Target on My Back

Have you ever been convicted by your own words? 

Another tough week. About ten days ago, my left leg began throbbing with pain which would come and go. After three days of increasing intensity, I had a niggling thought I might have another DVT (blood clot in the deep vein of my leg).

Hours and hours at the hospital and medical clinic confirmed my fear.  I had a blood clot in my leg from the mid-thigh down; the same leg I had one in six years ago. The condition is painful, stomach turning pain, and dangerous as the clot can break off and travel to your lungs.

And so I wallowed and I wondered. I wondered when someone else would have the target on their back and I could catch a break. Not a break like a broken bone break ... you know what I mean.

A couple of days ago, while editing my work in progress, I read the following declaration by Cord the hero of Fool’s Notion:

         “I believe in a God who loves me and who loves you. Life can be difficult and painful but what we see is not all there is. Someday, Jesus will take us to live with Himself for all eternity.” Cord reached across the table and wrapped his hand around hers. “The Bible says ‘He will wipe every tear from our eye and there will be no more sorrow and no more pain.’ God never intended for sickness or for cruelty to be a part of our lives. We chose it, when we went our own way.”

 Lord, help me to remember!

"I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.” (Jeremiah 31:3 NLT)

May you remember the nearness of the Lord this week!

 Fool’s Notion:  Week 9                        Goal 144                     Actual 109

Near Miss

Ever have one of those weeks? So many stories … so little time.

“Mom, Kingston is in your medication!”

Drat. I thought I’d put them out of reach this time: thyroid medication bottle closed, zipped up in my make-up bag, and placed in the crib in the guest room. Nope. The two year old found them and thought they made for a good snack.

My daughter phoned poison control while I counted the pills to see how many he ate. By my math it was between 20 to 30 pills not including the ones still lodged in his throat when he got caught.

The slow drawl of the poison control operator assured his mother there was no need for concern. According to his calculations, after five minutes of silence on the phone, the medication would not be harmful unless he ingested 50,000 pills. Yes, 50,000. I imagined Kingston surrounded with buckets and buckets of pills. Surely, he would be in trouble long before the ingestion of 50, 000 … anything.

“You know, that just sounds a little off.”

“That’s what he said,” my daughter replied. “And I should expect hormonal changes in about a week.”

“Hormonal changes?” What grandmother wants to be the reason a two year old exhibits strange, hormonal behaviour? And what would that even look like; would he be sad, would he be angry, would he grow hair on his chest?

The operator phoned back a half hour later to correct his mathematical mistake. Only fifty pills would cause concern. That’s quite a difference! He also wanted to make sure my daughter did a thorough check of the entire home to be sure Kingston didn’t get into anything else. Nice cover.

Alas, Kingston is safe and relatively sound as we count down the three days until the hormonal changes.

Perhaps I will be buried by grandmother guilt yet.

Have a super happy Thanksgiving!

Fool’s Notion:  Week 8                    Goal 128                     Actual   95

Yikes, only 4 pages this week!

Orange is the New Black

Happy about not having to cook, I strolled into the kitchen when Matt called me for supper. If I said my plate looked unappetizing, it would be a huge understatement. Two greyish sausages, resembling the swollen thumbs of a mafia mishap smirked back at me. The pasta sauce looked gritty and runny at the same time. How could that be? The pasta and sauce came out of a package and I’d put the sausages in the pan before handing over the reins - they should have browned.

On impulse I said, “Is Orange the New Black?”

“What?” Matt looked at me (as he often does) like I’d lost my mind.

“You know, the show about women in prison. This kind of looks like what they might get for supper.” I hadn’t watched it, I’d just heard about it. When your tattooed, body building son tells you it’s not really your thing, I try and listen.

“Funny. Are you complaining?”

“Yes. I guess now we know talking on the phone and surfing the web are not conducive to your cooking abilities.” I realized my complaint was at the risk he never cooked again, but really what was I losing.

“I wasn’t online.”

“I saw you googling.”

