Tag Archives: Jesus is my home-boy

My Happily Ever After

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I’ve known my husband since I was eleven years old and he was twelve, that’s how it is in a small town.  My family ran onto some hard times and had to move to the po’ side o’ town.  That’s the poor side of town for those who aren’t from there.  You’ve heard the joke…..we were so po we couldn’t afford the ‘or’.  Jason lived 2 blocks away to the right.  We did not have a love at first sight experience.  Actually, he was crushing on my sister instead and would bring her roses he’d stolen from somebody’s flowerbed.  They were outside sitting on the porch and I could be found next door watching Golden Girls and Cagney and Lacey with my Grannie, not giving two thoughts to boys.

We went to Middle School and High School together where he was a year older than me.  We hung out in different crowds, but said hello in passing.

I was in my early adulthood when I figured out that I knew everyone in both the police record and the wedding announcements.  Small town stuff.  Early adulthood is when society dictates that you should get married.  I wasn’t married, nor was I anywhere close.  There’s a sort of panic that sets in when you figure out that you aren’t on the same time frame as the rest of the world.

Being a single girl in a small town is not an easy thing to do.  Up until I found and married Jason, I was constantly being asked who I was dating, why wasn’t I dating, or someone was trying to fix me up.  Eventually the well meaning townsfolk decided I was probably a lesbian and left me alone.

One day in 1998 I went to the grocery store to buy Fruity Pebbles and Ramen Noodles, staples in my single-girl diet.  As I was walking out, a girl I knew stopped me in the parking lot and told me someone’s truck had just rolled into my car.   In small towns everyone knows what everyone else drives.  I rolled my eyes and groaned. This turned out to be my third wreck in a parking lot!  In my experience, you’re pretty much out of luck.  The police won’t do much because it’s considered private property.  You just have to hope the other guy has insurance and is a respectable dude who will take care of it.  When I got into eye shot, I saw this empty, avocado green,  beat up Ford pickup had knocked out of gear and rolled about fifty feet before slamming his taillights into my headlights.

It belonged to Jason.  I knew that the minute I saw it.  Small town stuff.  Neither of us were in our vehicles at the time.  It was almost as if  this old, green, beat up Ford truck  saw this fancy, new, bluish purple Mustang and said, “Hey there, wild thang with the 4 cylinder.   I think you need a better look at my rear end.”   I leaned against the side of my car and waited for him to meander out of the store.  He was all apologies, promised he’d take care of it.  And he did.  He called me up and asked me to take it to a certain body shop, the car got fixed and life went on.  And that was that.

For five more years.
Dates with crazies came and went.
Then I became a recluse.
I would never go out. People would tell me I needed to be out meeting people. But I had met people, and they turned out to be daddy’s boys or killer cops and I’d rather stay home and watch Survivor alone. If somebody wanted to date me, they were going to have to knock on my door. And that was that.

Then one day I came home from work to find Jason’s name on my caller ID.  That was curious, but I assumed it was a wrong number.  He called back two days later and asked me out.  We talked for three hours.    I was teaching school and a parent of one of my students, that happened to be a friend of his, had suggested he ask me out.  He remarked that I was too sweet for him, which is true.  But a few days later, we passed each other on the main road in town and waved, and prompted him to call.  I’d had my experiences with cowboys, not to mention their dads, and didn’t figure it would go anywhere, but I agreed.  Eating Ramen Noodles was getting pretty old by this time.

It worked out pretty good.
He wore a yellow shirt.
I ordered chicken.

We had a second date.
He took me horseback riding.

I needed a boost on the butt.

He happily obliged.
I was petrified.

We had a third date.
At a comedy club.
His truck started breaking down on the way home.

A few months later he proposed to me on bended knee.
We got married.
He still has to give me a boost on the butt.
A much bigger boost on a much larger butt.

Sometimes, when I get nostalgic, I’ll think about the wreck we had in the parking lot both in unmanned vehicles.  I learned later that of course that po’ boy didn’t have any car insurance  but knew a guy who could fix my car.  They did a little bartering and Jason broke a horse for the body shop man in exchange for payment. Small town stuff.

