the Joyous Family: Escapades To Come

Most of my friends are married with kids. Plural. And it's the Holiday season...

If you've ever been one of the unfortunates to still be single during this time of the year, you know what I am not saying...The stigma, from family, friends, movies (seriously, media is the worst!) to find someone for the Holidays. The cold, lonely nights. The joy of sharing anything, everything, about the Holiday preparations, with someone...

I mean, look at my place! It's beautifully decorated for Christmas! A winter wonderland theme, in blues and snowflakes, and...

Wait, you did not know? Didn't anyone tell you?

Oh, yeah, I'm single. (Who is there to see, let alone tell all?) The drive to decorate for the Holidays lost its appeal many years ago when I realized NOBODY would get to see it. Even if I post pictures online, at least 50% won't have it come up on their feed, and of those who do, less then  2% can truly appreciate/imagine it (pictures don't do justice; am I right?!)...

Oh, and then there's all the cool, cute family stories circulating. Or the not so cute family holiday stories with the hash-tag: keeping it real...

If I have a reply, lets be honest, who really wants their stories of mishaps and children compared to my dog?

If I was #keepingitreal, I'd have to add that I suffer from a bit of jealousy, too. Well at least you HAVE a husband to come home to NOT notice your decorations, or complain about whatever. Or children, who throw fits...

I could complain. I could throw a fit, too...I could remind everyone that nobody's life is perfect...

And don't tell me about how nothing is like one of those corny Hallmark movies...I am too old, with too many married (and sometimes divorced) friends, to NOT see how real, or unreal, life gets in the married and motherhood scene (but, if we're being honest, here, despite all the times we feel like banging our heads against a brick wall, or all the messes and tantrums we must dissipate, we'd do it all over again, wouldn't we? Because those moments, no matter how far between, where they smile at us, or notice, or thank, or well, just be their wonderful, adorable self, ARE TOTALLY WORTH IT!!!)

But instead of being jealous, or complaining, I'm going to do what I do best: have fun! So here's the scoop: over the next few weeks I am going to post pictures with a story of mis-adventure for the day (not all stories are true; a person is more then welcome to ask for the real story, in some cases; Some, however, are BASED on true stories, much to someone's chagrin and embarrassment, somewhere).

(ADDED NOTE: the coming pictures and stories are meant as a comic relief. Relief from the stress and grind of the Holidays, and the other stuff going on in the news. It is not meant to "make light of" or to offend anyone...in fact, it is probably more humorous and therapeutic on my sake...please enjoy, or don't...)

I'm Proud of My Dad: The Veteran

My dad is a veteran. A Vietnam vet, to be exact.

He does not like to mention it, though. Not because of the battles he fought, but because he never did. He was enlisted in the Navy when the Vietnam War was still going on. He went through all the training necessary before finally getting on that ship and heading to Vietnam. Yet, while on the ship, heading to Vietnam, the war ended.

While he is still acknowledged for being a Vietnam Vet because he was enlisted during the war, he never fought during it, and therefore is ashamed to acknowledge it.

As a part of the Navy, he traveled all over, though, and saw a lot of the world...from the end of a pier.

As a part of the Navy, he learned, and still remembers random phrases from a few different languages, although I do not know how many of them he ever got to use while "abroad".

As a part of the Navy, too, somehow -- perhaps he had some shore-time -- he picked up some coins from several different countries, that many years later, ended up in my sisters' & my coin collections.

Which brings me to the reason I am proud of my Dad.

I know it might be crazy, but I am glad Dad did not fight in any battles.

You see, he was and always has been an electronic geek. Get him behind a computer, or something with wires, and he is a "king". But get him behind a gun...

In the Navy, the crew would practice targets by tossing an old milk jug into the water and shoot at it. Even Dad had to practice. But, they teased Dad, because he was the only one who would do much worse then miss the target. Dad would miss the water. And they were in the middle of the ocean!

You see, I am proud of Dad because he was willing to fight. Fight for my freedom, fight for my rights. Fight for all of us, for the United States. And all those good and noble reasons any man or woman agrees to stand up and fight for us.

Even though Dad never saw a battle. I am still proud he was willing to take a stand. To try.

And I am so very thankful to God that Dad never did, because otherwise I would not exist. Nor my sisters.

If Dad had not been in the Navy, he would not have gone to Elim Bible Institute later in life, and he might have missed meeting Mom while she was a student there. And, again, I would not exist.

It is weird. It is as though my Dad was willing to fight for me, even though I was not even a thought, yet. Yet, he fought for me!

And that is why I am proud of my Dad! Proud to call him a veteran! To share it far and wide...even if he does not like to.

Thank you to all the men and women, past and present, who have fought and are fighting for us. For me.

And especially...

Thank you,

Dad!

It's The Little Things...

It's the little things that count.

