was gone to the far away college place, but Pilgrim was here. His mess stayed in the lower northwest corner. I loved his company. So- less tears for me and still pretty neat abode.

This fall finds Pilgrim progressed to private apartment elsewhere (but not out of area) and Fash flourishing over every square inch of this home. She switched majors, switched colleges and slunk back into her old room dragging 500 pounds of sluggage. Her accouterments began to crawl from that space in the lower level (we do not say "basement" here) and now reproduce en masse in kitchen, family room, guest bedroom, dining area, entryway, upstairs bath, lower level bath, laundry room and garage- giving new meaning to "go with the flow".

Not only do I find my cheese moved, its plastic bag home is unzipped in the fridge, which I discovered this morning when I was not fast enough to save my last slices of pepper jack from their fall to the floor. And now I have a hair in my panini.

This is the air I breathe (borrowing from Mercy Me) and you know what? It's ok. Fash's accessories unfastened all over the place make me crazy. But I won't come undone. Hair, schmair. I can get over it. I love having her home. I'm happy for Pilgrim. We're all finding our way- together. All of us trying to find our Place In This World. Michael W. Smith's song of that name expresses it well:

The wind is moving
But I am standing still
A life of pages waiting to be filled

A heart that's hopeful
A head that's full of dreams
But this becoming
Is harder than it seems

Feels like I'm looking for a reason
Roamin' through the night to find
My place in this world
My place in this world
Not a lot to lean on
I need your light to help me find
My place in this world
My place in this world

If there are millions
Down on their knees
Among the many
Can you still hear me

Hear me asking
Where do I belong?
Is there a vision
That I can call my own?

This is where my 20 something kids are right now. But you know something? This is where I live. I think I'm just beginning to discover that "in this world" my place is not a building or a town or a bookstore. My place is with my people- my family, my friends. My place in this world is with the hairdresser I just met who yearns to know more about the God she never learned about in church, with my neighbors who ache to hold a listening, compassionate ear- to talk to someone who will understand and just be silent and hear. My place in this world is in my husband's arms and surrounding my sons' and daughter's ambitions, at the side of my mother and in the la-Z-Boy across from my dad. My place in this world is actually out of this world- as in the most exciting and secure place that anyone can ever be-

because my place in this world is in the Heart of My Father- God of the Universe, Creator, Sustainer, Guiding Light and Provider, who lives and pleads for me.

Late Assignment. Second Chance?

In a comment to a post I wrote the day before my birthday in 2009, a teacher blog friend, Mrs. E, left me a writing assignment: "46 Things to Do Before You Turn 47". Firstborns are compelled to do what they are told, and it still bothers me that I did not complete this assignment. Especially considering how much I enjoy writing, why couldn't I churn this out? Three years later, on the day of my 49 flames, I give you the gift of my answer.

Quite simply, too often what I positively want with gusty enthusiasm on Friday, I barely have a pulse over by the time Monday arrives. People like this have a hard time making bucket lists- to the tune of "There's a Hole in My Bucket", dear Liza. For as fast as I can drop ideas in there, they are landing on the hole of  second thought. Most fall through. But buckets are cumbersome to carry around anyway, so here's how it works in reality- for me.

On Friday, my husband, "I.T." ( so named because he works with computers), who is also known as "Hero" on my facebook posts, whisked me away to the Country Hermitage, a lovely old farmhouse bed and breakfast in northern Michigan- wine country. The place was as comfortable as my thick, white, knee- high, cotton socks, which I wear whenever I need to feel warm and totally secure- so, you know- every day. It was furnished with perfect pieces of furniture- functional and interesting. The decor oozed welcome and come on in. Hostess, Lisa, and her hairdresser turned chef husband, Carl, felt like old friends, though we had never met them before. We booked two rooms, as we were mini-vacationing with two friends, stayed two nights and feasted on two delicious breakfasts. If I had a bucket list, this would definitely have been on it, and now- checked off. In fact, I may drop this in the bucket again, because I definitely want to repeat this fun time.