We tucked in to the fare and about half way through the meal Matt asked me how I could eat the sausages without BBQ sauce. They were super spicy and I usually start coughing when we eat spicy food.

“I find the burning sensation in my throat is helping me get the meal down. I don’t want to minimize it.”  

Matt laughed, really laughed, the kind of laugh that jiggles your innards … and the table. The sound of it surprised me, like a chance meeting with a friend you haven’t heard from in a while. And it made me happy.

“A joyful heart is good medicine,” (Proverbs 17:22 ESV)

Have a good laugh with your spouse this week.

Fool’s Notion:  Week 7                        Goal   112                    Actual   91

Beware - Date Night

Thump, thump, thump, the Rap music reverberated through the walls and vibrated the linoleum as the Square Dancers took to the floor. Yes, Square Dancers. It was date night at the Flickingers and we’d gone with friends to downtown Red Deer to a fall dance. I realize we’re not near old enough to Square Dance, but we still have a lot of fun.   

Saturday was Red Deer’s yearly Nuit Blanche (sleepless night) culture and arts festival and the rap venue was set up next to the dance hall. As we do si doed and swung our partners loud Eminem lyrics competed with our music. I liked the layered effect. I think I’ll suggest we incorporate more of it into future dances.

Around eleven p.m. we stepped out into the crowds on the street and decided to take in the festival. We hadn’t brought a change of clothes so I insisted on wearing my Square Dance name tag. That way people wouldn’t think I was some kind of freak. Holding my hubbies arm, we sauntered through the artwork and venues lit up by strange, curved paper lanterns.

I clutched Matt’s arm tightly as we approached a young man with curly black hair and a wide handle bar mustache. Above his mustache, a long curved bar drooped from his nasal septum and a cloud of indeterminate smoke billowed around his head. With no warning, he twirled his hands and gave a slight bow while saying, “Good evening, lovely ladies.” Near miss averted.  

Around another dark corner, we met a wide shouldered tough guy with a wisp of a girl in a dark hoodie pulled into an embrace. “I like your dress,” he whispered under his breath. Another hazardous situation avoided.

I was happy enough to return to our sleepy, little town. Perhaps our next date night will not be fraught with as much danger!

Have a wonderful week!

Fool’s Notion:  Week 6                        Goal   96                      Actual   76

The Mundane Middle

“Arrrgh,” I said falling back across the unmade bed and shielding my eyes from the pernicious glare of the noonday sun. “I languish in middlebook!”

I knew I was a starter. Who doesn’t love the thrill of starting a new project? Redecorating a room, sewing a quilt, painting a masterpiece. (I’m the redecorating a room example. I mentioned the others to relate to my audience.) A finish is fun too. The thrill of seeing your completed handiwork provides the incentive to strive to the end.

But what to do in the 80% middle when the excitement has worn off and you’re down to the hard work with no end in sight?

Here are some suggestions I’ve gleaned:

            1.      Make a plan -  e.g. I’m going to write two pages on my novel every day

2.      Be consistent - Follow the plan and avoid procrastination. (not so easy)

3.      Minimize distractions – email, facebook, TV, phone calls, laundry, housecleaning …       (OK, somedays I’m desperate for distractions)

4.      Reward yourself for being consistent - A lovely piece of chocolate will do.

5.      Keep track of your progress so you can see how far you’ve come - e.g. photographs         of your quilt/masterpiece in stages. (I keep a log of written pages)

6.      When you bog down, remember your original goal and why you want to achieve it!

Do you have any other suggestions for staying motivated in the mundane middle?

Have a fabulous week.

"I keep pursuing the goal to win the prize of God’s heavenly call in the Messiah, Jesus."

(Phil. 3:14 ISV)

Fool’s Notion:  Week 5                        Goal   80                      Actual   64

Communication Review

What does an innocuous bar of Irish Spring have to do with communication? Wait and see.

Matt and I left for our holiday a couple of weeks ago ready to relax and practice the communication skills from my last blog. OK, I was ready to practice the communication skills and Matt hadn’t told me he wouldn’t, which is the same thing as saying “Sure, I’d love to!” in my world.