It’s a funny story I guess.  Maybe even a coincidence.

Perhaps it was Fate.
Or Destiny.
Or the cosmos aligning perfectly with Mercury in the Sixth House.

But if you really want to know the truth, I believe it was God.
I believe that he intended for that collision of two unmanned vehicles to be the beginning of Jason and Angel.  A collision of love.
And we just weren’t listening.

That was a move on His part to create His will for two dumb pilgrims down here, and we missed it.  So he went to Plan B.    He works around our goofs.
Because He’s cool like that.

This entry is #15 on a list of 30 things.  How I fell in love.

Am I worthy of a ‘hello, nice to meet you?’

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I’m ranting.

Not just because I’m mad, but because I’m sad too.  Anger and tears.  That’s what happens to me.  First I get angry, and then I cry and then I get angrier that I’m crying, and then I cry harder, which makes me more angry.  Aaarrrggghhhh!

I have such a high tolerance too.  I rarely get mad, so I have to sort this out in my mind.  Why am I so mad?  Or am I really hurt?  Yes that’s it, I’m hurt. If my friend were sitting on my bed with me right now she would remind me that anger is a peacock emotion.  In other words, anger shows itself while a different emotion is being hidden.  One of those hidden emotions is hurt.

I have just been treated so rudely by someone in the educational field, a professional I dare call him, and I’ll use that term loosely.  Blatant, out and out, rudeness.  Offensive.  Treated as if I were nothing.  A nobody.  My niece’s teacher would not look up from his computer to simply say hello when my niece wanted me to meet him.  As I introduced myself, I got a hmmmm hmmmm in response, right along with a “I’ve got a conference at 3:30″.     He didn’t stand, he didn’t say hello, he didn’t extend his hand, he didn’t even look me in the eye.

I am an outsider here.  I am reminded of it all too often.  My self worth and self confidence is at an all time low for whatever reason, and for someone to not acknowledge that I exist, that I am standing in the same room, that I am a human being with a beating heart, well quite honestly, he waylaid me.  I have been drop-kicked in the gut.

Am I unworthy to be spoken to.  No, that’s ridiculous.  I feel so silly to allow someone to make me feel this low.  Yet, I do.

This is a feeling I don’t think I have ever experienced before IN MY LIFE.  A feeling of complete unworth. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  Which causes me to question, have I ever treated someone else like this? Even unconsciously?  I hope not.  I hope I have never made anyone, be it a parent at school, a relative, a clerk at the convenience store, a classmate from high school, or a beggar on the corner feel as if they were nothing, as if they didn’t matter, as if they were unimportant.  But the truth is, I have.  I’m sure I have.  Even though I can’t recall it, they remember it.  How could someone forget.  It hurts too deeply.

So, what will I do?  Will I fire off a scathing email to him like I want, and then visit his principal and tattle on him, like I want?

No I won’t.

Will I tell my husband through my tears what happened  and beg him to go beat him up, like I want?

No I won’t.

Will I find out where he lives and throw a roll of toilet paper through his tree branches and then egg his car?

Maybe I will do that.

No, I won’t.

Instead I’ll remind myself of who I actually am.  I’ll thank my God that He has made me HIS CHILD, that I am a daughter of THE ALMIGHTY KING, that I am HIGHLY FAVORED, that God DELIGHTS  in me, that He SINGS over me, that I am LOVED so very much that God himself would robe himself in flesh, remain sinless, yet die a gruesome death for me.  FOR ME.  I am WORTH that much to Him.  Unworthy to be spoken to by a teacher, maybe I am, but to God I am SOMEBODY.  Because of that, I will lift my head, I will wipe my tears, and I will remember that everyone (including that teacher) is worthy of a smile, a kind word, a simple hello.  I will strive to be a better person who treats everyone I meet with dignity and respect, regardless of how busy I am, what kind of day I’m having, or whether I had my coffee that morning.  What a humbling experience I’ve had today, and what a reminder and a lesson I have learned.