The weekend included touring up a picturesque peninsula, home to several wineries where we stopped in at the tasting tables and sampled the liquidized harvest. It was chilly outside, but we were warm. This would also be on my list in multiples with one, now- checked off.

Today I stayed in bed, in my pajamas and thick, white, knee-high, cotton socks and read a book, The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown, on my Kindle Fire, until past noon.This scenario is a repeat offender on any "Things I want to Do" list I've ever made.Today's check mark just widens the ink herringbone pattern that stretches out beside this one.

And so it goes. Many of my things-I-want-to-do-before-something-s are unknown to me until after I've done them, because sometimes the very best things that happen are the things that have barely, or never, previously even entered my mind. Other bucket list worthy entries are so worthy they just have to be added to the list over and over. So I will ask the teacher if I may spend my 49th year chronicling the wonderful, and/or not as wonderful as I thought they'd be, things I do that would have certainly made the list had I been able to come up with such momentous ideas in advance, sprinkled with the same olds that are too good to check off never to be done again.

49 Candles

Countdown to 49. Four days left, including this one. Thinking about how lucky I am to be blessed with parents who have always cared for me with the greatest of love, a husband whose life's mission is to see me happy and without want and a pack of people I call family and friends. Greater still is the miracle of grace that has been extended to me personally by my Father in heaven through His son Jesus, my Savior. I lack nothing.

So what shall I wish for this 49th year?

To be a blessing.

All the goodness I have found in this life comes from God. It does not come from having things or enjoying pleasant circumstances. It comes from having a relationship with Jesus Christ. Experiencing blessing comes from clinging to the Lord. By the feeding of His Word. Through prayer and petition. "Thank you!" and "Help me!" Singer, Jason Gray, calls these, "the two best prayers I know". I want to remain in Jesus when my patience is tested, when my strength is gone, when my blood boils with anger. I want to remain in Jesus when my heart overflows with joy, when my mind is at peace, when all is right with my world. I am persuaded that the LORD will bless me and protect me, as the Bible tells me so (Numbers 6:24). And I want to bring that blessing to people. People I know and love. People I meet for the very first time. People who will continue to cross my path and people with whom I will have the chance to barely share more than a glance.

Blessed to be a blessing. That's what Abram was (Genesis 12:2) and being of the family of God, that is what we are too (Genesis 12:3).

When I blow out the 49 flickers I will be wishing for awareness of where and when and how I can press blessing into the life of another. Every day.

It's exciting, but I know fulfillment of this wish comes with vulnerability and that makes it scary at the very same time. Which reminds me once again of my need for my Savior.

Hoping in Him

As it turns out, when you fall off the face of the earth, it's hard to get a good enough grip to pull yourself back into the blogosphere. So much has changed since I last blogged regularly that I'm not even sure I am the same person as that blogging girl. I think I left off somewhere between crying all the time from the pain of empty nesting and trying to figure out how to be a good wife to my husband. Well, I'm no longer grieving over a house void of people- most of them came back. My middle son- I call him Pilgrim on the blog- he moved home the first week of June after spending two years and all his hard earned money in California. He's 21. I'm very glad to have him home. My daughter, Fashionista on the blog, is home from college for the summer, of course, and is working every day in the plant at the company where my husband, I.T. (Information Technologist) works, so she can afford to return for year 2. I absolutely love having Fash here.  Pilgrim's girlfriend from California, moved in for a week, last week, as she is going to complete her nursing degree here in Michigan at a university near our home, to be near Pilgrim. She was touring the university and getting some paperwork done for admissions. I found her to be a very sweet girl and we enjoyed having her here. As for working on being a good wife, I'm still working on it.

I'm also feeling that I wasted a lot of tears over the lonely empty nest situation. Had I known our home would be a hotel this summer, I think I would have just enjoyed the peace and quiet, but still I think it best not to know what the future holds.