Here’s a refresher:

                 1.        Pick a good time to talk. 

                              2.        Do not attack or blame yet feel free to share complaints or issues.

3.        Speak for yourself and not the other person

4.        Give the other person a chance to respond.

5.        Listen to each other with your eyes, ears, mind, and heart.

Four nights later we had ample opportunity …

3:00 am - Lisa sits up in bed.

“Matt! Something bit me.”                                         (Serious breach of rule #1)

“Nothing bit you; go back to sleep.”                             (Infraction of #5)        

“Something bit me on the finger, it hurts.”                      (Looking good on #2)

“Nothing bit you. You just caught your finger in my glasses. Go back to sleep.”                                                                                   (Infraction of #5)

Lisa grabs Matt’s glasses off the shelf and attempts to pinch her finger in the hinge but cannot accomplish task.

“Look, it doesn’t work. Something bit me.”                      (Still fine on #2)

“Go back to sleep!”                                                 (Infraction on #3)

Lisa tries to go back to sleep and hears scratching on the side of the bed. She climbs over Matt and runs screaming to the couch.                                                                                                                             (Good job on #3)

Lisa lies down on couch and something runs down her arm and off the side of the couch. More screaming ensues and she runs back to the bed.                                                                                                       (Even better on #3)    

Matt discovers mouse under a chair and Lisa discovers second mouse by the bed. More screaming by Lisa.                                                                                                                                                   (A Definite pass on #3!)

Matt and Lisa both sleep (sort of) in the cab of truck for the rest of the night and the mice are never seen or heard from again.

Conclusion:

While Matt and Lisa continue to improve their communication skills certain aspects still need more work.

The whole incident could have been a shared nightmare if it wasn’t for the bar of Irish Spring. A week later I noticed the chew marks. Unfortunately, the soap dish is right above our toothbrush holder which means the little fellow’s butts received a good scrubbing from our toothbrushes while they snacked. It still makes me cringe.

 

Have a super duper week!

Fool’s Notion:          Week 4           Goal   64          Actual   52

Hungry Woman Dinner

It’s official, I’m changing the name. Hungry Woman has more punch than Hungry Man Dinner anyway. I don’t know how many of you look forward to eating TV dinners, but I do, tantalizing little pockets of mashed potatoes, beans, and beef along with the delightfully rich mini brownie. All in a tidy package you simply open up and throw in the oven.

We don’t have them often, a couple of times a year, but I was looking forward to having them on the weekend. No cooking, yay! But the rascals were missing. How could I loose TV dinners? I know I told Matt there’s some chicken in the freezer for work, if you want it, but don’t take the TV dinners we are having them for supper.

When he arrived home, he confirmed I said “Take the TV dinners to work.” Normally communication is not a problem in our relationship (ha ha) but this situation called for some intervention. So I looked up several websites devoted to helping couples overcome serious communication issues. The “love them into better communication” suggestions didn’t appeal to my sense of urgency. We needed some specific principles to help us prevent future dilemmas like a starving, unhappy wife.  

So here goes:

1.      Pick a good time to talk.

Be free of distractions and when your heart is not above 90 beats per minute.

2.      Do not attack or blame yet feel free to share complaints or issues.

Hard to do if you are hungry!

3.      Speak for yourself and not the other person

                 Begin your statements with “I ” not “you”. E.g. I feel sad when ….

4.      Give the other person a chance to respond.

Using the above rules of course.

5.       Listen to each other with your eyes, ears, mind, and heart.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. (Psalm 19:14 ESV) 

Have a great couple of weeks!

Matt and I will be busy practicing our communication skills on holiday.

Fool’s Notion:  Week 2     Goal  32     Actual 25     

Info gleaned from: TwoOfUs.org (A Game Plan for Effective Communication) and http://edis.ifas.ufl.edu/fy1277  

Sneak Peek

Yikes! It’s much harder than I thought, writing a book fifteen times faster than my last one. Where do the characters live? What do they look like? Why is she taking a mule train instead of riding the train? Will they even like each other?