If I have ever made you feel bad about yourself, please forgive me.  Please know it was not intentional.  Please know I did not intend to hurt you.

Sending you my cyber hug,

Angel

 

 

 

 

5 months

Posted in Children, Faith by

My sweet and precious Emma Kate,

Today you are 5 months old.  I’ve known this day was coming, but it just doesn’t seem possible.

I look at you and I can’t believe it.  That sweet tiny baby has morphed into a bundle of fun, with a  big grin and a bit of a mischievous nature I believe.  Your daddy keeps saying you’re turning into a little person.  A little person full of personality and curiosity.

We enjoy every minute of you.  Even the 3 a.m. ones.  Even the  ”somebody better do something to fix my problem” crying ones.  Even the “I think I’ll go to the bathroom since you already have my diaper off” ones.

Your good moments completely outweigh the tougher times.  You play with your toys for a really long time.  Sometimes you get frustrated when you can’t reach your favorite toy, but you don’t give up easily.  You have a determined spirit about you, which I think is a good quality.  Later, we’ll likely call it stubbornness, which you’ll come by honestly since both your daddy and I possess it as well.

I quit my job so I can be a stay at home mom with you.  I don’t think we’ve been separated since the end of May.  We spend our days playing, singing, reading, eating, sleeping, and having some outside time which is your favorite.  Some days we go to town to visit or run errands, but not too much, because mama is a homebody.

You love feet, and it doesn’t really matter whose they are.  You learned how to get your piggies into your mouth this month and boy how good they must taste!  Really, it’s quite an accomplishment considering those fat rolls on your thighs.  My goodness, you’re cute!  You’re absolutely perfect.  At your last check up (when you had to get those mean shots) you weighed in at 14 pounds 10 ounces, 24 3/4 inches long, and your head was 16 inches.

You’ve got some pretty big brains in there, I think.  You’re smart Emma Kate.  There are things you do, that others may think are a fluke or accidental, but mama doesn’t think so.  I swear you know how to play peek a boo.  You pull a burp cloth or a small blanket up over your face and wait for us to say “Where’s Emma?” and then you pull it down to see us.  You do this again and again.  You give mama kisses on the cheek with that wide open mouth and you go in for Eskimo kisses with your Grandy.  You know that when you press down on that little green button the wipes will open up and you can try to eat them.

Bath time is a blast.  You’ve outgrown those little baby baths so you are a big girl in the tub these days.  And boy do you make a splash, literally.  You kick those feet like mad and splash water until it hits you in the face and slows you down a bit.

Sleeping is getting better.  This month, I’ve tried out a new method I read about on the internet called the E.A.S.Y method.  You eat, then you have activity time, and then when I notice you are getting drowsy, I’ll hold you with your binky for just a little while till your eyes are heavy, then I put you in your bed and you go right to sleep.  Usually.  You like to put a little blanket over your head.  I gave you a soft blanket to hold onto, and when I went back to check on you, you were sound asleep with it over your face.  Now, that’s just what you do.  Going to sleep works just fine, it’s just staying asleep that you don’t care for.  But you’re getting better.

You were dedicated to the Lord on June 3rd at Briarwood Church and received your very first little pink Bible and a certificate.  All the congregation reached out their hands to you as the pastor prayed God’s protection and guidance over your life.  He also made me tell the story of how a man in the church told me you were coming years ago, but I thought he was crazy.  

We had your pictures made this month with all your cousins on my side of the family.  Your aunt Jolea and your cousins Hannah and Zoie came to visit.  It was the first time H & Z had ever seen you, so we gathered up your cousins Harley and Maxx as well and went to daddy’s work to have pictures made.  They’re going to make Grandy a nice birthday present in a few days.

We also had your pictures made by yourself.

