It is a small phrase to show gratitude to a God so wonderful, A God who sent His one and only Son to die on the cross for all of us, for me.
I did not reside in Orphan Annie's "cell block" in the orphanage but boy did I have a hard knock life. I have experienced things that others can't quite imagine and have lived through it all. Why? Because God has never left my side and His faitfulness is awesome.
I reflect a lot. I suppose it's because I am a writer but in my reflections, I laugh, I get angry, I cry but most of all I rejoice.
What have I triumphed through with God's help? So many things. So many horrors. But only for God to always be glorified at the end.
I have been attacked on more than one occassion, I have had a gun pointed to my head, twice. I have been on deaths door a few times, I have seen abuse in my family as a child and have experienced it first hand from a self proclaimed atheistic father, young and overwhelmed with family and responsibilities. I have experienced death in my family, loved ones who have surely gone to be with the Lord and others that I pray, repented before dying. I wear the scars of major surgeries that have practically cut me in half. I have lost dear friends. I have lost possessions of things that were precious to me.
And yet...
I can not cease Thanking God, daily for my life.
I have been attacked but I have been rescued and lived to tell the story another day and to console others who have gone through the same experieince and tell them "I know what you are going through." without being hypocritical or insensitive.
I have had a gun pointed to my head and have had the shooter run away,cry or throw themselves on thier knees and ask for forgiveness
I have had a knife pointed, the tip burying in my neck to have the assailant flee for no apparent reason. (that he knows of)
I have returned from experiencing God glorious wonders in a Holy Spirit packed service just to get beaten by my father as soon as I walked through my front door at home, just because I attended church.
I have been told I will die by my doctors and here I am typing these words to you.
Those who do not know God would probably think I should be resentful, bitter or angry but I can't be. Don't be mistaken there are times when the "Why me?" person comes out but then there is that ever consoling, loving hand that reassures me that I was never alone and will never be alone and through the good times and the bad, throught the celebrations and the grief, He will be there for me always.
Thank You Father for my life, spiritually,physically and emotionally. Thank you for the friends you have given me near and far. Thank you for giving me an appreciation to embrace the differences in my friends and to celebrate the diversity of your people. Thank you for friends of all different shapes,sizes,ethnicities,religions and backgrounds. Thank you for my husband, my precious loving husband, we grew together in you and have lived God centered our entire married life. Thank you for my dear, dear children from birth to womanhood. They have grown so much. thank you for letting me witness their enormous stages of development, thier successes, thier triumphs, Thank you for allowing me to witness thier first steps,words, phrases and praises to You. Thank you for allowing me to hold thier tiny, fragile and beautiful bodies in my hands and for giving me the privilege to see them walk down the wedding aisle, preach a sermon, become productive citizens in society and making thier mark as Christians.
Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for my sense of humor. Thank you for the humor in my family and friends, Thank you for my appreciation of music and literature. Thank you for my voice, Thank you for my words, Thank you for those who teach me about You, Thank you fo rthe abiltiy to understand Your word. thank you for the Holy Spirit who You have sent to guide us. Thank You for Your Son, the greatest gift of all
My Thank you list can go on but as you can see it is much longer than my prior list. This doesn't mean that I will not suffer it only means that I have hope and peace and strength through those few times of suffering.
Thank you is such a small phrase for the ultimate gift given to me, my salvation through Jesus Christ, the son of God.
Count it all Joy as long as your will is being done Father
Happy Thanksgiving!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Memories
There are so many things I have forgotten lately and then there are things that stand out in my memory. My first kiss. My first love. The first time I met my friends.
I remember my dad sleeping on the sofa and my mom sitting beside him while I was lying down on the cold linoleum covered floor. I must have been three or four. I had a Bic pen in my hand and was very excited about it. I smelled the Bic and stared at the ink and a small bubble surfacing in the clear plastic tube swam back and forth as I moved the pen.
I had a newspaper before me. It was open and I had circled all the letter A's I could find. I knew it was the letter A but I did not know how to read. There were so many A's. It seemed as if every word needed an A. I soon gave up and started to look for other letters.
