peace chimes

"Let everyone be quick to hear, slow to speak and slow to anger. For the anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God." James 1:20



My head is in full compliance with this awesome Bible verse . . .

But some days my heart wants to punch a few lights out!

I knew I was in a bad place a few weeks ago when I was out sanding our back deck. At one point, I found myself day-dreaming about sanding the smile off the face of a certain person who'd offended me.

Scandalized by the ugliness of my own heart, I called a friend and confessed my angry thoughts. Naomi listened patiently and said she'd pray for me. I felt a little better after 'fessing up to my stuff, but still sensed a lingering bitterness in my soul.

The next day I was out running wedding errands in the miata. Shopping completed, I hopped in my car and found a present in the passenger seat. I unwrapped it and found a beautiful cross-shaped wind-chime.

Intrigued, I opened the card that came with the gift.

"When ever you hear the chimes sing, forgive . . . love, Naomi."

As soon as I got home, I hung those chimes in my backyard, suspended over our well-sanded deck. Within moments, a breeze kicked up and the chimes did their thing, filling the yard with their sweet music.

Before my heart could clench itself into an angry fist yet again, I took a deep breath and prayed. I prayed blessing over the person who'd hurt me. I asked for God's forgiveness for my own bitter heart. I prayed for healing of relationships. I prayed for God to bring glory to His name.

And everytime the wind blows around here, I lift up those prayers again. And again and again and again . . .

Magic chimes they're not. But forgiveness is supernatural, and the more I pray, the less angry--and more restored--I feel.

So, thank you Naomi, for obeying God's voice and blessing me with such and amazing gift! Those chimes have brought music to my ears . . . and healing to my soul.

no more dead dogs . . .

This might come as a shock to some of you . . . but I almost gave Scout away last weekend.

The night of Lindsay's wedding, I had all of Scout's earthly belongings packed up and loaded in the back of my sister's car. I had bequeathed my spazzy little Scout to Shannon and her family, to live out her dog years in Missouri. I had been stewing and praying about it for days and felt it was the right thing to do.

What prompted such drastic action? I think it was shock, basically. Over the past few weeks, my life had been shaken, not stirred. I felt hopelessly adrift in a sea of transition, not able to lay hold of any solid thing.

Jesus is my Rock and the anchor of my soul, but for some reason I was having a hard time clinging to Him. Some days, I felt like I was going down for the third time.

And I didn't want to take my beloved dog down with me!

At the time, my decision seemed rational and practical. The thought of finding Scout-sitters every time we left town for an interview made me anxious. What if we had to move someplace where dogs weren't welcome? What if the stress of all of our changes made Scout's health deteriorate?

So when my sister's son, Sam, fell in love with my dog, the answer seemed obvious. Scout would live happily ever after with them.

Shannon, Manny (her husband) and Sam were excited about the idea (even after I explained that Scout was a little brain-damaged and had to take meds for the rest of her life), but my family was not. When I explained patiently that this was the best solution for all parties, my friends and family stared at me in disbelief, knowing how much love, time (and money) I'd poured out on my neurotic dog. They all put forth their best arguments, but I'd made up my mind. Scout was going, even if my broken heart went with her.

Until I had an unsettling conversation with my newphew as we drove home from Lindsay's reception.

"Are you excited about taking Scout home with you?" I asked from the front seat, hoping Sam wouldn't notice how depressed that prospect made me.

"Well," he answered quietly, "we talked about it the other day and my mom is kind of worried that we'll forget to give Scout her medicine. And then she'll be dead, just like the dog in 'No More Dead Dogs'."

For the first time, it dawned on me that my grand gesture of rehoming Scout was stressing out Sam. He loved her, but was genuinely concerned that they would be able to properly care for a special needs dog. Poor Sam! Scout hadn't even come to live with him and he was already worried about her dying. I realized that maybe sending Scout away wasn't such a great idea.

"I changed my mind," I mouthed to Greg as we continued driving.

"Good," he replied under his breath with a smile.

I was a little afraid my sister would be mad at me, but Shannon totally understood and we unloaded all Scout's stuff from their car.

"You need to get Sam a dog," I told her. "But not one that's so high-maintenance."

She agreed, and they headed out early and dogless the next day. Scout wouldn't get withing 20 feet of their van as they pulled out of the driveway. I think she knew all along . . .

As for me, I'm trusting that the Lord will help our family ease gracefully through this time of change.

Spazzy little dog and all . . .

God's ways . . .

There are so many amazing stories to tell in conjunction with Lindsay's wedding! But I think my personal favorite is the tale of the tardy hairdresser . . .