I say that because my very good friend and mentor, Mary DeYoung, who has commented frequently on this blog, lost her extremely short battle with cancer on Monday. I'm glad I wasn't able to peek into the future and see that. I wouldn't have been able to bear it. When I looked at her body in that casket at the church tonight, it looked nothing like her at all. She was so full of life always, ever smiling and zipping around spreading the love. She just really loved people and life. I would have flunked my college math class freshman year if it hadn't been for her invitation to come over to her house for some free, one on one tutoring. She was my professor- 10 years my senior. After that semester, she needed a babysitter for her son, I was that person. When I needed some extra cash in my early married years, she needed a cleaning lady and that solved that. When I.T. and I needed a place to live when our first child was born, she rented us the upstairs of her house. She gave us so many things over the years, I've lost count of it all. We still have her old bedroom furniture we were given when she bought new. But the best thing she gave to I.T. and I was her friendship. We've shared so many good times with her and her husband, Steve. I just can't imagine not being able to share the rest of life's happenings with Mary. It will be very weird. I.T. and I will serve as Master and Mistress of ceremonies at Mary's son's wedding next summer and she won't be there. It's going to take a lot of getting used to, this new arrangement with Mary in heaven and the rest of us, who love her so, still here on earth.

We found out Mary had cancer on July 7 and less than three weeks later she was home- with God. Her ever changing, precarious condition and residence in ICU didn't allow for many visitors, so her husband kept everyone up to date by blogging her progress, or lack thereof it, on the hospital CarePages. He signed each one with "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases." On Monday he had the terrible job of announcing the end of her life on earth. But he signed that post with the verse in its entirety:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. "The Lord is my portion," says my soul, "therefore I will hope in him." Lamentations 3:22-24

I cling to this truth and put my full hope in this Lord. I know it is because of this that I have peace. Of all the many blessings God gives, knowledge and understanding of exactly how earth and heaven intertwine is not one of them. That which he does give, I will receive with thanksgiving. At least I will try. And when I fail I will trust his great faithfulness of unending mercy extended to me, with love.

Hoping in Him,

Navigating Around Town and Blogger

Highway driving and I have a terrible relationship- terrifying actually. I've never gotten over the oxymoron of the "safe merge", let alone the instructions on how to achieve this by increasing speed. Rev up to 70 and slide in between the onslaught of oncoming traffic. This way I'll be safe. Really? And while I'm at it, I better pick the correct lane. Otherwise I may end up on my way back to where I just came from, either there or Detroit. And just when I'm feelin' pretty good about the lane I've chosen and am still marveling at the kindness of the guy who slowed to 45 so I could merge with confidence, that yellow sign with the jagged line appears. Lane ending. Get over or get off and go back to home. It's a wonder I get anywhere.

It's also a wonder I get anywhere with Blogger. I was asked to blog for the Churo Education Fund so I set up the blog. At the time I thought I'd just set it up under my current sign on for this, my personal, blog. But later, for many reasons, that did not seem like the best idea. I've spent the past several blog sittings trying to figure out how to move the Churo Education Fund blog to a different sign in, which I believe I have now done, though I am sure I am not using the correct lingo to talk about it. Anyway...check it out. I'll be blogging the details of the upcoming 6 month teaching trip that our friend,Victor, will be taking to Churo, Kenya- his home village, before he begins work on his masters degree in Engineering. Victor and our son, Zach (both graduates of Hope College in Holland, MI) created the Churo Education Fund to help students in Churo stay in and/or attend school. There's no such thing as a free education there, not even for elementary aged children.

And back over here at 2 Thinks, I'll be attempting to re-start (again) my life blogging project and re-connect with my lovely blog friends. On my dashboard I see 83 followers are still hanging around here- thanks bloggies- wonder why you aren't showing up in the sidebar under "Followers". Do I need to change a setting or something? Hmmmm...another Blogger mystery to solve.