The doctor said we can start you on some rice cereal if we want, and start trying some other foods.  So mommy jumped the gun and gave you a taste of avocado instead!  You liked that for  a little bit, but not for long.  I’ve also given you tastes of strawberry, cantaloupe, and asparagus!  Mostly you shuddered and got this awful look on your face.  So we’re still waiting on the whole eating thing.

I hope I’m capturing everything I can about your little life honey.  You are our little joy. Your daddy and I want to do the best we can for you.  There will be times that we fail miserably I know.  We’re going to have bad times along with the good on this ride.  I want you to have  good memories of your childhood with us.  I want you to always know you’re loved deeply by us, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and mostly by Jesus.  It’s incomprehensible that He loves you more than I do, but He does.  My love for you pales in comparison.

I’m so happy to have you, baby of mine.

XOXO,

Mommy

A Better World

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I  think I’m officially a mommy blogger, as all my posts of late center around my baby.

But how can you blame me?  She has yet to lose that new baby smell as my husband jokingly says.

She is my obsession.
She will always be my obsession.

She is sleeping in my arms as I type, and oh, if only you could smell her!  She’s scrubbed clean, dressed for church, and doesn’t smell like sour milk.  Who knows if we’ll actually make it to church.  It’s so easy to hold her and let the minutes tick past, as if there is nothing more important than this.  Is there?

I find myself struggling with that very thing.  I must now make a conscious effort to find balance, especially in other relationships. I must give my loved ones some attention too.  They’re being neglected I feel.

A mother is a true servant to her children, sacrificing her time, food, showers, make-up, and all kinds of other previously thought important things to meet the needs of her babies.  We are called to be servants to everyone, just as Jesus Christ came to be a servant o all.  If only I could show love to every human being I encounter as much as I show love to this baby in my arms.  After all, isn’t love “action” rather than “feeling”?

I challenge myself to this greater love for others and it is HARD for me.  But I desperately need the world to be a better place for this darling girl to grow up in.  We CAN make a difference in someone’s life.  Let’s all try, okay?

For her.
And all the others.

 

Shots.

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In two short days, my baby girl has to get her 2 month shots.

Oh, how I dread it.  To the very core.

She’s oblivious.  She doesn’t know what is up ahead.  But I do.

She is content and happy, living in her little 2 month world.  Trusting her mama and daddy to take care of her, without a worry in the world, unsuspecting of what is to come.  I want to prepare her.  I’ve tried telling her about it, reassuring her that it won’t last long, that everything will be okay, that it’s not meant to harm her, but it’s to protect her in the future.  But she doesn’t understand my language.    I want to avoid this necessary evil.  But I know she needs it.

When my old cowdog Fancy had to be put to sleep, I couldn’t stand it.  It was the best thing for her, as she was in a lot of pain.  My mother and I took her to the vet, and as much as I wanted to stay and pet her head while the needle was injected, I just couldn’t bear it.  I left the exam room and cried in the waiting room instead.  It was just too much.  My mom stayed with her as she closed her big, brown, trusting eyes for good.  I wish now I would have stayed with her, letting her know I was there.

With EK, I want to escape as well.  I want her dad to stay with her and I would rather wait in the waiting room and not witness her going through the pain.  But I would never leave her.  I will endure her cries, and hold her tight, and comfort her.

We are told in the Bible that we cannot know God’s thoughts.  Isaiah 55:8 My thoughts are not your thoughts.  Neither are your ways, my ways, declares the Lord.  But sometimes, I believe He allows us, in our mortality, to experience small, ever so minute glimpses of His ways.

He, as our Heavenly Father, sees the big picture.  He knows what is coming our way.  He knows our tomorrow and the days after that.  He too wants to protect us from the pain and discomfort of our “shots”, but perhaps it is better for us in the long run to experience them now.  When we receive word of death of a close one, or a troubling diagnosis, or loss of a job, or relationship, we are rattled, shaken, and upset.  We don’t understand why it happened, but God does, and also why it needed to happen.    We may be caught off guard, but He never is.  And perhaps He too tried to prepare us.  Maybe He spoke to us, told us it wouldn’t last long, that it will all be okay, that it is not for harm, but for our good. But we don’t always understand His language.   He doesn’t abandon us to wait in the waiting room.  He holds us close, speaks comfort and wipes every tear from our eye.

