Getting Sweaty & Getting Cozy

Two things I did today that weren't planned:

1) I worked out on the Eliptical for the first time in 3 months. Laurel, Josh & I trekked over to the old gym where I got on the Eliptical and they shot hoops for awhile -- it actually made the time go quickly having them there. My foot did just fine -- no pain, no swelling. Next time, 30 minutes on a higher level.

2) Totally unrelated and I probably shouldn't admit this openly, but I'm now the proud owner of a pink Snuggie. I was minding my own business, working in my sewing room, trying to reclaim it after pretty much losing the floor amid Christmas program costumes, boxes, bubble wrap and tissue paper when Paul & Isaac returned from town today and presented me with a box emblazoned with that infamous logo and picture of the cheesy looking lady. They felt I needed a Snuggie. And the after-Christmas sale made it impossible for my husband to pass up.

Thanks.

It's so corny I think I may just go with it and wear it. It'll be an endless source of material for my family to use "against" me -- not that a Snuggie is needed for that, but still...

So. The Snuggie is in the house and thankfully I no longer have to be deprived of that fleecy goodness.

Lights & Ladders

Two days ago I had my last x-ray and dr. visit for my foot -- 2 months after my surgery date. Everything looks good and I got the doc's clearance to do what I want -- no activities excluded. So guess what I was doing yesterday afternoon.

My outside Christmas lights decided to stop working this week. They've been up for a couple of weeks, working just fine -- and then they just quit. It was about more than I could stand to concede defeat to those contrary cords. But concede I did, knowing I didn't have the doc's clearance to do any climbing yet, and having to start over with my foot's healing because of doing something dumb isn't an option.

BUT with the ladder ban officially lifted on Thursday, it was finally time! So that's how I spent Friday afternoon. Climbed the ladder, found the problem, back down the ladder, found a new cord, back up the ladder, plugged the new cord in, strung it, made sure it worked, then down the ladder. Apparently my Christmas lights are at that contrary stage in their existence. I plug them in, make sure they work, then after they're up for about 5 minutes, they stop working. This interesting little dynamic provided four rounds of this light-hanging process. But all the while I was still "plum" happy that I could be out there working on it. (eastern MT vernacular for "very" or "quite") :-)

So, as with most projects - one thing leads to another. In the middle of one of the short windows of time when the lights were all on, I found more lights. Well, if there's more lights, then they should go up! On the steepest part of the roof! So with my husband's help, I got the big dog ladder up and climbed that sucker, carefully but still happily, even though my fingers were losing feeling by this time.

They were looking so nice, all icicle-y...and then the whole lot of them went out. ugh. Felt a little frustrated, but still mostly happy and energized by the fact that I could be on a ladder, but more by the vision of the glow that would soon light up our section of the street. I would've made a good Griswold.

I had to go back to where I started and after awhile had to concede again. There wouldn't be extra lights up but I'd finished what I meant to do initially. I fixed the problem on the front side of the house and went inside quite satisfied.

Then I looked out closer to bedtime and only one strand was lit. grrr.
So today it continues. There's a nice blue sky, some snow on the ground -- can't think of anything I'd rather do on December 23 than bundle up and spend the rest of the morning on a ladder.

My Pumpkin Trifle Has a Salvage Title

Pumpkin bread with cream cheese frosting is making me happy these days. Probably a little too happy. I had a new friend over to bake on Friday and together we produced 3 loaves of chocolate/pumpkin bread (she gave it a thumbs down, but I just can't leave it alone!), 3 loaves of regular pumpkin bread, one pumpkin roll and a pumpkin trifle.

I shouldn't admit this, but the pumpkin trifle was my friend's genius as she watched as what was supposed to be the second pumpkin roll completely fall apart as I attempted to remove it from the pan. I'd made these rolls several times before, but this was an utter flop. There was no amount of frosting that could bridge those chasms. It looked more like a pumpkin mountain range...not a smooth, even plain ready for a flood of cream cheese frosting.