It must have been summer because the coolness of the linoleum felt refreshing. I had nothing on but my undies and my hair was wild. I looked like one of those sponsored children on TV sans the flies circling around me.
I had an older brother and sister but I do not know where they are in this memory.
In my memory everything is gray. My mother's housecoat, the sofas, the stained wallpaper. If I were able to travel through time and I stood in that room I could tell you that there was a sadness in the room but not for the little girl in the room. She/I was oblivious to those feelings and lost in my world of letters.
How do I know that? How do I know for sure that my mother and father were not happy if I was oblivious? Interesting, it must be like they say, a child can see and feel things that older and more desensitized adults can't? But then why was I not concerned?
Another memory is a dark green (avocado green) telephone on the table in front of me in Ms. Blumsteins class. It was a huge and intimidating piece of equipment and when I picked up the reciever it was very heavy.
It was kindergarten and we were learning how to use a phone. We were supposed to know our phone number and address. My teacher, Ms. Blumstein had assigned the class to memorize both. Ms Blumstein was tall and skinny and wore a really tight bun. She wore long skirts and seemed nice but I was frightened of her anyway. She was going around the room and asking us to recite our address and dial our phone number. We had to announce our home number before dialing.
I was so afraid that when it was my turn, I would forget my phone number. So I kept saying the number under my breath in this way, when I was called I would know it. It must have been traumatic for me because I still remember the number. It was 633-3966 but, ironically I don't remember what I wore yesterday. It was difficult for me to dial the numbers because my little fingers kept slipping. It was very hard to pull the rotary dial with my small fingers. For a very long time I had a recurring dream that I needed to make a phone call. It was a life or death call but every time I was almost done dialing, my finger slipped and I had to redial again and would become inpatient,frightened and anxious when the highest number took forever to dial. I would wait for the familiar click before dialing the next number. It seemed to take forever. Those dreams ended when touch tone was invented.
I remember snack time in kindergarten and assembly. I remember the smell of tempura paint. A smell I still find comforting today when I walk into a classroom. I remember Elmer's paste and how I had to unscrew the top which was connected to a wand and that wand was what you used to apply the paint on the surface you wished to adhere. I remember how tasty the paste looked but I never tasted it, unlike my classmate Barbara who ate paste and crayons. I remember how the Elmer's icon scared me so I would color over him with my black crayon.
I also remember always feeling as if I was outside of my body when I was little as if I was on the outside looking in and I wonder why that is. Nothing much to this blog entry but my rambling about things I remember there are lots more memories but I am getting tired.
I remember my dad sleeping on the sofa and my mom sitting beside him while I was lying down on the cold linoleum covered floor. I must have been three or four. I had a Bic pen in my hand and was very excited about it. I smelled the Bic and stared at the ink and a small bubble surfacing in the clear plastic tube swam back and forth as I moved the pen.
I had a newspaper before me. It was open and I had circled all the letter A's I could find. I knew it was the letter A but I did not know how to read. There were so many A's. It seemed as if every word needed an A. I soon gave up and started to look for other letters.
It must have been summer because the coolness of the linoleum felt refreshing. I had nothing on but my undies and my hair was wild. I looked like one of those sponsored children on TV sans the flies circling around me.
I had an older brother and sister but I do not know where they are in this memory.
In my memory everything is gray. My mother's housecoat, the sofas, the stained wallpaper. If I were able to travel through time and I stood in that room I could tell you that there was a sadness in the room but not for the little girl in the room. She/I was oblivious to those feelings and lost in my world of letters.
How do I know that? How do I know for sure that my mother and father were not happy if I was oblivious? Interesting, it must be like they say, a child can see and feel things that older and more desensitized adults can't? But then why was I not concerned?
Another memory is a dark green (avocado green) telephone on the table in front of me in Ms. Blumsteins class. It was a huge and intimidating piece of equipment and when I picked up the reciever it was very heavy.
It was kindergarten and we were learning how to use a phone. We were supposed to know our phone number and address. My teacher, Ms. Blumstein had assigned the class to memorize both. Ms Blumstein was tall and skinny and wore a really tight bun. She wore long skirts and seemed nice but I was frightened of her anyway. She was going around the room and asking us to recite our address and dial our phone number. We had to announce our home number before dialing.