What an awesome Father we have.

My grandmother had this photograph framed and hanging in her bedroom for as long as I could remember.  It is from the local newspaper in 1976.

The caption read “Mrs. Anne Briggs holds Angel’s hand while she gets her immunization shots.  Angel looks nervous but didn’t cry.  RN Berlinda Leyba of Texas State Department of Health gave shots.” 

Maybe EK will have a little of her mama in her and handle her shots well also.

If you will, send up a prayer for her.  And for me.

 

All Her Parts

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Our baby girl turned 8 weeks old yesterday.

People say she’s tiny, but she’s already grown so much to me.

 

 

I tried to capture her in all her little 8 week oldness.  She’s changing so much, so quickly.

 

 

Her daddy’s in love with her side profile.  And all the rest of her too.

 

 

I’m in love with her eyelashes.  And all the rest of her too.

 

 

A friend said it best.  ”We couldn’t have ordered one better.”

 

Thank you God for our Emma Kate.  All of her.

 

 

A New Body

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It made many trips down I-40 from Tahlequah to Pampa.  It rode in the passenger seat of a red dodge pickup and when that vehicle wore out, a yellow Chevy pickup. 

When he died, it rode in the back of my vehicle one last time along with the potted plants sent with condolences and a couple of cardboard boxes of belongings.

When we arrived home, it sat in the floor of the spare bedroom right behind the door.  I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.  I went about my day-to-day life and when I found time, I sorted through the cardboard boxes that had made the trip,  discarding unnecessary things.  But still, it remained. 

When the spare bedroom began changing into a nursery, it sat on the floor watching while paint went on the walls, and office furniture was replaced with a crib.  Like a child’s teddy bear with the eye missing and the stuffing coming out, it remained as a reminder.   

It wasn’t valuable.  It wasn’t decorative.  It wasn’t useful to anyone.  But it was such a part of him that I kept it around.  It’s funny how when someone dies, their everyday things become such strong reminders of them.  For my grandmother, it was a silver fingernail file that sat beside her chair.  She probably used it every day.  For my dad, it was a grimy, white Easter basket he used to carry his medication.  An Easter basket.  While other men have a satchel or a tote, or even a gallon size Ziploc bag, my dad used an Easter basket. 

“Take one daily with a meal.”  “For management of high cholesterol, take one each day.”  “Take each morning and evening.”  The instructions on each bottle kept him going for several years.  High blood pressure, cholesterol, blood thinners, aspirin.

When New Year’s Day 2012 rolled around, sadness overcame me.  A new year, a new beginning, only without him.  Moving ahead, moving on, I knew I must.  But I didn’t know how.  And then I was reminded: 

“For instance, we  know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—-and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again.” 2 Corinthians 5:1 The Message

My dad no longer needed his pills.  It was just a sad reminder to me of the temporary body that burdened him.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.  We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:7 

On Monday January 2, I carried the basket to the dumpster and set it in.  Don’t think I didn’t consider taking it out and bringing it back in the house throughout the day.  I was home on Tuesday, the 3rd, when the loud roar of the trash truck pulled up.  I heard the lifting of the dumpster, the bang of the lids as it flipped over.  I imagined the dirty Easter basket and the bottles of pills scattering as they fell.  I sat on the couch as the truck roared away, thinking of my dad and his new body.  No longer sick.  No longer burdened.

Today, he would’ve been 69 years old.  He left this world February 26, 2011.

He is dancing. 

Happy Birthday, Dad. 

I love you.

Is that You, God?

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It happened on a Sunday morning two years ago.  Or was it three?  I really don’t know.  Not because I don’t remember it vividly, but instead because I dismissed it as nonsense, ridiculousness, even poppycock.