We hear that phrase all the time. And it's often true. We don't always care if someone lavishes us with a huge expensive gift, but rather that they even remembered our birthday. A simple card, letting us know we are not forgotten, is often more then enough to brighten any day!

I've had a list of things/goals I want to do, see, or own someday. And while over time, what's on the list has changed, it has never ceased to amaze me what gets fulfilled first. It's not always the first one, in fact it's not often the top-ten!

Often I've had very good dreams, with decent, reasonable, and usually very "Christian-ese" items near the top, or first on the list. When I was twelve, my highest priority-dream was to be a missionary. When I was about twenty my top-three was: (1) a decent job so I could afford my own (2) apartment and (3) a vehicle, to get to and from my job.

Anything fancy, or personal (a want or like that was far from a need), was always at the very bottom of the list. It was more like,"if I ever have any extra money, and there is absolutely nothing else 'higher priority' that it needs to go towards first--whether for myself, or another--then this is how I'll use it." Although, at the bottom of the list, the item was not always financial, that was always how I felt about whatever was down there; as though, chances were it would never happen,because there was always going to be something better, physically, fiscally, mentally, and/or "Christian-ly" before it.

Really, my lists had a bottom-most and a highest-priority, but no middle. Because I knew what was most important, what was a long-shot that would never be, and the rest would change from day-to-day. (For instance, in the middle could be gas money, or groceries, both of which would change amount or items from week-to-week, yet they would always rank higher in priority then the bottom items. Obviously.)

Yet, when I was twenty and my dream was to be a Texan, obviously, I had at the bottom of my list "someday I want a Stetson to go with my 'western ensemble'; good cowboy boots in my size, wouldn't be bad either."

Guess what was the first thing God provided for me? Not the apartment, or car, or even the job -- I did not know then that in a year I would move in with missionaries and start traveling around the world, again, so it was good I did not get those things then). No, I got the Stetson. Because I was out visiting a friend, who upon seeing a sale on all hats, felt compelled to get me a Stetson, measured to fit and in a color chosen, just for me. They even gave me a hat pin to go with it! And, yes, later, for an early birthday present someone else got me the boots to go with the hat, because they saw the hat and thought it looked lonely!

I joked once with God that if I ever got engaged, I wanted an heirloom that was not a usual diamond but a sapphire in the middle of little green stones that would look like leaves around a flower. All inset. It was a someday-maybe joke, but within that week someone gave me a ring, that was exactly how I had pictured it in my mind; a ring that was apprised, I'm told, for at least $300! Was I engaged? No. Did I need a ring as valuable as my Stetson (making them the two most valuable items that I owned at the time)? Certainly not!

But I think God's priorities are different then ours. And sometimes, it is not about what we need (or think we need). It is about Him...reminding us how much He loves us.

Dying and raising again, saving us from sin and hell, redeeming us to live with Him, that should be enough. That is enough.

But He does not stop there!

Not because He has to.

If we are examples of Christ, and we get little things for each other, little surprise 'someday-maybe' items just to remind a friend "you are heard; you are loved' you are not forgotten." Then should it surprise us that our example--Christ--does the same?

At that time, I did not need a job in the USA. I could not be tied down by an apartment lease when I was about to move and travel abroad. And I certainly did not need the vehicle and the financial burden it would bring when I would soon have transportation available to me, care of the ones I would move in with. So,maybe I did not know that at the time (in my twenties) I made the list. And I would not realize that for several months, but I have never forgotten (and still own) that Stetson and those boots, because at the time it was like God was saying both "Let me bless you" and "I am looking out for you--love you--even if it is not how you expect." It meant a lot to know He cared...about the unimportant.

That ring was like a reminder from God, that He is mine and I am His. Like two people engaged, I said "yes" to Him years before and made a promise--like Esther and others in the Bible--to "prepare" and make myself ready as His bride. And He made a promise to me, to love me, never leave me, and help me every step along the way. The ring was just a beautiful reminder that He hears, even our 'jokes' and has chosen to be bound to us, for eternity.

I know what some might say. I have heard what some already say about expensive gifts: "It should be sold and the money given to help missions" or "...the poor" or "...the church" or something like that. I've heard many friends say "if I ever won the lottery, or suddenly became a millionaire, I would not keep it, but give it all away!"

I am not judging their word--perhaps they really would do that if it was them. I believe,in all things, whether possessions of worth or money in the bank, we should let God guide us in how we spend or what we do with it. Someone was compelled to give me the Stetson, the boots, and the ring. And God used it in a heartfelt way, that I needed to hear, right then.

Years later, God asked me to give up the ring (but not the promise) to help a Christian organization. But I still have the Stetson and boots.

Then, today, God sent me another little reminder of His love, in another wish fulfilled!