So many questions to answer – so little time. Anyway, I finished 12 Pages, four less than my purported new schedule but months’ worth on my old schedule. Does that count for something?

Here’s a sneak peek. Let me know what you think.

        Fool’s Notion

           Chapter One

      Alda tucked her elbow into Bessie’s flank and jabbed. “Bessie, if you don’t get a move on soon, I’ll whoop ya until …” Until what? Until nothing. Alda and the mule both knew the threat was emptier than a rusted tin pail.  They hadn’t moved an inch in over an hour.

       Pushing tawny curls up into her bonnet, Alda turned and rested her back against the mule. The relentless Missouri sun brought rivulets of sweat to her forehead in place of the curls. She slid down the mule’s back leg, landing with a soft whump on the dusty ground. Smoothing the green calico of her dress across her lap, Alda stared out across the tufts of thick, prairie grass. A small, brown lizard skittered up to her boot and then disappeared under a bleached stick.

      “Fools’ notion,” mamma had said, no more than a week before. And maybe she’d been right – God rest her soul.  Why would a woman Alda’s age, with no experience, attempt to drive the most stubborn animals ever created half way across the country?

      A low cough broke into her thoughts.

    Alda jumped up, dusted her backside and scrutinized the man smiling at her across Bessie’s back.

     "Mam.” He tipped his black Stetson her direction. Dark, chestnut waves dusted the top of his shoulders and a two inch scar followed the curve of his right jawbone.

      Was the warm twinkle in his eyes on her account?  Alda squared her shoulders and straightened her back.  

    “Could you use some help?” the stranger asked as he wrapped the reins of his mount around the saddle horn.

      “I’ll be fine, thank you. I wouldn’t want to hold you up, sir.” Nor was she going to admit to needing assistance.

      He swung a leg over and jumped to the ground. “I’m in no particular hurry.”

Have a great Week!

Timing is Everything

What to do on a holiday weekend when your husband is working long days? Maybe catch up on some writing, or emails, or both. I checked the website of a publisher who contacted me in March about submitting a proposal for a sweet romance. The site declared Submissions closed, July 29, 2016. Yesterday? Without notice? But they didn’t allow for my procrastination.

Be brave, I told myself, reply to the original email and refer to the important fact you guys wanted me. The ideas for another novel had been percolating in my mind for a few months so I pulled a couple of details together and sent them off. At that point, the novel was comprised of only one half page. The publisher replied and asked me to send a few pages for her to take a look at.

I agonized for a couple of hours and came up with . . . yup, two pages. So I forwarded the lengthy script on and heard back shortly. The publishing house was closing down but in the meantime she’d forwarded my pages to another amazing publisher who was “willing to take me on as an author as she ‘likes my style’”.  Am I dreaming?

I contacted the new publisher (who publishes several well-known authors) and promised to have a complete manuscript in November (251 pages or 70,000 words from now). The contract is in the mail. I must overcome the procrastination habit. Repeat. I must overcome the procrastination habit.

Here’s the blurb:

A young woman with more gumption than ability tries to solve her family’s money troubles by departing on a cross country expedition to deliver a mule train to Death Valley. Along the way, she falls in love with an aloof cowboy who comes to her rescue.

I’ll let you know how many pages I write each week. My goal - 16.

 Please bug me if I am falling behind!

Gratitude

One after the other, frustrating situations have been popping up in my life. I’m an analyzer, so I’ve been trying to figure out what am I supposed to learn though it all. Is it how to open the mail without screaming? Mostly mastered. Or perhaps how to talk on the phone without using offensive language? Mastered (I use it when I hang up). Maybe I’m supposed to learn how to be grateful in every situation? Really?

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (I Thess 5:18 ESV)

Did you know gratitude has become a movement – a global movement? I’d heard rumours but never looked into it before. I’m a complainer. I’ve been a complainer my whole life. I wouldn’t be myself if I wasn’t complaining. I’m certain gratitude is not what I’m supposed to be learning. But if I can create “good mental health and spirituality” or fill my life with love and kindness maybe the gratitude thing deserves a shot. So here goes: 

I am glad I received my lost passport from the IRS and my new passport on the same day and saved myself a trip to the post office.