I had gone to church that morning.  Whether I started my day with a heavy heart or whether I became burdened during the service, I don’t remember.  But it happened during that time of our church service when our pastor asked for anyone who had a need to stand right where they are to be prayed for.  This is a common practice in our church.  People have needs.  We’re sick.  Sick in body and sick in spirit.  You shouldn’t have to leave the House of the Lord in the same condition in which you entered.  He is, after all, the Great Physician. 

I stood.  I can’t recall my need now.  Perhaps it was a broken heart.  Maybe financial worries.  It could’ve been I was feeling a sore throat coming on.  Whatever it was, the Holy Spirit led me to stand.  Which is not easy.  When the Holy Spirit begins talking to me, my pride begins yelling louder.  “What are you doing?” it screams.  “Do you want all these people to know you’ve got problems?  Don’t you care what they are thinking?  Don’t do it!  Don’t stand.  You can pray for yourself.  You don’t need others to pray for you“.  But deep down, I know God desires obedience.  It will be rewarded.  So this time, my pride gets hushed, and I stand.  I can feel all those pairs of eyes boring into me.  My body temperature rises.  My neck begins to burn.  Then the preacher asks for everyone who is standing to have a prayer partner.  The sound of shuffling feet fills the sanctuary as people rise to meet the ones who are standing.  I feel hands on my back, on my shoulders.  I hear whispered prayers being lifted towards the heavens.  People interceding on my behalf.  The prayers end.  We clap our hands to the Lord, praising Him for what He is going to do.  I  look up at the ones who prayed for me.  We embrace.  Eyes are brimming with tears. 

And that’s when it happened.  A small, older man, who had never spoken more than a cordial greeting to me, with his dark skin and heavy foreign accent looked at me and confidently proclaimed, “The Lord will give you a baby.” 

I smiled politely.  
I’m not even praying for a baby I thought to myself. 

We sat down, and as the preacher gave final announcements, I remember my mind drifting to what had just been spoken to me.  I even felt a little angry.  Why do people automatically assume that I want a baby? 

Church dismissed and we went on with our day.  But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget that event.  I chuckled to myself.  Much like Sarah from the Bible did when she was told she would have a baby.   What a crazy old man, assuming things he has no idea about.  I told a few people and they laughed with me.  How weird.  How strange.  How bizarre.

Now fast forward to November 2011.  I’m walking out of the Sunday School room into a narrow hallway and I meet that same man.  I doubt he even knows my name.  His large brown eyes dropped to my bulging belly.  He wagged his wrinkled finger toward it and in his thick accent said, “I told you.”

“I believe you now.” I answered with a smile.  He went on to explain to me that God had been talking to him and wanting him to tell me.  He said it wasn’t just once, but two or three times.  Finally, he obeyed.  Okay, I’ll tell her, he said. 

So.  He isn’t a crazy man afterall.  In fact, he assumed nothing about my needs.  He was obedient to the voice of God no matter how crazy it sounded to me.

Just as so many women were visited by a messenger and told they were going to give birth, I too, was visited by a messenger and told the same thing.  But I didn’t believe him.  Right there, in church, during prayer, as obvious as a lightening strike, God spoke to me through someone else, and yet my ears remained closed.  I even scoffed.  I wonder how many blessings I’ve missed because of my lack of faith?  I hope I have learned my lesson.

God is speaking to you.
Listen.

Gobble, Gobble, Wobble

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It’s the most wonderful time of the year.  Yes, I know the song refers to the Christmas season, but I disagree.  I believe the Thanksgiving season is the most wonderful time.  It is my favorite by far. 

This thanksgiving, 2011, I am blessed beyond my wildest comprehension.  There has been loss.

And there has been gain. 

 

 How much things can change in one year.  
This time last year, I saw my dad alive for the last time.  We sat on the steps of my old house on a beautiful Autumn day as birds honked above overhead.  I mistakenly called them geese.  He was quick to inform me they were sandhill cranes.  He always loved the birds. 

