Christmas Eve Morning 1993

I wrote this 16 years ago and would like to share it today.

PRAISE GOD FOR JESUS

Praise God for the brow of Jesus.

Holding the secrets of the universe.

United with the Father and Spirit.

Aching with the burdens of the crowds.

Furrowed by this friends' lack of faith.

Bleeding from a crown of thorns.

Praise God for the eyes of Jesus.

Eyes seeing the pain, suffering, and humiliation of an earthly existence.

Eyes earth bound in a body but constantly lifted upward in prayer.

Eyes weeping for his friend, Lazarus, and for his beloved city, Jerusalem.

Eyes bright with promise of new life.

Praise God for the ears of Jesus.

Ears awakening to the the laughter of children.

Ears listening to the pleadings of the blind, sick, and lame.

Ears taking in the questions of unbelief.

Ears hearing the accusations of enemies.

Praise God for the nose of Jesus.

Dried out by the sand of the desert after 40 days of fasting and prayer.

Repulsed by the stench of corruption in the temple.

Sweetened by the fragrance of oil, poured over his head.

Fueling an appetite for a simple meal of fish prepared with love for his friends.

Praise God for the mouth of Jesus.

Parched, cracked, and bleeding from lack of water.

Praying, praising and thanking the Father for all.

Teaching the workings of an invisible kingdom.

Healing with a word.

Rebuking evil.

Proclaiming truth.

Praise God for the arms of Jesus.

Arms lifted up in thanksgiving and praise.

Arms embracing the innocence and trust of children.

Arms bound behind his back.

Arms stretched out for the sins of all.

Praise God for the hands of Jesus.

Hands healing with a touch.

Hands blessing the bread and wine of a peace agreement.

Hands transforming a few fish into a feast for thousands.

Hands washing the feet of his disciples in the spirit of servanthood.

Hands nailed to our cross of salvation.

Praise God for the side of Jesus.

Pierced to release the blood and water of death.

Praise God for the legs of Jesus

Legs wading through the waters of the Jordan for John's baptism.

Legs standing tall as he commanded the sea and skies to be still.

Legs kneeling in prayer, beseeching the Father's will.

Legs falling under the weight of the cross.

Praise God for the feet of Jesus.

Feet carrying him from town to town with Good News for all.

Feet washed with the tears of faith.

Feet tired after standing all day, preaching to the few and the many.

Feet nailed to the hard, splintered wood of a common cross.

Feet lifting him up to heaven.

Praise God for Jesus who now sits at the right hand of the Father, interceeding for us.

For God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son so that anyone who believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

JOHN 3:16

Christmas Letters

Allowing myself to be bustled and bamboozled into a Christmas frenzy is usually my own fault. The Christmas list of to-dos seems to go on forever and unfortunately, I have been more focused on tasks rather than the joy of the season. For the past few years I have not sent cards or letters to wish anyone the good cheer I do wish them. So this year, I planted my fingers firmly on the keyboard and typed away some letters to the people who, because of distance, I won't be able to say, "Merry Christmas," to in person. As I wrote each letter (no singular format this time), I took the time to mentally picture the person (s) to whom I was writing, and I found myself thoroughly enjoying the act of letter writing once more. It felt good to share the past year's events with friends who I don't see as often as I would like. One letter was especially sweet to write because it finally made up for a negligence. Let me explain.

About eight years ago, when I was teaching at at middle school, I had organized a prayer group that consisted of some teachers. We would meet in my classroom once a week and pray for the needs of the students, school and each other. Our music teacher, Rebecca, was usually present for these weekly prayer meetings. When I left that school for another, Rebecca kept my address and would always send me a Christmas card and letter with a personal note expressing her thanks for our past prayer times. Her letters expressed the joy and hope, and peace that come from a relationship with the "Birthday Boy," himself. I never responded to her cards or letters. I would read them, place them on a pile and turn then away to Christmas cleaning, cooking or worse --complaining. This year is different, I wrote to Rebecca and wished her the peace, love and joy she always extended to me. I hope she reads it and realizes how much her gift of a simple letter has finally meant to me.

Thank Who?