I hitched a ride home from church with an older couple, who were driving right by and would not mind. I did not know that not too long ago, God blessed them by giving them a someday-dream item. I did not realize when they volunteered to take me home after the after-church meeting, that that gift was the thing I had admired for the last couple weeks. It was not, mind you, something I have ever wanted to own, just something I wanted to ride in, just once, someday.

Today I was given a lift home, riding shot-gun, in a Mustang!

Yes, I'm sure it's an expensive gift. Something they could sell and help out someone.

But God gave it to them. He did not compel, nor let other's guilt them, into selling it. I am sure--although I barely know the couple--He had a special message just for them with that gift, too.

But what I know is the message for me...

For today, they had the car, just so I could ride in it!

It's not about judging,based on other's wealth (accumulated or temporary), it's about living the life God calls each of us, separately, to so that God can use us to bless another.

It's about the "little things"--the things at the bottom of our lists--that remind us what love is. Who love is.

And, yes, sometimes, that means keeping the gift just so someone like me--who has no desire to own such a car--can be blessed though it!

And sometimes it means giving it away, like someone gave me the ring, originally.

Or keeping it for a time, so you will be at the right time and place to give it to the one who needs later.

(There was both a message in the getting of the ring, and in my eventual--happenstance--of giving the ring later to help an organization while visiting over a thousand miles away from my home-state!)

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the "little things" are worth much more!

What I know, right now, today, is that I am blessed. That God loves me, very much!

Not just loved me when I was sixteen and went on my first missions trip. Not just when I was twenty and got boots and a Stetson.More then just the engagement ring, or the obvious dying on the cross. BUT TODAY, WHEN I RODE IN A MUSTANG!

Today and forever!

But just in case I need a little reminder, I am sure He will find something--something near the bottom of the list, probably--to help me cross off.

Why I Praise Jesus

On Palm Sunday, as we now call it, when Jesus rode a donkey and everyone threw down their coats along the path, or waved palm branches over his head, or whatever they did to show His worth, while they sang His praises, the Pharisees saw this and asked Jesus to rebuke his disciples. And what did He say?

Luke 19:40 (NASB) "I tell you, if these become silent, the stones will cry out!"

I do not know about you, but when I get up in the morning, roll out of bed and my feet hit the floor, the first thing that can be heard (other than Lance's excited patter of feet that I am getting up to let him outside for a break), is usually "Uh." It's a groan as pressure hits my knees from standing on my feet. Or, if Lance is truly silent, a person would hear the "snap, crackle, pop," of those said knees. Maybe a hip, or ankle, too.

Mornings are not a pleasant thing for me. No matter how congenial my joints might be, I am not a very good morning person. Forget the whole joke of needing coffee before talking, I need it to be noon before talking.

To be cheerful before noon. To be ready, awake, and "talkie", in any capacity, requires thought and effort, sometimes even the night before as I mentally prepare myself and physically set the alarm clock. (I definitely cannot do spontaneous mornings).

But then I get asked, how I can say such a thing when I am all smiles, laughter, and perhaps even fun whenever someone sees me, even if it is an early morning—before noon—like on Sundays?

Romans 8 refers to creation groaning, as it waits for the coming of our Lord.

Yeah, I know. I am weird. But I would rather step out in faith that it will be a beautiful day and sing His praises, then to sit unhappily and let my joints be the only noise He hears coming from my place.

Not to mention, every time I make a groan, I mentally hear that verse in my head and think that the last thing I would want would be to start hearing things…like the rocks littering the path to the road, to cry out His name. Or my joints to groan all the louder, just so He would hear something. Anything.

Another thing I have learned about faith. It requires stepping out. When I sing His praises, it is not always about feeling it, it is simply about stating it.

I do not know if you have noticed, but smiles are as contagious as a yawn. Even if I do not feel like smiling as I pass a stranger on the road, if I smile, the smile is rarely NOT returned. And the cool thing I have discovered is that when it is returned, suddenly mine feels bigger, fuller, and genuine, even if it did not before.

I have found that praise works like that too. The more I praise Him, no matter how I really feel, the more feeling is put onto the back burner and the more praise becomes genuine. The more I want to sing His praise from the proverbial rooftops, and not because I have to or need to, but truly, truly, want to!

It's contagious, people! So come on, join in…before the rocks take your place!

Today is Easter! What better day to make a joyful noise unto the Lord, to shout His praises, and sing our thanks, then on the day that death died and we were redeemed?!

><>†<><

Today is Easter and all I can think about is death.

If death can have a non-morbid side, let me clarify that I am not thinking of the morbid kind. (I am NOT suicidal).

Did you not hear? Today is Easter! The day we celebrate Jesus' death and resurrection, the death of death, the life of Love, and our redemption!

Twenty-odd years ago (OK, going on thirty-years, but who's counting?) I almost died. Twice. I was three years old. And again, a few months later when I was about four years old.