But thanks to my friend, the mountain range was broken into pieces and when layered with pumpkin pudding and cool whip in a pretty trifle bowl, it worked and it tasted good. I'm glad Jodi was there to suggest the salvage operation...otherwise the whole thing would've ended up in the trash.

Salvaging. Seeing beyond a messed up appearance to what can be. The person I know who is best at this is my mother-in-law, Connie. She has a mechanically-wired brain, so she knows how to fix a lot of stuff. She's a veritable sewing machine whisperer -- takes them apart piece by piece, cleaning and fixing as she goes, then puts them all back together, sometimes into a newly refurbished cabinet to boot.

My sewing machine was giving me fits recently, so I sent the contrary machine her way and she had it working in no time (of course, it helps to have the bobbin inserted in the right direction if you expect your machine to be happy). She's also great at getting stains out of stuff that others would give up on. It has greatly reduced the amount of money I've spent on clothes over the years! Connie just sees value and life in stuff that's a little beaten up and knows how to get it there. I tend to think that kind of stuff has just had its day and needs a merciful, quick death by way of the garbage dumpster. I like the wisdom of Connie's way and while I don't aspire to dismantle and repair sewing machines, I know there's much more to learn from her.

Funny...all this because of a pumpkin trifle. Who knew that layered deliciousness would prompt anything beyond a "Hmmm, that's pretty good"?
Granted, this may all be for my benefit alone. But in the spirit of Thanksgiving, it's a simple but good reminder to choose to see what is good in what looks dismal or maybe downright hopeless. Nothing new there but I know I need that reminder today.

There's stuff in my life that disappoints me. Stuff I wish were different. But when I mentally camp out on those things, I'm not at peace and not fun to be around. But when I discipline myself to articulate what is good in life and cultivate gratefulness, peace comes and I'm free to enjoy what is.

Hope you enjoy a peace-filled Thanksgiving and may each bite of pumpkin pie (or trifle) remind you of the sweetness that can come when we look for the good that lies just beyond the mess.

Hello Again, Guitar

Today I got my guitar out after not having touched it since last winter. The months just came and went, but there was no spark inside me to want to keep trying.

But this morning had some tough moments, and the thought just kept coming to grab my guitar (despite the fact that I only know like 5 chords) and go to the church sanctuary to be alone with God. It took a few minutes, but pretty soon I was slowly finding my way through the songs I had half-way learned. Your Blood Speaks a Better Word, How Deep the Father's Love for Us, Be Still My Soul, Jesus - Be the Center. I felt frustrated that I couldn't play the way I want to, but it felt good to at least try and produce a marginally recognizable progression of chords. To just be bare and safe before God -- offering Him what I had, knowing that He's after a pure heart, not a perfect performance.

My son Josh (age 7) was just clearing the table. He stopped and smiled as he said, "Mom, I feel like God is smiling down on me." I smiled back and said, "Oh yes. He is. Because He loves you." That was it. But it was a sweet moment. One that touched me on his behalf but also because I needed it for me, too.

You know that song that has the lyrics, "You dance over me while I am unaware. You sing all around, but I never hear the sound. Lord, I'm amazed by you, how you love me." If the loving, reassuring voice of my Father is the one I'm tuned into, I'm free.

Well, that same boy is now at my elbow reminding me that I said he could practice his SpongeBob typing at 7:15. And 7:15 it is, so off I go. Funny - he's reading what I'm writing. A funny thing, this new era.

Progress & Poop

I don't know why I feel so compelled to title my posts with two unrelated words. I guess it's because so often the events of the day, or even the moment, are so unrelated. Life just happens all at once.

You never know what kind of drama will unfold when you sit down to write. Anyone else find that? Tonight it was dog poop. And we don't even have a dog. One of the kids unknowingly tracked in the neighbor's dog poop and left smudges on the living room and dining room carpet. Yuck. I have to laugh because I know people who'd scarcely react to that, if at all. Not a big deal...it's just poop.