My mother-in-law, Mary Ellen, and I now have a tradition: we go get our hair "done" the morning of the wedding at Sunrise Hair Salon. The beauty shop is just down the road from us and we really liked the way our hair turned out for Yellie's wedding. So I made appointments for Saturday a.m. with Donna, our stylist from last year.

I forgot that she has a tendency to run late. Mary got to the salon at 8:45, her appointed time, but was still waiting when I showed up at 9:15. Donna had forgotten to check her appointment book and walked in about the same time I did. I was about to go run a few more errands when Char, another stylist, announced that her client had cancelled and that she could do my "do." Char looked a little rough around the edges (picture Ellen DeGeneres as a biker chick), but time was running out so I agreed.

So, Char shampooed my home-dyed hair and then began confidantly snipping away. I honestly cannot remember how we got on the subject, but she started telling me about her 30 year-old son and what it had been like raising him as a single mother.
"My husband died when Eddie was four," she told me. "He had lymphoma caused by Agent Orange from Viet Nam."

"Wow, that must have been so hard!" I said, tearing up a bit. I was already kind of an emotional basket-case that day.

"Yeah, when he was diagnosed, the docs gave him 15 months to live," Char explained. "But five months later my husband told me the Lord had spoken to him--he said he only had three more days.

'I'm going home on Easter Sunday,' he told me. 'Don't you think that's a good day to die?'"

Char carefully layered my hair as she continued her story.

"I asked him why he had to go, why he had to leave me and Eddie so soon," Char said. 'The Lord told me there's a little boy in heaven who needs someone to take care of him,' was his answer. And my husband died on Easter Sunday, just like he'd said."

Completely caught up in the story, I squinted at her through my wet bangs and asked, "What year did he die?"

"1984."

The same year Jonah was killed . . .

"And how old is your son?"

"Eddie was born December 20, 1979," she replied

December 6, 1979 was our son's birthday . . .

Now a complete emotional wreck, I shared how our four-year-old son, Jonah, had been killed in a car accident the summer of 1984.

Char teared up and didn't say much while she dried my hair (which turned out fabulous, by the way).

"Maybe my husband got called home early to care for your son," Char postulated, as she sprayed my curls into place. "Wouldn't that be something?"

As I drove away from the salon, I realized that we can never understand the ways of God. Why would He take a father away from his living son to care for a child in heaven? It made no sense, but at the same time, the story comforted me more than I can explain. I felt the Lord's assurance that He was more intricately involved in the details of my life-both here on earth and in heaven--than I could ever grasp this side of eternity.

Wonderful are His ways, indeed!

I'll bet Jonah has a story or two to tell when we see his sweet face again . . .

the queen mother of all weddings!

Wow, two down and one to go! I think I'm getting the hang of this wedding thing. This one went off pretty flawlessly, and I offer my thanks to the Lord and all my friends and family who helped. And I can't imagine anyone else on the planet having two such amazing son-in-laws! Here are some pics for you to enjoy!

man, do I love this quote!

Lesslie Newbigin -

The church is the pilgrim people of God. It is on the move – hastening to the ends of the earth to beseech all men to be reconciled to God, and hastening to the end of time to meet its Lord who will gather all into one.

Lessons from my garden . . .

1. If a plant doesn't thrive, you can compost it. There's no failure in gardening, just recycling!

2. Thinning plants is a good thing. I resisted this practice at first, feeling like a murderer of beets as I plucked their hopeful little roots from the garden. But now that they are maturing, I can see that the veggies that had a little space of their own are much happier. The "more the merrier" does not apply to the vegetable kingdom.

3. Slugs can get into the Tub 'O Grub and destroy my harvest. Slugs can go anywhere their slimy little brains like. Except over Deadline.

4. Tomato plants get really big, really fast. I had no idea when I transplanted my first little starts that they'd be taking over my yard in just a few short weeks. (I had 22 plants at last count--and that's not including the dozen or so at the Community Garden). But today I spotted the first little green tomatoes dangling on the vine and you would have thought I'd just learned I was a grandparent. I can't believe I've lived this long without ever having grown my own tomatoes!

5. Fruit flies really like my compost bin, unless I keep more "brown" compost than green in the toter.

6. It's good to put labels on the seeds you plant or you might mistake them for weeds and uproot them

7. You can kill plants by over-watering as easily as you can kill them by under-watering

8. There's something incredibly satisfying about eating what you've sown, grown and harvested for supper. Gardening has revived my interest in cooking.

9. Gardening makes one more inclined to pray about the weather

10. Gardening is good for the soul . . .

living stones

Greg and I do a lot of premarital counseling. We use a curriculum that attempts to cover all the "hot spots" of marriage, including sex, money, extended family issues and conflict resolution.