I was so afraid that when it was my turn, I would forget my phone number. So I kept saying the number under my breath in this way, when I was called I would know it. It must have been traumatic for me because I still remember the number. It was 633-3966 but, ironically I don't remember what I wore yesterday. It was difficult for me to dial the numbers because my little fingers kept slipping. It was very hard to pull the rotary dial with my small fingers. For a very long time I had a recurring dream that I needed to make a phone call. It was a life or death call but every time I was almost done dialing, my finger slipped and I had to redial again and would become inpatient,frightened and anxious when the highest number took forever to dial. I would wait for the familiar click before dialing the next number. It seemed to take forever. Those dreams ended when touch tone was invented.
I remember snack time in kindergarten and assembly. I remember the smell of tempura paint. A smell I still find comforting today when I walk into a classroom. I remember Elmer's paste and how I had to unscrew the top which was connected to a wand and that wand was what you used to apply the paint on the surface you wished to adhere. I remember how tasty the paste looked but I never tasted it, unlike my classmate Barbara who ate paste and crayons. I remember how the Elmer's icon scared me so I would color over him with my black crayon.
I also remember always feeling as if I was outside of my body when I was little as if I was on the outside looking in and I wonder why that is. Nothing much to this blog entry but my rambling about things I remember there are lots more memories but I am getting tired.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Feedback
I think the reason why I haven't finished tweaking my book is because I have no feedback. I am so insecure about my writing. I need constant "okays" otherwise I feel like I am doing something horribly wrong and when my book lands on the hands of a publisher, he/she will call everyone into the office and they'll read a couple of my paragraphs and have a great laugh ending with the publisher sighing in a bit of aggravation, "Everyone thinks they can write" and then tosses my book into a wastepaper basket then throwing the styrofoam coffee cup holding a small amount of coffee in it and the remains of the beverage rolling onto the book, right over it's title.
Then the book lies in the wastepaper basket in a totally pathetic and undignified position until the janitor picks it up at the end of the day.
He is intrigued and prepares to read it. He grabs the cloth rag hanging on the side of his maintenance workers uniform. He wipes the coffee off of the title page, looks around to make sure no one spots him slacking off. He sits in the plush, leather publisher's chair and begins to read but he is quickly bored and says with a smirk on his face, "Everyone thinks they can write." He reaches into the bottom of his cart and takes out a manila envelope . It is his book titled, "Maintaining my life". He places it on the top of the pile of manuscripts.
The next morning the publisher picks it up and begins to read. He is totally entranced by the book and calls his assistant to find the author of the book. The assistant nods in obedience and rushes out of the office to perform the task of tracking down the writer. The publisher smiles like a cheshire cat and is pleased that he has the next best seller in his possession.
Then the book lies in the wastepaper basket in a totally pathetic and undignified position until the janitor picks it up at the end of the day.
He is intrigued and prepares to read it. He grabs the cloth rag hanging on the side of his maintenance workers uniform. He wipes the coffee off of the title page, looks around to make sure no one spots him slacking off. He sits in the plush, leather publisher's chair and begins to read but he is quickly bored and says with a smirk on his face, "Everyone thinks they can write." He reaches into the bottom of his cart and takes out a manila envelope . It is his book titled, "Maintaining my life". He places it on the top of the pile of manuscripts.
The next morning the publisher picks it up and begins to read. He is totally entranced by the book and calls his assistant to find the author of the book. The assistant nods in obedience and rushes out of the office to perform the task of tracking down the writer. The publisher smiles like a cheshire cat and is pleased that he has the next best seller in his possession.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Jesus Camp
Where do I begin? I have never been so livid during and after watching a movie/documentary.
Listo had recommended this movie to me and I was trying to put it off. I have been catching up on my movie viewing and I finally saw it, with both regret and thankfulness. I regret it because I am so angry but I am also thankful that I have an opportunity to tell about another side of being Pentecostal.
I am filled with fear, anger and confusion.
Luke 18:16 - But Jesus called the children to Him and said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (NIV)
This verse clearly is demonstrative of God's perception of children as innocent. So their chances of going to Heaven are set. It is when we are old enough to make decisions, old enough to choose between right and wrong, developmentally able to understand the consequences of the evil we do, it is then that we are held accountable and rightfully so.