I’m super thankful the person who used my Visa Card dozens of times in Europe, two weeks ago, bought museum tickets and supported culture through thievery.

I’m awfully glad the seven pounds I’ve put on this summer will keep me warm in the above average snowfall expected for the 2016 winter.

I’m happy most of my credit cards broke in half when I drove over my wallet with the truck - thus helping me to avoid temptation.

I’m so grateful the bank staff remained polite when I returned for another new bank card five minutes after I received, and lost, the first one.

 You know, I feel love and kindness seeping in already.

Try gratitude – you’ll love it!

Rejected

“I’m sorry, mam, there’s nothing I can do if you’ve been rejected. You will have to start the application process over.” It was the fourth time the disembodied voice had repeated the word rejected. I felt like crying or maybe screaming.

“Sir, I need to know where my passport is.”

“Mam, what would you like me to do? I cannot help you. We have no record of receiving your passport.”

Nooooooo!

I’d begun the unpleasant process of applying for a US Tax Number in January. Why? Not because I made millions selling my novel. Matt needed a dependent for his US return and I was happy enough to oblige as he supports my soap opera watching and bonbon eating anyway. The first step was to apply for a ten year Canadian passport and then to apply for a copy of the passport and forward it to the American Internal Revenue Service. Four months later my first rejection notice informed me I’d neglected to sign the passport before it was copied.

A still, small voice told me not to put my actual passport into the official IRS return envelope. The same voice told me not to send it - unregistered.  Of course I didn’t listen; it would cost twenty dollars more. At the end of June, I received my second rejection notice for not supplying sufficient documentation, thus the above heartbreaking conversation with an agent.

Last week, I began the process all over again. The Edmonton passport office held hundreds of applicants because of the possible mail strike. The three-hour wait and the $210 price tag taught me to NOT send my passport, unregistered, ever, again.

You’ll be happy to know my US Tax Number arrived two days ago. I guess I wasn’t rejected after all.

“Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” (Matt. 6:3b)

The Emperor’s New Clothes

Looking at photos of our new Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, sauntering along in Toronto’s pride parade, reminded me of Hans Christian Andersen’s short story, “The Emperor’s new Clothes”. My grade two teacher read the tale aloud to the class and I felt immense shame for the emperor strutting his way through the village.

In the story, two villainous swindlers arrive in the kingdom and convince the vain emperor they can weave intricately patterned clothing. The catch? The gorgeous outfits become invisible to those not fit for their jobs or not wise. The situation presents a conundrum. How can the esteemed officials or the emperor himself say they cannot see the outfits without jeopardizing their positions?  To cover their self-doubt, they decide collectively to present the emperor in his fabulous new clothes the next day in the village parade.    

The villagers ooh and aah over the emperor’s garments until a small child pipes up to say,

            “But he doesn’t have anything on!”

            “… listen to the voice of the innocent,” says the father. 

I’m not a little child or an innocent, but even I can see the Prime Minister parades naked. Sadly, he left home without putting on his wisdom, discretion, integrity, impartiality …

“Blessed is the one who finds wisdom and the one who gets understanding.” Proverbs 3:13

Have yourself a super week!

Twinness

If I asked you to tell me three sets of twins, quickly, who would you come up with? I asked myself and came up with Cain and Abel, The Bobbsey Twins, and Jack and Jill. Upon further investigation, I learned Cain and Abel were not actually twins “She conceived and bore Cain, … and again, she bore his brother Abel.” (Gen. 4:1-2 ESV) Apparently, the comma proves significant and again is a polite way of saying Adam …. ummm ... knew his wife again.   

And who didn’t love the Bobbsey twins? The longest running series of children’s novels with over one hundred books about the Nan and Burt, Flossie and Freddie, and their detecting capers in the town of Lakeport. 