Yep. But I have to work at maintaining that perspective. And honestly, there wasn't that much drama. We cleaned it up -- Paul and I each taking a few smudges. I was on my knees with my booted foot way up behind me. It's funny...you just figure out ways to do things. Tonight it was cleaning up poop.

OK, enough of that. I've said "poop" more times in a few paragraphs than I normally would in a week. Onto another topic.

I'm two weeks into recovery now and each day I can tell my foot is slowly healing. I've slept two whole nights in my own bed with no pain meds! Yay for progress. I'm still gimping around, greatly slowed by this huge boot, but I guess that's the point. Before I know it November will be over and hopefully my foot will be ready for shoes. No question as to what'll be on my Christmas list this year.

Learning From My Boot

My foot graduated today. I said good-bye to the neon pink cast that has covered the top half of my right foot since surgery a week ago. Had my first post-op dr. visit today and got a good report, despite the fact that my foot is black and blue, still swollen and still stitched up. I think it looks terrible...no, it looks disgusting. But I'll take the doc's word for it that it looks like it's supposed to. Considering. So now I'm in this behemoth of a boot - a combination of black velcro, plastic supports and padding. And when I walk, it forces my leg to do this rocking thing so I don't put weight on the ball of my foot. And surprisingly, despite its massiveness, it's easier to walk in than the half-cast/surgical shoe combo.

I've spent a lot of time sitting (and sleeping) with my leg elevated. I've watched old movies on Netflix, taken naps, done some hand-sewing and learned to use crutches (my first time ever). My first couple of days post-op, I was going downstairs on my rear and coming back up on my knee...on a spiral staircase. But I never fell and laundry has stayed reasonably caught up. I've learned new ways to do stuff that I never think about. Like you, I just do them.

Some other stuff that has surfaced in the last week has gone beyond the trivial. Has a little ouch factor to it. I might as well laugh at the irony.

Just two weeks ago in church I took a step and shared "a word of testimony." It's straining my brain to try to think of a less-churchy way than that to describe it. Sorry. I got up, shared a song with our church family (on CD) and then talked a little about why it was meaningful to me. The song isn't new -- it's "By Your Side" by Tenth Avenue North - I think it came out in '08. But I just discovered it this summer, and because of some deep stuff God was doing, it felt like breath to me.

Generally speaking, I'm of the philosophy that being specific is more helpful than being vague - especially when it comes to talking about how God is changing us. I'm a concrete thinker -- I make progress when I can nail stuff down and think specifically. So in that spirit, I shared with my church family the crux of what God was leading me away from.

Self-protection. Living like I'm better off assuming the worst - that way I won't be caught off guard when it happens. The problem is, you start living as though those dreamed-up scenarios are REAL. This way of doing life is like letting a thief into your house and saying, "Have at it," and watching them plunder your home and belongings. There's a lot more to it than that, but that paints the picture well enough. Especially for those of you who identify with it, even a little.

So I was sharing on Sunday about how God was working with me, leading me to Himself. Finding who He is to be enough. Not his gifts, but Him. When I'm defined by Him, finding "my most coherent sense of self" in Him (that's Brennan Manning's phrase), I'm free to release self-protection. This isn't the first time I've acknowledged or addressed this thing. But after the events of this summer, I know I'm in a different place -- even if just a little, my thinking is different and I'm living out of truth more often.

So back to the present. Last Friday I had foot surgery - a pretty uncomplicated outpatient procedure. Came home, got myself situated to rest, and within a few hours it started. A few things happened that caught me off guard, and I started a slow descent to a place in my mind that left me bound up. I wasn't prepared for the mental onslaught that the enemy served up. I didn't wield my Sword like I know how to do. I didn't take thoughts captive and make them obedient to Christ like I know how to do. Instead, I succombed to destructive thoughts and hardness crept in again. And it was like a garment I wore for a few days. So unflattering.

