Well, That Didn't Go As Planned

I originally posted this in June of 2017, but it popped up today when looking for a different post. It seems I needed the reminder as I have again fallen into the get-everything-done-on-my-to-do list mode. I'm not as bad as I used to be, but I've been pushing myself and feeling a little exasperated when life preempts my plans. Seems God has decided I needed this reminder.  

___________________________________________

I outlined a new time management plan I hoped would incorporate more exercise and writing opportunities into my day. It worked — for three days. 

As John Lennon said, “Life happens while you’re busy making other plans.” 

We took an unplanned trip to celebrate our 15^th wedding anniversary. Those four days eradicated my first week’s effort to follow my plan. Do I regret going? No. However, I lost my initial drive and it was rough getting back into it. 

I had the rhythm down again when we put an offer on a house in another city and listed ours for sale. There went any hope of a structured schedule. Am I sorry we made the decision? No. It’s exciting, even if it wreaks havoc on my time management scheme.  

I think there is a repeated lesson here, one I don’t seem to grasp for long before I need a reminder that God is the only constant in this world and my relation to Him should be my top priority. When I stand before Him for my final judgement, I won’t be too worried about any of my plans and schemes except those that were in accordance to His will.

Was I kind to others? Did I put Him before everything else? Did I use my talents wisely?

As for the plan, it’s not a bad idea, but I must expect the occasional derailing and not let guilt eat away my peace of mind. I need to flow along with the interruptions when they happen. That’s life, is it not?

The Ordinary and the Extraordinary

Photo Art by charnchai saeheng @Pixabay

Joseph T. Sullivan states in, Good Morning, Lord, it is unrealistic to “expect adventure, romance, and the extraordinary every hour of the day.”

For myself, at this point in life, I’ve had enough excitement. I crave monotony, the mundane, even the boring. Maybe not endless piles of laundry or dishes, but I wouldn’t mind some routine, a period of sameness.

I am aware nothing stays the same for long, but that doesn’t negate my desire for the simpler things.

Jesus said, “Pick up your cross and follow me.”

I have asked Him to use me to spread His Word. So, perhaps my unsettled life, although not extraordinary, is the method He’s chosen. In that light, I can strive to do ordinary things extraordinarily well.

Dear Lord, adjust my attitude to accept my daily challenges as ways of exhibiting my faith and Your glory. Amen.

Just Two Words

Just these two words He spoke changed my life. “Enjoy Me.”   

St. Teresa of Avila

Those two words change my concept of faith.  

Enjoy Me.

Not just joy but enjoy.

Enjoy Me.

Enjoy life, family, friends, passions, home, country.

Enjoy Me.

Enjoy His unconditional love, compassion, and forgiveness.  

Enjoy Me.

No wonder St. Paul described heaven as a paradise and why so many who have had near-death experiences say they wanted to stay and not come back.

Enjoy Me.

For eternity.

These two words shifted my world, changed my faith, changed my life.

Enjoy Me.

Yes!

In Memorial to a Wonderful Man - Ernest Walker April 28, 1929 - February 13, 2019

It's time to repeat a previous post in honor of a life well lived. My father passed away this morning from complications of prostate cancer. He touched the lives of so many through his generosity, his faith, and his humor. He literally gave the shirt from his back to someone in need, never missed Sunday Mass unless too sick to drive, sometimes driving a hundred miles to find a church. A self-taught naturalist and historian, it was fascinating to listen to him. Peppered in the with the interesting facts were funny stories, bad jokes, and of course tall tales. 

He was a retired logger, and my sister and I spent our childhood in the woods, camped a few miles from where he was working. Most often we were next to a lake or a creek - a wonderful way to spend childhood summers, except for my dad's tall tales.

Not only did we groan at the puns, my sister and I were often the stars of the tale.

One of these occasions, we were camped about a thirty-minute drive from the town of Silver Lake, up in the Gearheart Wilderness area. My father announced we were going to town for a Tube Steak dinner. All excited we loaded into the pickup truck and headed down the mountain. We never noticed the twinkle in his eyes, or the wink he gave the waitress when he placed our order. We waited impatiently for our Tube Steaks to arrive, unaware we were being duped.

 The waitress finally returned with plates piled high with French fries and something familiar looking in a bun. I looked at my sister and she looked at me. We shrugged, made faces at our dad and ate our steaks and fries. We notched this tale right up there with his stories of Jackalopes (a cross between a Jackrabbit and an antelope) and Gosh Awfuls.

Now the Gosh Awful is a horrible creature who lives in the woods and preys on unsuspecting girls walking alone along any of the trails, night or day. In an unguarded moment  he springs from his hiding place and does Gosh Awful things, like tickling, or Indian hair rubs, or saying, "BOO", and causing said girls to run screaming.

And, added to this, all of my dad's tall stories started out with, "When I was a little girl...." Even at a very early age, we knew better.

Then of course, there were the road trips. My dad read the road signs and made comments.

"Slow Children must go to the Slow School."

"Speed [for] 50 miles."

"It is very likely we will drive through the town of Likely."

In Death Valley. "250 feet below sea level. Better hold your breath."