Jack and Jill? I have no idea why they came to mind. History would say they were sweethearts, royalty, or perhaps even two priests but they were never twins

However, I am pleased to announce the arrival of our own darling, twin granddaughters born Tuesday, June 28th, 2016.

             Aurelia Ruby 6 lb. 14 oz.                               Vienna Pearl 6 lbs. 15 oz.

Aren’t they just the sweetest?

Here are some neat facts you may or may not know about twins:

1)      There is most likely no genetics involved in having identical twins (one fertilized egg that              splits).

2)      In identical twins, if the egg splits after the tenth day you will have mirror image babies i.e.            opposite cowlicks, birthmarks, dominant hands.

3)      The chances of having fraternal twins (two fertilized eggs) have gone from 1 in 150 in 1980            to 1 in 33 currently.   

4)      1 to 2% of fraternal twins have different dads. (I’ll let you look into it)

5)      Your chances of having fraternal twins the second time is four times higher. (Yikes!)

Are Aurelia and Vienna identical or fraternal? Time or DNA testing will tell  

Have a great week!

Sources:  twinstwice.com Twins on Twins by Kathryn McLaughlin Abbe & Frances McLaughlin Gill

On Perfection

My husband is not perfect and he is perhaps the worst photographer I’ve ever met.  Our photo collection includes dozens of the ones I’ve included here. Me as a new mom, can’t you tell by the arm? Or me, posing in my new, designer outfit with the kids - apparently my face was optional, and lastly, mine and a friend’s torsos having a wonderful time in the Pacific Ocean. In the past, we’ve gone on vacations and come home without a single picture of my complete person. I don’t know why, but Freud could probably shed some light on the reason.

Matt’s not perfect … and neither am I – far from it. Marriage doesn’t require perfection. It requires two people committed to working out their differences and encouraging one another to grow or mature.

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing one another in love.” (Eph: 4:2 NIV)

Not an easy task. I’m not gentle and patience eludes me most of the time. But with the Lord’s help though, our relationship, (any relationship) can improve.

 “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” (I Pet. 4:8)

These pictures are from two years ago when we traveled through Europe.  

I guess it's an improvement. 

Crisis?

I turned 50. turned (v.) To cause to move around an axis or center. I’m not sure why we use the expression. I didn’t move around it; I landed right on it, the big 5 - 0. At age 24, I worked with a fellow in his early fifties. He would tell me he felt “eighteen on the inside.” I would think well, you look old on the outside. And now I have become the same young/old person. But, honestly, how many eighteen year olds ache everywhere when they get up in the morning? 

The actual event - fantastic - a gathering of family and friends in a Japanese tea-house nestled in a lush garden along a bubbling creek. My kids and husband managed to keep the whole thing a secret (not an easy task). When we arrived, I argued about opening the sliding, silk partition because I thought I was disturbing a traditional Japanese tea, and this eighteen year old almost fainted when everyone shouted, surprise! We spent the afternoon eating scrumptious food, watching amazing video presentations, and playing ridiculous games. I couldn’t have asked for more. Thanks to Matt, Jesse, Jamie, Joel, and all those who helped make the day special!

What does the future hold? I have no more idea than I had at any other birthday. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize I have very little control over the direction my life will take. I’m glad the Lord knows though, and I’m glad He encourages me through His word.

            Isaiah 46:4       “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He, I am he who will sustain                                      you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will                                      rescue you.” (NIV)

And the car? My birthday gift … 

  for two weeks!

Rat a Tat Tat

I sat up and felt for the covers when the sharp pings punched the air. Was I at home, in bed, where I should be at 4:30 am? Yes. Was someone shooting at us? Probably not. So what on earth was the racket? Further investigation revealed Mr. Woody Woodpecker sitting on our furnace chimney and regaling us with his impression of a machine gun. After a couple of minutes he flew to the neighbors and the sound dropped to a soft echo one could fall asleep to.

And then he returned! This went on for two hour intervals, day and night, for a week and a half. I was starting to develop a twitch in my shoulder and several symptoms of PTSD. We had to do something. I strategized with the neighbors on how to best do away with the protected species. They didn’t think the pellet gun would accomplish the job and they said shooting the shot gun in town might develop a whole different type of problem.