It's like this boot I'm wearing...every step I take I'm reminded that I have to be careful. To take it slow. To be alert to my surroundings so I don't do something that'll ruin the progress my foot has made so far in its healing. If I didn't have the boot on, I wouldn't be as aware of my need to be alert.

This area of life feels like an inner limp; it just stays tender. I remember once when a wise woman who was getting to know me asked, "What is your limp?" She wanted to know what God had allowed into my life that was keeping me dependent on Him.

Maybe the tenderness isn't all bad. Maybe it's like this boot...a reminder to be careful. To avail myself of what has been provided so that my soul can mature to greater wholeness and maturity.

I want the skirmishes that are waged across the battlefield of my mind to end in victory on the side of Christ. He gives me Himself so I can stand on the Truth. To put on the armor I've been given, to wield the Sword that sends the enemy to flight.

"No weapon that is formed against you will prosper; And every tongue that accuses you in judgment you will condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, And their vindication is from Me," declares the LORD." Isaiah 54:17

"For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."
II Corinthians 10:3-5

Hinds & Feet

The craziness of this past week is past, and I'm sitting here in my house alone -- my right foot all wrapped up in a cast and funky half-shoe thing. This morning I had bunion surgery -- after a couple years, I decided to just get the thing over and done with. I had finally had enough of not being able to find shoes. I'm not even after heels -- just some Ariat Fat Babies would suffice. OK, yes, I am after cute shoes. Who am I kidding? :-) Anyway, it was a quick outpatient procedure and the nerve block on my foot's still doing its job, so I'll be nicely wrapped in a cocoon of numbness for awhile yet.

So that's the big event in my life. My 11 (closer to 12) year old had a big event yesterday -- both are gross in my opinion, but his was a significant grossness -- a major rite of passage in these parts. He took down his first buck. Paul had arranged with a well-connected local to take Isaac out Thursday morning for his first-ever hunt. They got up early and left before sunrise with a stop at our little cafe for breakfast. Honestly, I didn't think anything would come of the hunt. A nice father/son outing, a few spent rounds...(is that the right terminology?)

So a few hours passed and Isaac came into the senior center where I was cooking and said, "Mom, come look at this." I just kindof stopped and realized what he meant. "No way. Are you serious? Did you really do it?" He was just smiling & nodding as I walked out with him to see what he had brought to show me.

I'm not so good with blood and guts -- changing diapers and wiping up puke, not a problem. Gross, but not my undoing. Not so with animal carcasses...ewww, ewww, ewww. But I looked anyway and saw the fallen buck - 3 antlers on each side; again, I don't know the right hunting terms. Isaac was feeling its tongue going, "The tongue feels weird." I was swallowing bile, making odd sounds, smiling, telling Isaac all the Mom stuff like, "Wow! That's...great!" Inside, I'm thinking, where on earth are we putting this thing?! Gross!!! Thankfully, Tyke, who is fully set up at his place to handle such things took Isaac's deer home and is generously taking care of it until next week when it's time to butcher. I will NOT be participating in that event.

So in a few months, the antlers will be mounted on a plaque in Isaac's room, commemmorating his first hunt. A pretty big deal for an 11 year old -- it's fun hearing Paul retell how it all happened...telling how Isaac got it on his second shot and how it was a near-perfect shot.

And speaking of hunting, while I'm here alone with lots of peace and quiet (but a little lonesome too), Isaac's out hunting prairie dogs & squirrels with Grandpa, Laurel has already made applesauce with Grandma, found a new kitten out in the barn and named it "Sweetie," after one of Grandma Marsha's cats, and Josh is undoubtedly going full speed with occasional stops for Grandma's cranberry relish, ice cream, honey on a spoon, making guns out of cardboard tubes & masking tape...all that wonderful stuff you find at Grandpa & Grandma's house.