Inevitably, no matter how deeply in love the couples are, they discover things they didn't know about each other. Cultural background, family traditions, expressions of faith . . . these and many other areas can be deeply imbedded with unspoken expectations and unwritten rules.

Relational land-mines, so to speak.

Our job is to help the couple navigate safely through the rocky terrain, assuring them that differences aren't necessarily good or bad--but they can create conflict. And conflict isn't a always a negative thing--it actually helps us to grow if we approach it with biblical principles.

Mostly we succeed in helping couples sort things out, but I've heard that 10% of couples who go through premarital counseling decide not to get married because of the issues that are unearthed.

And that's actually a good thing. It saves a lot of heartache in the end . . .

All this to say, it feels like our past year at Cornerstone was an engagement period that didn't result in the anticipated union. During our brief time here, it became increasingly clear that Greg (and I) were not a good fit for Cornerstone culture.

I remember discussing this whole "culture" thing with Greg when we were praying about coming to serve at Cornerstone. Neither of us had a clue what that might look like. We've always been part of the Christian church/Churches of Christ denomination and we know every doctrinal nook and cranny of that movement by heart.

But we didn't really care that we didn't get "Cornerstone culture" because Barry had asked for help and we already loved so many folks in that fellowship.

And we felt like God told us to go.

After 14 months, however, Greg, Barry, and the elders came to the conclusion that this was not a match made in heaven. This has been quite painful for us, but we have felt the Lord's leading in this, too.

Even if we'd gone through a sort of "pre-marital counseling" before we came to Cornerstone, where all the cultural differences and possible sources of conflict had been laid out on the table, I think we still would have come. I have no regrets and am so blessed by the relationships in Jesus I've formed (and strengthened) in such a short time.

I've loved our small group (we'll be getting together for halibut tacos after we get back from Alaska), Cornerstone picnics and retreats, prayer time, work days and Sunday morning fellowship. My Cornerstone highlight was definitely the Ladies' Retreat. I don't think I've ever met a more wonderful, authentic group of women.

My hope and prayer is that our relationships will continue to deepen as we serve the Lord together as part of the universal Body of Christ. After all, Jesus is the chief Cornerstone. And if we are in alignment with Him, no matter where we serve or fellowship, we fit!

"You also, as living stones, are being built up into a spiritual house . . ." 1 Peter 2:5

it's official: I am not bipolar

This has been a really strange and stressful season of our lives. For starters, Greg resigned from his job last week--without a clue as to where our next adventure will be. But I will blog more about that in another post.

For me, things got really weird about a month ago when I went in to get the results of my second adrenal test. If you've followed my blog for a while, you may remember that I was diagnosed with adrenal exhaustion a little over a year ago. That first test showed that my cortisol levels, which are normally high in the a.m. and lower at night, were completely flipped, resulting in insomnia, anxiety and daytime exhaustion. So I started a regimen of supplements, lifestyle and dietary changes.

A year later, I was retested and was hoping for improved results (even though I still wasn't really sleeping).

This is kind of how my appointment went. The nurse practitioner I've seen for the past four years (mostly for hormonal issues) tossed the test results at me and said, "I've never seen such high midnight cortisol!" She can be really dramatic at times.

"What does that mean?" I asked, perplexed that there was no improvement after all my lifestyle adjustments.

"I think you are bipolar," she announced, patting me on the knee. "Your insomnia is cyclical and that's how bipolar goes--in cycles. I want you to take these meds--I call them 'happy pills'--and I promise you'll feel better in no time."

I must have gone into shock, because all I could think to ask as she wrote out my prescription was, "So, is there any reading I can do about bipolar disorder? I really don't know anything about it."

She printed off a list of reading material, handed me a prescription for Lamictal, and sent me on my distraught way. I literally drove around for 45 minutes, trying to figure out how to tell my husband I was bipolar.

My greatest fear is that Greg would exclaim, "Wow, that explains everything!"

He didn't say that, but encouraged me to do some research. I did, and discovered that Lamictal is a power anti-seizure drug used to treat epilepsy--and more recently, bipolar disorder. It has a number of nasty side-effects, including insomnia. I decided, bipolar or not, I wasn't touching that drug with a ten foot pole.

And after doing some reading about bipolar disorder, I really didn't recognize the major symptoms in myself--I've not experienced severe depression and the most manic thing I've done is plant a garden in my hot tub. I talked to co-workers with bipolar family members, nurses, doctors, therapists--all people who know me well--and they all objected to the label I'd been given.

But just to make sure, I decided to get an official second opinion. I made an appointment with a psychiatrist.