Matt thought we should follow the safest course of action and buy some sharp wire spikes like we’d seem on European restaurant roofs. Off to the hardware store we went. The fellow behind the counter stroked his eighteen inch beard and shook his head. No, they didn’t carry anything like that; in fact, he’d never heard of anything like that. Perhaps we should try making a papier-mâché owl.  

I’m not a sculptor. A giant lump of flour and water resembling ET would not trick our feathered nemesis. And what if it rained? An idea popped into my head. We should form a large globe of chicken wire, wrap it around the chimney top, and wire it on. The little fellow wouldn’t be able to reach the tin and my symptoms would probably diminish in about six months or so.

Matt took the idea even further and fashioned the tidy solution you see here. Yay teamwork!  

And now you know why he wraps all the presents. 

“Iron sharpens iron, and one man/woman sharpens another.” (Proverbs 27:17 ESV)

Have a super week! 

Guns, Drugs, and Automobiles

Have you ever felt like you narrowly escaped something horrendous? A couple of days ago I read an article about the city of Juarez, Mexico which shares the border with El Paso, Texas by Sam Quinones of National Geographic.  Read Article The article details the rampant violence and danger in the city of Juarez from 2008 to 2012 as two duelling drug cartels fought for access to the US market.  They extorted millions from local businesses for so called protection and kidnapped adults and children for ransom. In 2010, at the peak of the violence, over 3700 people were murdered in drug related deaths. A city, about the population of Calgary, exceeded the entire country of Canada’s homicide rate by seven times!

We were there, at the peak.

Matt and I left on a bus with a bunch of other Canadians to drive down to Juarez in February 2010 to help out at a local mission for a couple of weeks. We knew Juarez could be violent; we didn’t know it was more violent than anywhere else in the world. We do now. Looking back, I did wonder why the local leader of the mission’s base refused to leave the US and check our progress as we painted our way through his building. I assumed he was upset because one of the welding students had been shot, drug around behind a truck, and left in the sand beside the gates a couple of days before we arrived.

As a team, we went about our days building, cleaning, and helping with just a vague notion of the violence swirling around us. But these things I do remember:

               ·         Jeeps full of soldiers with machine guns holding onto the roll bars                      and staring down into our vehicle as they passed

               ·    Mario, our interpreter, crying and wanting to leave the city the                          day after fourteen people were killed at a girl’s birthday party 

               ·    A giant, silver ball shaped disco burned out with its doors                                hanging off the hinges

               ·         Desolate shacks up on the mesa because of a gunfight

And one afternoon, a white car with blackened windows pulled up alongside three of us as we walked across the sand from the community hall to the base. I’d spent the afternoon on my knees, under the stairs, tiling a portion of a closet floor amidst garbage and rat poop. I was so cold; it felt like my bladder had turned to ice. We were covered with drywall mud and tile grout. A car window rolled down and the teenagers inside … laughed and then pulled away. I guess we didn’t look like money.

“For He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.” (Psalm 91:11 ESV)

Thank you, Lord.

It’s All in the Deets

“When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, ‘Lord, what about this man?” (John 21:21 ESV)

Really, Peter? That’s the question you want to ask. In John chapter 21, Jesus reveals Himself to the disciples for the third time since rising from the dead. And with the Lord’s intervention, the men haul in a large catch of fish from the sea. When they arrive on the shore, Jesus invites them to breakfast.  

After breakfast, Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves Him; perhaps in response to Peter’s thrice denial before the crucifixion. Each time Peter responds, “You know that I love You.” Jesus then goes on to foretell Peter’s death and makes mention of his hands being stretched out. Yikes!

Later, upon Jesus’ invitation, the two walk away from the crowd and John, another disciple, follows. Peter then asks the question, “Lord, what about this man?”  Why is he worried about John or how John’s going to die? Peter, you are talking to God, take a deep breath and then beg for mercy. How could he be so fixated on a rival for Christ’s affection?  We’re talking life or death here.