And as for me, I'm going to do the wonderful & unthinkable...make a plate of food for myself, get comfy and watch old movies all alone. Great for a day or two, but I'll be more than ready for the hugs and kisses that will be coming my way on Sunday.

4-Wheelers & Surrender

Time to blog again. If for no reason other than to not see the heading of that last post, now ten months old. I've been tired of looking at it for months but hadn't had a shred of desire to blog. Looking back, it truly was a harsh winter -- according to local old timers, the worst they'd ever seen. The snow lingered until May, and boots and scarves stayed out WAY longer than what this girl thought was reasonable. But spring eventually came. And went. Same with summer.

Now it's mid-October, and winter is not far away. But thankfully we're prepared for what's supposed to be another hum-dinger of a winter. Silly phrase, but funny to write it anyway. Anyway, we're equipped now with what will hopefully prevent any more impalings by snow shovel. Uneven sidewalks covered in snow on a downward slope combined with a 200 pound man's full weight just don't mix.

Anyway, after much hunting and much researching, Paul found his 4-wheeler. It's fun to buzz around on around town, will remove much drama from coming snow removal and will be a blast pulling the kids around on the sled...right down the center of Richey's main street.

OK, on to the topic at hand. Surrender vs. Resignation. I wonder if you've ever considered those two words together. At first, they seem so similar. But after having them marinate in my mind over the last couple of weeks (nice mental picture, huh), I'm seeing that they're vastly different. It comes down to one thing.

When you're resigned to something, it's usually accompanied by a huffy sigh, maybe a martyr-like, "Well, if that's how it is, then I can't do anything to change it" type of sentiment, whether spoken or not. There's an external releasing of circumstances, but the inner fight remains. Any time the subject comes up, there's fire inside. It's not a dead thing -- it's still powerful. I can think of lots of times I've been resigned to something. Giving into my powerlessness to alter circumstances or people, but nowhere near giving up the fight inside. Wonder if anyone else identifies with that.

So what's surrender then? I'm coming to see surrender as one of the sweetest gifts God gives. It's not just acknowledging that I am powerless to change circumstances or people. It's letting the fight inside die. Walking away from the idea that I have to make sure my perspective is not only heard but validated. Gets into delicate territory, doesn't it. So counter-intuitive.

I had an experience last night where I made a conscious decision to surrender. Not be resigned where I was compliant on the outside but seething on the inside. Just simple surrender. I did it and was surprised by the sweetness that followed. Just peace.

There's lots more to explore with this, but for now it's time to sign off. Kids are home from school and I've got some celebrating to do with my three young scholars, all of who came home with great news of A's and A+'s earned today.

I am stinkin' disappointed. There was a retreat scheduled for pastors and wives around our district who serve either small churches or live in remote areas. I've heard great things about this conference and have been looking forward to it since October, when I had to pass on the last conference (yes, I'm still pouting a teeny bit about that).

So we got a call at 9:30 last night from a nice man who had the misfortune of delivering the bad news to ourselves and who knows how many others in our multi-state region -- canceled because of the weather. Bad roads, whatever.

The mature, grown-up girl in me says, "It's for the best. Best to hunker down at home when it's this cold. Best not to risk getting stranded or stuck somewhere even more remote than here." But the disappointed girl in me just says, "This really stinks. I really don't want to be in my own home tonight. I want to be in the hotel hot tub, I want to just have me to look after. No cooking. No putting small people to bed who don't want to go to bed." Grandma was coming, and I was ready to bolt...just for two days.

But, alas, there will be no bolting. Just staying home, doing dishes, putting kids to bed. Truly, this is stupid to be frustrated over. Thankfulness is what's needed here. And right now, I need to be kind to my husband who would like to hear the scores of the national championship football game. No ESPN at our house, and the poor guy's disappointed. So here's to being a big girl.