At the Grand Canyon. "Golly what a gully."

There were many more, but I can't recall all of them (or have space to write them). 

Then, there were the mosquito stories like the poor logger unmercifully attacked at a local sawmill. He raced for cover in an unused metal sawdust burner. In their zeal to get the man, the mosquitoes drove their proboscis right through the metal. Finding a discarded hammer, the man pounded their snouts flat like nails. There were so many mosquitoes, they flew off the with the building and the man. He was never seen again. 

There are a lot of mosquitoes in the area. The town of Paisley has a Mosquito festival every year. (I'm not kidding.)

There were also Poodle cookies and Mongrel cookies. Poodle cookies don't shed, but the Mongrels do.

While driving through Goldfield, Nevada we stopped at the Green Frog grocery for cookies. I was a little worried when I had to blow the dust off the packages to read the labels. My dad assured us a little age would only enhance their flavor, like good wine. My sister and I were a little skeptical, but agreed to buy both Poodle and Mongrel cookies. After all, we didn't want to discriminate. 

My dad suggested we stop at the diner for pie and save the cookies for later. It was the first time I had seen blueberry pie snap back together when I tried to cut it. My dad agreed the pie, and the waitress, might both have been left over from the 1880 Gold Rush.

Jokes aside, I've stood in virgin timber, watched sunrises over lakes and creeks, sunsets from mountain tops above a sea of unbroken forest stretching from horizon to horizon. I've been to every national park and historical site from the Pacific Ocean to Tennessee. I've learned to love nature, books, art, and history thanks to my father, sick puns, practical jokes, tall tales, and all. 

It’s Finished, Except…

I’m done. No more doctors’ appointments except for routine visits. My surgeon released me from his care today, barring any issues.

Although freed from his constant care, there are lifelong repercussions. I will need to massage the area for the rest of my life. If I don’t, the implant can grow stiff and immobile. However, the massage is easy. Push to one side, then the other. Push up and then down. I don’t have to this all day long, only a few times a day, after a shower, when dressing or undressing, getting up in the morning or going to bed at night.

Holding Tighter or Letting Go?

“The first author of beauty made all things,” Wisdom 13:3.  Author, that caught my attention. This theme continued in the rest of my devotions. 

Psalm 19: “There are no speeches nor languages, where their voices are not heard. Their sound has gone forth into all the earth: and their words unto the ends of the world.” Verses 4 and 5.

What author doesn’t hope that will happen to them? 

Then came the words, “Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life, will save it.” Luke 17:33

Eek! 

I am wallowing in grand dreams of becoming a best-selling author, and God brings me up short.

In my devotion, Living Faith, Author Amy Welborn, asked how we intend to lose our lives for God. This isn’t meant in the literal sense, as in physically dying, but in what we are asked to lose in order to follow God’s plan for our life.

Writing takes tremendous sacrifice. We spend hours in solitary confinement sitting at a desk with pen and paper, laptop, or computer. One of my former coworkers, a traditionally published author, with looming deadlines couldn’t participate in the company Christmas party or attend her grandchildren’s Christmas pageants. Even Indie authors face similar sacrifices, often faced with unpleasant choices without happy solutions.

There are more than physical losses. We bare our souls on each page, letting go of our privacy, revealing our innermost thoughts, desires, and fears. We could hold them tight, and let our stories suffer, but by letting go, our words (hopefully) encourage, inspire, or entertain. Lightening another’s burden by pulling them away from their troubles for a short time is as important as writing the next literary classic, maybe even more so. When overwhelmed with insurmountable problems, who wants to read War and Peace? (No offense intended to that great work or its author.)

No. I think most will reach for something that will make them feel better, either by telling them they are not alone, they are loved, they are good enough, or by offering them a reason to laugh.

A noble cause, worth the sacrifice, which brings us right back to letting go of ourselves and other things and be the storyteller God calls us to be, holding tight to our faith, our dedication, and our promise to obey.

Well, That Didn’t Go As Planned

In my last post, The Juggling Act — Revisited, I outlined a new time management plan I hoped would incorporate more exercise and writing opportunities into my day. It worked — for three days. 

As John Lennon said, “Life happens while you’re busy making other plans.” 

We took an unplanned trip to celebrate our 15^th wedding anniversary. Those four days eradicated my first week’s effort to follow my plan. Do I regret going? No. However, I lost my initial drive and it was rough getting back into it. 

I had the rhythm down again when we put an offer on a house in another city and listed ours for sale. There went any hope of a structured schedule. Am I sorry we made the decision? No. It’s exciting, even if it wreaks havoc on my time management scheme.  

I think there is a repeated lesson here, one I don’t seem to grasp for long before I need a reminder that God is the only constant in this world and my relation to Him should be my top priority. When I stand before Him for my final judgement, I won’t be too worried about any of my plans and schemes except those that were in accordance to His will.

Was I kind to others? Did I put Him before everything else? Did I use my talents wisely?

As for the plan, it’s not a bad idea, but I must expect the occasional derailing and not let guilt eat away my peace of mind. I need to flow along with the interruptions when they happen. That’s life, is it not?