When asked those crazy questions by friends, "how would you rather die, by such-and-such or this-and-such?" My answer has always been "as quickly as possible! Definitely not drowning!"

Dying can be scary. Laying there gasping for air, fighting to live, fearful that I would not be able to take another breath. That nobody was truly listening, or could help me, even as the EMTs worked frantically over my little body as they quickly took me to the nearest hospital.

Dying might be scary, but death is not.

I could care less about pearly gates or golden roads, to me heaven is Jesus. I get to sit on my Daddy-God's lap, bury my face in his chest, in a never-ending hug. Literally, never-ending! What could be better than that?

Whether I died, or just almost died as a child, what I remember is a lot bigger than just those two minutes of fear and gasping for air.

My mom will say that I had been having problems breathing, and so at night she and Dad would check on me. Regularly. Dad will say that some nights he even slept in my doorway, just so if I suddenly went silent, he would know and be right there.

Then one night, I did. I fell silently. Mom says she ran to the phone and called 911 and Dad—because we lived in a little apartment on a college campus—says he ran outside to wave the ambulance down when it came.

But what I remember is a completely different story then what my parents will tell. I remember walking out of my bedroom, standing beside my mother as she was on the phone, and shortly after my dad left to hail the ambulance, when another man entered our apartment. He stopped in front of me, knelt down, and as He held my hand, he told me what was going on.

I could hear myself cough from behind me, back in my bedroom as my body gasped for breath, and slept on…and yet, I stood in the dining room, listening to this man tell me that Mom was calling for help for me and that I needed to go back to bed for the time being. I remember reluctantly heading back to my room.

Later, once the ambulance came, and I was in it, I vaguely remember waking up and gasping for air…

But the rest. The blanks between heading to my room and the beginning of the ambulance ride, or between that moment of gasping for air in the ambulance and waking up MUCH later in the hospital (I think it was about a day later). Are things that I am not sure I could ever explain. Or understand. And some of it, sadly, is locked in my memory where even I barely catch glimpses of it.

I remember mostly feeling peace. I remember holding Jesus' hand throughout it all. I remember, when needed, as we looked down through the tree tops, or through the rooftop and into the hospital, He would explain a little about what was going on. But mostly, I just remember holding His hand, sitting beside Him, and knowing no fear, no pain, nothing evil. Only peace. And love.

I have a deep, abiding, friendship with Jesus to this day. And I attribute it back to that day, to the day He held my hand.

I know He will never leave me, nor forsake me.

I know He loves me, even unto death.

I know death will never separate us.

I know He is, and always will be, my best friend forever.

Nobody, no matter how crazy they might say I am from the stories I share or the things I have seen, heard, or done, either past or present, can ever take away what we have, together. Because that day, He showed me things that have no words, or earthly equal.

But if I had to explain it, I would say He showed me that day what Love truly is. What He truly is.

And that knowledge (if one can call it that), can never be taken away.

All I know is that every day, I want more. I want to spend more time with Him. Do more for Him.

No matter how little, or seemingly inconsequential—because mobility does limit or tire me some days—nothing can separate us. And nothing else can fill His place in my heart, my being.

I do not know how to really explain it. I just know.

><>†<><

And in the end, that is the biggest reason I sing His praises.

Because He gave so much, so that I could have so little (in comparison). And yet, that little, seems like so much because He gave it. And yet, it seems like nothing compared to my longing for more. Of Him.

It is as though the day of my dying, was the day our friendship began.

I was "saved" when I was about three years old. And while I do not know if I was saved before or after my dying, I do know this…

It is as though the day of my dying, was the day He reached out. He started it. And I would be remiss if I did not accept it, return it, finish it, hold his hand back. Whatever, you will.

I will forever be eternally grateful to Him. For His death, His reaching out, Him, always and forever standing by my side.

As I child I used to "witness" to others by telling them: "People might say He died to save us from sin, but I say He died so we could be best friends. And He is one friend I know will never leave me, never forsake me, is always by my side. And that is why I think everyone should 'accept' Him into their 'hearts', so they can have a friend such as Him! I know for a fact I would not be alive today, if not for Him; He truly never left me!"

And that is how I still feel today.

No matter how redundant—English teacher-friends of mine will have a fit—I will always and forever be eternally grateful to Him.

I would not be alive, today, if not for Him. And I mean that in more ways than one!

So, today, on Easter, the day we give thanks for death's death, for His resurrection, our redemption, etc, let me add to the chorus of "believers" and say "THANK YOU, LORD! I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL"

He alone understands what I mean when I add: "Lord, You may not understand just how grateful I am, but I am. Truly."

May the Lord's blessings be on y'all (my readers)

today as we remember why we sing His praises. Forever. Eternally.

-Hannah Joy_ous