The head of this Jesus Camp is a woman named Becky who scares the heck out of me, how much more a small, doe eyed, five year old?
Her quotes are jaw dropping. "Bush has given Christianity credibility? What!? You're kidding me right?"
She constantly spoke of the passion of radical Islamic children and how indoctrinated they are to be passionate for the cause and how Christian children should be just as passionate. This scares me.
Normally,Most children are passionate about Xbox, Dora or other toys, movies, cartoons or TV
It is a rare thing when a child is set off to minister.
I do believe it occurs but it is something that is not seen very often. Jesus Christ preached at the temple when He was twelve but He, after all, is Christ.
There were so many things that set me off as a Christian, a mother, a grandmother, a teacher both in School and in Sunday school.
One example is a boy featured in the documentary. A boy named Levi. He just grew on me, mullet and all. His mother home schools him and there is a scene where she is yelling and asking him. "What are you going to say when your teacher says creationism is stupid!?" He is meant to have a quick fire answer filled with intellect and profound in spirituality, an answer that will change the life of his teacher. No pressure huh?
If I were him I would have answered, "I'd be shocked because you're my teacher."
But I'm just a smart ass.
Let the child be!
We need to make sure that what we teach our children is not forced upon them but gently, wisely and lovingly fed to them. What they receive is what thier mind, spirit and soul are capable of accepting and processing.
A child is of God. A child reared by loving parents, parents who love and revere God and model God's love in thier home by sharing His word, praying together and tenderly nurturing any spiritual growth that occurs via the Holy Spirit working in that child is doing thier job.
A parent who forces doctrine down a child's throat and teaches him the word of God by rote is doing more harm than good.
I would love to see an update on these children twenty years from now.
Listo had recommended this movie to me and I was trying to put it off. I have been catching up on my movie viewing and I finally saw it, with both regret and thankfulness. I regret it because I am so angry but I am also thankful that I have an opportunity to tell about another side of being Pentecostal.
I am filled with fear, anger and confusion.
Luke 18:16 - But Jesus called the children to Him and said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (NIV)
This verse clearly is demonstrative of God's perception of children as innocent. So their chances of going to Heaven are set. It is when we are old enough to make decisions, old enough to choose between right and wrong, developmentally able to understand the consequences of the evil we do, it is then that we are held accountable and rightfully so.
The head of this Jesus Camp is a woman named Becky who scares the heck out of me, how much more a small, doe eyed, five year old?
Her quotes are jaw dropping. "Bush has given Christianity credibility? What!? You're kidding me right?"
She constantly spoke of the passion of radical Islamic children and how indoctrinated they are to be passionate for the cause and how Christian children should be just as passionate. This scares me.
Normally,Most children are passionate about Xbox, Dora or other toys, movies, cartoons or TV
It is a rare thing when a child is set off to minister.
I do believe it occurs but it is something that is not seen very often. Jesus Christ preached at the temple when He was twelve but He, after all, is Christ.
There were so many things that set me off as a Christian, a mother, a grandmother, a teacher both in School and in Sunday school.
One example is a boy featured in the documentary. A boy named Levi. He just grew on me, mullet and all. His mother home schools him and there is a scene where she is yelling and asking him. "What are you going to say when your teacher says creationism is stupid!?" He is meant to have a quick fire answer filled with intellect and profound in spirituality, an answer that will change the life of his teacher. No pressure huh?
If I were him I would have answered, "I'd be shocked because you're my teacher."
But I'm just a smart ass.
Let the child be!
We need to make sure that what we teach our children is not forced upon them but gently, wisely and lovingly fed to them. What they receive is what thier mind, spirit and soul are capable of accepting and processing.
A child is of God. A child reared by loving parents, parents who love and revere God and model God's love in thier home by sharing His word, praying together and tenderly nurturing any spiritual growth that occurs via the Holy Spirit working in that child is doing thier job.
A parent who forces doctrine down a child's throat and teaches him the word of God by rote is doing more harm than good.
I would love to see an update on these children twenty years from now.
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