We took a drive around the old Celanese plant  where he spent some time working years ago, and although we didn’t say much of anything, I’m sure he was venturing down his own memory lane, just as I am now.   Days gone by.  Out of reach.

I snapped this last picture of him and my sister lying in the floor, right before we watched Four Christmases together.  He forgot that blue handkerchief when he left.  It’s now washed and folded and put away in a box of things, along with a pair of glasses left forgotten.  He passed away the following February, and I have missed him everyday since. 

But we shall meet again, and there will be rejoicing.

This time next year, we will have a 10 month old little girl crawling around, possibly beginning to pull up, yanking all the popcorn and cranberries strands from the Christmas tree.  She will have brown hair and brown eyes and little dimples on her knees.  We will play peek-a-boo and patty cake, feed her pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream, and smother her in kisses. 

And I’ll be tired, but it will all be worth it.

Things change.  There’s no doubt I’ve changed. 
And thank God for that.

Robert Frost said he could sum life up in three words.  “It goes on.”

And thank God for that too.

I hope you take a moment to be thankful today and everyday.  We are so blessed. 
Praise God.

Cherish Loved Ones.

Be happy.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,
Angel

Blessings

Posted in Faith by

I have a hot drink, a quiet house, and a long to-do list, but I’m going to sit a minute and write.  I miss blogging.  If I had my ‘druthers, I’d stay home, write everyday, and make preserves; or some other similar lost art.  It sounds idyllic, but I’m sure it would get old after a while.

J-Dub and Ash have gone on a bike ride to a nearby, near-dried-up lake, and I’m sitting in my comfy chair, in my comfy preggo pajamas, listening to the flock of birds that live outside my window in an evergreen tree causing quite a ruckus. 

Today I feel so blessed.  Most days I feel blessed, but sometimes it is an overwhelming feeling that I simply can’t describe.  I believe it has something to do with Fall.   It’s quickly becoming my favorite time of year.  or it may have something to do with my little baby to be, Emma Kate.  Oh I dreamed of her last night.  It was the most precious thing.  She was about 5 or 6 months old, and had the biggest eyes you have ever seen.  She was eating a strawberry.  It was the first strawberry she’d ever tried.  When she got a taste of it, her big eyes grew even wider.  It was like a taste of heaven in her mouth.  I loved waking up with that sweet image in my mind.   I must plant strawberries this spring! 

For the past two years, I have attempted a pumpkin patch, and have failed both times.  Ash used to have a flower-pot of strawberries and they would produce about 3 a year.  I hope to have better luck with my green thumb.  Emma needs strawberries.

I’ve also been dreaming of my lost loved ones lately.  My dad and my grannie have both been present with me in my dreams.  It’s nice to wake up after being visited by a loved one, passed on. 

But mostly, my blessed feeling has a lot to do with God.  Isn’t he awesome?  He has given me so much, even the things I thought I didn’t need.  He knows our every thought before we think them.  He knows the number of hairs on our head.  He knows us better than we could ever know ourselves, and the most amazing thing is, He loves us still.  His love is bigger and wider and deeper than anything we can fathom. 

I hope you know Him.  Somedays I’m an ungrateful child of the King, and I think I’m too busy to spend much, if any, time with Him.  But He doesn’t hold it against me.  He welcomes me back as a loving Father.   He’s with us all ways.  Even before we ever knew Him, He knew us.  Right now I’m reminded of a scripture, Psalms 139. 

1 You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
2 You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
3 You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
4 Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
5 You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.

 7 Where can I go from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea,
10 even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
   and the light become night around me,”
12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
   the night will shine like the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.

 13 For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
   when I was made in the secret place,
   when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
   all the days ordained for me were written in your book
   before one of them came to be.
17 How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
18 Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand—
   when I awake, I am still with you.

 19 If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
   Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
20 They speak of you with evil intent;
   your adversaries misuse your name.
21 Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
   and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
22 I have nothing but hatred for them;
   I count them my enemies.
23 Search me, God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.
24 See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting.

He’s always with us.  Always there.  May you have a blessed day.

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