Now, I've never been to counseling (OK, I went once), so seeing a shrink was really a stretch for me. No pun intended. But this guy came highly recommended, was a Christian and he kind of knew me from a previous church we attended. He wasn't taking new patients but did me a favor and worked me in. So I marched into his office today, half-scared that I'd be carted off in a straight jacket, but hoping he would declare me of sound mind.

We chatted for an hour-and-a-half (hope my insurance covers that) and I got to tell him things I've never really told anyone else (except Greg) about my childhood and family. I won't go into details, but there are numerous instances of institutionalizations, rehab, incarcerations, suicide attempts, broken relationships, abuse and addictions . . . I described my swirly gene pool to the doctor with more than a little apprehension.

The doctor just listened to my story, and was silent for a minute. I'm pretty sure I was holding my breath when he said, "You are not bipolar. You definitely seem to have a genetic disposition toward mental illness, but you, by God's grace, are an exception. My official diagnosis is primary insomnia. You just need to sleep."

"You mean I should be crazy but I'm not?" I asked, only half-joking.

"Something like that," the doc said, smiling. He wrote me out a prescription for some mild sleep meds and sent me on my way.

Ah, the grace of God. Where would I be without it?

"For He has not given us a spirit of fear, but of love, power and a sound mind."

reaping what I've sown

So far, the great tub 'o grub experiment has been wildly successful! There have been a few failures, of course:

I lost all my first batch of basil because I put it out way too early . . .

My radishes came out bitter and gnarled as a tree root. My friend at NW Organic Farm told me that root veggies need sandy (or clay) soil to develop properly. The lovely organic compost that fills my hot tub was way too porous for the little radishes. I'm still hoping my beets and carrots turn out to be edible. OK, I'm praying . . .

Two of my cauliflower plants were murdered by some critter I never could identify. Two are hanging in there, with little cauliflowers peeking hopefully through the perforated leaves.

But other than that, I'm happily munching on the first fruits of my garden. Broccoli, peas, lettuce, onions, herbs (basil, dill, cilantro, oregano and thyme) are showing up in salads and stir fry. I pluck a handful of juicy strawberries every day now. I've even picked a pepper!

I'm waiting patiently for my beans, cucumbers and tomatoes . . . and you should see the pears on my little tree! My grape vines are thriving and there are even a few little blueberries on the bushes out front. Who knew one little urban back yard and one inexperienced gardener could produce such a bountiful harvest . . .

. . . with a lot of help from friends and the Master Gardener!

shower the people you know with love

I'm not much of an event planner--and I really don't enjoy going to showers or other parties where you are forced to play stupid games and make inane conversation--but I had a blast at Lindsay's bridal shower last night. The cool presents she got were definitely eclipsed by the love poured out by family and friends.

Even though having to plan Lindsay's shower gave me a few panic attacks, I felt like the Lord gave me a marvelous theme for the event: Something Old, Something New
Like her mother, Lindsay loves all things vintage. (We even manage a vintage on-line store together, aptly named Strantiques). Her wedding dress, ring and many of her wedding decorations are lovely remnants from another era. So I asked the women I invited to wrap a vintage item they actually owned and bring it to the shower.
That was the "Something Old" part.

For the "Something New," I requested gift cards. Lindsay and Nich will be living in an apartment that has severe space issues. With gift cards, I figured they could purchase items that would actually fit in their first little love nest. And whats easier for today's busy shopper than to buy a gift card?

A mix of about 20 ladies showed up, from five year old Naysa to Lynda's mom, Iva (not saying how old you are, sweetie :)) We grabbed our goodies and gathered together on Lynda's deck and enjoyed her beautiful backyard garden. We'd been praying for good weather and couldn't have been happier with the mid-80's sunshine we had.

Since many of my friends don't know each other, I had each guest introduce herself and share either a scripture or some relational advice with Lindsay. I marvelled at the wonderful diversity and wisdom my friends and daughters brought to that gathering. I have to admit I learned a few things myself ;)

As Lindsay opened her gifts, she received (as did we all) an unexpected bonus--there were wonderful stories behind the "old" presents she unwrapped. Ann gave her a gorgeous Fenton candy dish that she'd received as a wedding gift. Iva passed on some beautiful antique glass pieces and a handkerchief that was handmade by her grandmother! Lynda decoupaged vintage pictures (with superimposed photos of Lindsay and Nich) onto a rad pink vintage waste basket. Debbie gave her a crocheted dresser scarf that had been a sign of God's providence to her many years ago. The stories that accompanied the gifts were priceless!

When Lindsay had opened all her loot, we had a time of prayer for her and Nich. I was so blessed to hear the heartfelt prayers of my wonderful friends--how wonderful it is to begin a relationship in the midst of Christian community.

I want to offer a heartfelt "thank you" to all who were part of the shower (two even participated from afar) and to all who have poured into Lindsay's life!