A Welcome Bathroom

Did you know that you may get some funny looks if you ask for directions to the washroom of an American? You can say restroom or bathroom, but not washroom. Why would you call it that? Why do Canadians use so many words? Honestly, I can think of a few more.

All this to say that I'm trying to use the right words more often, even though we do live in Canada.

Few things say “welcome here” more loudly than a prepared meal, and a clean bathroom. When we travel and stay in a hotel, one of the first things I do is check to see how the bathroom looks. I’m happy when I see the shower curtain is freshly laundered and the tiles are spotless. Okay . . . they get paid for it . . . but, when we have guests, we can also show that we have put some thought into our preparations.
Every once in a while I check the shower curtain in our guest bathroom. It may just be the liner that needs some attention. You can get a new one or just throw the one you have into the machine. Add some towels, some detergent and a little bleach or ammonia (1/4 cup) and wash on gentle setting. To dry the curtain quickly and get the wrinkles out, throw one or two dry towels in with it and dry on low heat or air only for 10 minutes. Remove immediately and hang.

When you grab the brush to swish through the toilet, take a look at the brush . . . I don't really look at it from week to week . . . but this may the the time to pick up a new one. Clear unnecessary things that have gathered on the counter – a basket stored underneath can still allow for quick access. Replace an empty spot with some flowers and hang your best towels for guests. Simple enough.

Believing God

Four years ago I joined a Beth Moore Study at church. In each session we watched a video followed by some interaction and sharing of what we had learned in our homework.

Last week I got out my workbook/journal we worked out of and began to go through it on my own again. I’m wondering if what I learned is a tad more active in my life now than it was then?

At the time I did this study, called Believing God, we had been through some difficult years in which my belief had been challenged. Life was not turning out how I would have planned it. Maybe it is during those times that we either question or solidify what we actually believe.
So, my plan is to go through and highlight the essence of what “believing God “ looks like, since it is the heart of Christianity.

I wish to clarify that this devotional is not about getting you to believe in God. I’m assuming that most people believe that there is a God. Rather, this is about a continuation, an ongoing, life experience. Beth tells us in her introduction that she has become convinced that we see so little of God because we believe Him for so little.

If this study causes me to become more aware of God in my daily life and to recognize Him as He leaves visible prints, then it will be time well spent. The challenge will be to begin my days with expectation and to end them, remembering.

A Story on Forgiveness

I thought I was done with my quota of thoughts for the week, but then I read this book . . . thoughts of which are strewn about in my mind, calling to be written out in order to process what I have actually read.

Think No Evil is the story about the tragic Amish Schoolhouse shooting in a peaceful Lancaster village a few years ago. Jonas Beiler and Shawn Smucker draw the reader into the everyday life of the Amish culture and faith, a faith that remains firm in the most tragic of circumstances. It is a story of such startling contrasts that one can't help but be impacted by it.

On October 2, 2006 Charles Roberts followed through on his pre-meditated plan to board up an Amish schoolhouse, tie up the girls and shoot them one by one before killing himself. It was an act done by a man who'd never been wronged by these people nor had he shown any kind of malice toward them, prior to this event. He was a family man who loved his wife and children.

The only hint at his motive was left in a note wherein he described the hate and emptiness he had experienced ever since the death of his baby girl.

The profound irony in this story lies in the fact that it was an unforgiving and bitter heart that led a man to do something that brought out the best in the people affected. Although the Amish are not a people who seek recognition for anything, their desire was that people would understand the reason for their hope and forgiveness. A heart decision not only to forgive, but to reach out to the widow and her children.

Could it be that in offering forgiveness and friendship, these people came to see a pain beyond their own as they entrusted themselves to a God who judges fairly and comforts those in need?

We live in a world where we feel the need to pay back evil for evil, not realizing that it can hold us in a trap of emotional anguish. In contrast, in the pages of this book we see the lasting strength and benefits in choosing to forgive.

For You

On Monday I did not want to take away from Kristal's 3oth Birthday . . . so I postponed this post a bit . . . however it was on that same day that we also celebrated our 35th Anniversary. I can't help but say that I used to think that people who were married 25 years were old!

I came across this song (posted at the bottom) and tears flowed as I listened . . . I know it's just me . . . although I had never heard this particular song, it's from the era that we dated . . . and I guess that is what makes us kind of old . . .