Cheers!

Who is the liar?

1John 2:22 "Who is the liar? It is the man who denies that Jesus is the Christ. Such a man is the antichrist- he denies the Father and the Son.

Some verses in the Bible seem somewhat ambiguous to me. Others very clear. 1John 2:22 strikes me as being pretty straight forward.

I paraphrase it here: The one who refuses to accept that Jesus is "the anointed one", the Son of God, the Savior of the world- is the one who lies, who does not tell the truth. He is the one against Christ, the antagonist of Christ, the false christ- the antichrist.

I notice that this verse does not say that the antichrist is the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God, yet has questions about what that really means for him and for the world. I notice that this verse does not say the antichrist is the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God, yet questions the teachings of modern day preachers and the practices of current "Christian" culture. I notice that this verse does not say that the antichrist is the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God, yet finds himself on a journey of faith where Truth and untruth sometimes look quite similar. A journey that brings him to such crossroads where he must first ask God for guidance, second search the scriptures and third think for himself.

Believing Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God and the Savior of the world is the beginning of a personal journey that has as many varied paths as there are people who choose to believe. God can be trusted to separate the Truth from the untruth for those on this journey who are willing to ask Him. That is why they call him Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace...

...ah the peace, when our trust is in the Lord alone to make all things known to us!

Ask, seek...and think for yourself,

Scars of a Chef- biography of Rick Tramonto

I just finished reading, Scars of a Chef, a biography of the famous Chef Rick Tramonto. Serious foodies and plain old Food Network lovers, such as me, will devour the book for its mouthwatering descriptions of dishes ranging from the family style, Italian Sunday dinners of Chef Tramonto's youth to the intricate, painstaking restaurant creations that continue to hold him in place as one of the world's top chefs. This is Rick's story about his enrollment in the school of hard knocks and his unlikely rise to success. Success as the world defines it, complete with fame and fortune, followed by that which often accompanies worldly success- complete failure. But there is a greater story here. A sweeter story of that Hound of Heaven, as described by John Stott in his testimonial, Why I Am a Christian. The Hound of Heaven, our good and loving God, who patiently waits, but relentlessly pursues the hearts of His children.

I'm a natural cheerleader for those who overcome the odds, escape family dysfunction and earn their way by hard work and perseverance, so I was quickly caught up in the storyline of the kid who wasn't much for school and lived less than a happy childhood, but held great promise for a career in cooking. I did feel sad for all the joy the young man, Rick, gave up in exchange for momentary alcoholic and drug highs, as he fully immersed himself in partying. I breathed relief for the grown Chef Tramonto when he swore off his addictions, but felt disappointment in the way he trampled others, even those he loved, as he strove to build his empire of fine dining. But what impressed me the most was when, after not having seen her for years, Rick Tramonto took the opportunity to apologize to his childhood friend, Eileen, upon whom he had unleashed words of fury years earlier when they worked together in one of his many restaurant ventures. She accepted his apology. This was a single instance of reconciliation that symbolized the beginning of Rick's relationship with God.

Tramonto describes the freedom found in forgiveness:

"I smiled as a weight I hadn't even realized I'd been carrying slipped off my shoulders."

How much pain just melts away with two little words sincerely spoken- "I'm sorry". And how much clearer we see when blinding pain is removed.

God uses the teeny, tiniest spots of softness in the heart, created by moments like these of apology and forgiveness, to plant an awareness of Him, his Redeeming Love, his Mercy and Grace. With that awareness of God's presence in his life, Tramonto turned and became the pursuer of the God who'd been there all along waiting to give Tramonto the gift of Life.

Scars of a Chef point to the scars of a Savior, the only One who can fill the deepest desires common to every man and woman, which have nothing to do with fame or fortune or cooking. You have to read all the way to the end to discover Rick Tramonto's true message. 

Feast on The Word of God. There the most beautiful banquet ever prepared has a table reservation in your name.