“Jesus said to him, ‘If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!” (Verse 22)

But … can’t we just have a little friendly discussion about who’s going to die and how? And what exactly do you mean by “What is that to you?” It’s everything to me; we’re all in this together, right? Why can’t I thrust the focus onto a fellow believer? I’d much rather talk about him.

“You follow me!” A little simplistic, don’t you think. I have comparisons to make, offences to take up. Lord, You make it sound way easier than it really is. How can I possibly just worry about myself and how I’m going to follow you? Maybe if you gave me a few more details about what you’re actually looking for …

 “You follow me!”

On Shifting Sands

Award-winning author of over twelve novels, Allison Pittman, edited my original manuscript for All That Glitters. I was encouraged by her writer’s intuition and positive critiquing throughout the process. She’s developed an amazing ability to draw you into times gone by. Both of her series about sister wives and the roaring twenties are fascinating reads.

The novel On Shifting Sands changes up the typical point of view found in a historical romance. Written in first person, we meet Nola Merrill, a pastor’s wife languishing in the Oklahoma dust bowl of the 1930’s. We can taste the sand between our teeth and feel the grit on our pillow which Nola faces every day trying to raise her son and daughter. The small town, where her husband pastors, offers little comfort as everyone is either destitute or they’ve skipped town.  

Jim, a long lost friend of her husband’s and current drifter, enters the picture and Nora’s thoughts stray, particularly when her husband begins work in an adjoining town. Adding to the problem, Nora’s father’s destructive words constantly play in her mind. I found myself begging her not let him define her.

On Shifting Sands is a good read but not an easy read. The writing portrays the world so well you find yourself frustrated, scared, and at times ashamed. Like any of us, Nora must return to the Lord and seek Him for her joy and solace in a difficult world. Does Nora overcome the pain of her upbringing and cling to the One who has promised to never leave her or forsake her? I won’t tell.

For interesting tidbits check out Allison’s website at https://allisonkpittman.com/

Woman Impersonates Medical Personnel

Note: Book Review of Allison Pittman's On Shifting Sand to follow next week in order to share this timely story.

I didn’t plan it. It just happened. After the safety spiel, I followed the other volunteers at the Fort Mac Evacuee Centre through the labyrinth of barriers and toward the work stations. We lost a few to the registration desk, men’s wear section, and the water supply pallets. Next-up, household supplies and personal items, I put up my hand and was ushered to the table labeled MEDICINE.  Our leader said you just hand out pain meds, hand sanitizer, that sort of thing. Easy enough. I started to organize the table after being given my brief instructions, “Give the evacuees enough for a week.”

My stomach fluttered a mite when I began straightening catheter supply kits, diabetic lancets, and large wound dressings. The table held a collection of other products like contact solution, antacids, and denture care as well. I’m a long way from a pharmaceutical guru; I don’t even take cold meds. My experience extends from, I used to take Tylenol and now I take Advil. I read as many labels as I could before the first of the evacuees arrived at my station.

Apparently, when you stand behind a table labeled MEDICINE it is assumed you know something about the topic. I fielded questions about cold remedies, wound care, and stomach ailments and then cobbled together supplies from the meager resources. I’m really hoping mouthwash works as sore throat relief. And I’m not sure who eyes opened wider, the evacuee’s or mine, when a fellow worker pointed out the little Turkish pot I was suggesting they used for inhaling steam was actually for pouring liquid into your nostrils.

I extend my sympathy to all of those who have suffered from the fire. How painful to be ripped away from your home and all your “stuff”. Some of them will never see their homes again. I appreciated their politeness and their gratefulness. It was an honour to be a tiny part of their care. Thank you for your patience with the bumbler behind the MEDICINE table!

I received a lot of requests for the following products which were not available and would make great donations:

                 Headache Medication      (Almost Everybody)

                 Allergy Relief                 (Adult and children)

                 Cold Remedies               (Day and night)

                 Sore Throat Lozenges 

                 Muscle Pain Relief           (Rub A535 type products)