To borrow words from Amy Grant, it's not a song, till it touches your heart . . . this John Denver song touched my heart because of the memories of first love . . . days of listening to 8-track in the '67 Firebird, planning for our future, dreaming. To look at our dreams from this end now . . . is a feeling that is hard to describe.

To my H . . . we've built houses . . . but where you are is my home. We've raised children . . . but it's you that has stayed. We've laughed . . . we've fought . . . we've had sweet times and hard times . . . but I've come to realize that if it were not for you . . . the sunrise and the sunset . . . the daily grind and mundane tasks . . . the celebrations . . . the past nor the future . . . would have much meaning . . . because I love you.

Happy Thirtieth, Kristal

It was a Saturday morning . . . I was nearly 39 weeks pregnant . . . and ready to be done with it, when I realized it may just be the end. I quickly threw a load of essentials, such as Julene’s favorite blanket, into the wash and packed up the things she would need to stay with her cousins.
We arrived at the hospital around noon feeling rather like it may all just be a false alarm, but I was admitted and that evening, about 8:30, another little daughter was placed into my arms. I remember looking into your face, in total awe . . . and so very happy!

We brought you home and soon you shared a room with your sister, who just adored you and tried to sing you to sleep when you cried. You wanted to be a big girl quickly, doing most things before we had a chance to even teach you, it seemed. This trait was emphasized when you became a big sister to a baby brother.

By the time we enrolled you for Kindergarten, you could hardly wait to join your sister on her walk to the school down the street. You made friends easily and sometimes tried my patience with your many social plans.

It was hard to keep you busy enough . . . violin lessons began in Kindergarten, PMCC Choir was added a few years later and piano too . . . then somewhere, in-between practices, lessons, doing homework, choir trips, braces and playing with friends . . . you became a teen-ager.

. . . and the days picked up speed . . . with school, extra curricular activities, friends and church. Often times, disappointments and joys were shared within the small space of our car . . . the place that seemed like an extension of our family room in those days. You did us proud, Kristal, by the choices you made, even though they were not always easy.

After high school we drove you down to Oregon for college. It was then that you showed us how our little girl had turned into a young lady who truly cared about others. Part of my heart stayed there with you as I could hardly wait for you to come home again.

A few years later, we saw you get your first car and head off to Azusa to sing in the choir and finish your degree. We enjoyed our trips down there, as we had often driven by that university to head to our favorite holiday destination.

I remember the call that came one day . . . the call to tell us about the special young man you'd met . . . and we went down again . . . to meet him, of course.

You were married within the year . . . which should not have surprised us by that time . . . and then graduated with a different name than the one you had enrolled with.

One of your dreams came true when you became a mommy a few years later. Again we flew down, arriving at the hospital on the same day she was born. We've repeated this several times now . . . to share in the joy with you.

Your life has added so much to ours! You have challenged us, encouraged us, and blessed us in ways we never would have dreamed. Your choices have given us many opportunities and excuses to travel and to see life and the world from another perspective. We are so proud of the young woman you have become! Ever beautiful and caring!

Happy Thirtieth Birthday, Kristal Erin!

Sending love and hugs today . . . Mom and Dad

How Long?

One of my favorite things about Fall has been the donning of some old comfy sweater or getting a new one! I love turtlenecks, cowl necks, soft, hugable feeling sweaters.

Something has stressed me out this Fall . . . it’s the fact that I can hardly even think about opening that drawer, for fear that I won’t get that sweater off quick enough. It seems to have to do with something called Menopause.

What is this all about? What is this heat going through my body like I’m steaming in a sauna? These days I'm keeping one foot out from under the cover. I’m blow drying my hair before I get dressed. Camisole type tops and lightweight sweaters that button down are my friends. And in the evening, I snuggle up to my hubby, watching TV, one minute and hurl off the fleece throw the next . . . but keep it where I can see it. He says, “Are you hot? I know you are.”

I’m looking at this word . . . menopause . . . is the main part the “pause”? If so . . . how long is this pause? I asked my mother and she does not know what I’m talking about. She’s of the generation where her doctor prescribed some magic pills when she was in her forties and she swallowed them for twenty five years. She asks . . . why don’t you take something? I wonder . . . if I take something . . . how will I know when the pause is over?

I thought I could just breeze through this timely event, especially since women tend to belabor these kinds of issues. But, with every heat wave, my resolve is weakening. Is there life after the Pause? Or is that the time we throw shawls over our shoulders and blankets over our knees as we get wheeled down the corridor to the dining hall?