On this bright, beautiful sun-filled morning I was reading the Chicago Tribune Home & Health section. They had what looked like a positive piece about "transforming this into a Season of Gratitude." I like that idea I thought, and proceeded to read the suggestions for each day. The first day listed was November 26th, Thanksgiving Day. The suggestion given was to "Whisper thank you to the Earth for all its bounty." Thank you to the Earth? Is that who/what we're suppose to thank for all our bounty. I think not. Instead I would suggest reading the official proclamation of the person who initiated the holiday as we know it today:


Abraham Lincoln.






"The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the ship; the axe had enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years, with large increase of freedom.
No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.
It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and voice by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.
In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.
Done at the city of Washington, this third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three."
Proclamation of President Abraham Lincoln, October 3, 1863.”

I highlighted those words of Lincoln that refer to whom we should express our thanks: "MOST HIGH GOD, ALMIGHTY GOD and BENEFICENT FATHER WHO DWELLETH IN THE HEAVENS."

Though it is also important to thank each other for the kindnesses we have received, let us never forget whom we should thank on Thanksgiving Day.

A Quick Marriage and A Speedy Divorce

I am determined to embrace technology and give it a special place in my heart, so it was obvious to me to use my extra birthday money to buy an electronic gadget. Now which one? Kindle, IPOD, or cell phone. The Kindle looks alluring with its promise of holding thousands of books in a thin, 6 inch electronic display. This means that I could read multiple books at a time without the bulk of carrying them wherever I go. I often like to read a fiction and non-fiction work simultaneously, so this certainly would be a great boon. The Kindle also has the ability to highlight, comment and bookmark passages, another plus. You can subscribe to magazines and newspapers via Kindle for a fraction of the regular price. Again that was appealing. However, the thought of not holding a real book in my hand while reading, I don't know, it just seems so unnatural, like eating meal bars instead of real food. The intellectual nutrition is there, but not the taste.

OK, on to the next gadget. Since I have a cell phone already that I don't use except for emergencies, buying a new one appears to be a waste.

Now that leaves the IPOD. I love music, all kinds, but especially uplifting Christian music. Groups like Selah and Casting Crowns; individuals like John Michael Talbot and Michael W. Smith are all high on my list. Since I've been going to a health club to exercise this seemed like a great way to Praise the Lord while working out. The music and videos at the club are not so uplifting. I took my daughter and husband with me to Best Buy and put down my gift cards for a shiny new blue Nano IPOD that even offered the ability to tune in to radio stations. WOW! That really sold me because I could also listen to WMBI and KLOVE, two of my favorite Christian radio stations. My daughter showed me how to access the I-tunes website that would help me download my CDs into my computer so I could then transfer them to my IPOD. I spent my entire Saturday and part of Sunday downloading music. I even discovered that I could download podcasts which are talk show segments. Another great aspect of the IPOD, I thought. I carried my IPOD proudly into the gym and plugged in while I jogged away. It was sweet and I felt my feet lifted up to some great music, my music.

After the workout I returned home and placed my IPOD into my other new gadget, a clock radio that would wake you up to your IPOD music. I was really going to get my money's worth from this gadget. I finally separated myself my IPOD for a some dinner time and when I returned I could not get it to work at all. It was totally dead, no sound, no menu, no nothing. I thought perhaps that I had shut it off accidentally, but no, I turned to the on button and the black hole with no music was still there. I immediately went to my computer and plugged it in, per the directions. A message popped up that said my IPOD was corrupted. Corrupted, yikes! It was made in China, not Chicago. What caused the corruption,? Was the IPOD out to thwart my desire to fill my mind with praises to the Lord? The IPOD wizard then informed me that my IPOD would have to be reformatted and I would loose all the music I had just spent an entire day downloading. That seemed very cruel and close to thievery. I mean, I spent an entire day and a half transferring tunes and I even purchased a couple from I-tunes. Does that mean that if I wanted those songs on the IPOD again I would have to pay another fee? "Oh well," I thought I've gone this far, why not keep going, so I left my IPOD plugged in overnight and went to bed with images of Nanos singing me softly to sleep.

The next morning I awoke before the alarm, eager to check on the progress of my little blue wonder. But no, nothing, instead there was a post mortem posted on the website, "An unknown error exists." Unknown error, unknown error? What does that mean? Now I was really upset. Since I am really trying to be techno savvy, I turned to Google and typed in "IPOD Corruption." I found that I was not alone in my grief and anger, others had been faced with corruption, some even multiple times. Many were also grieving the time lost downloading and re-downloading music. Some had taken the gadget back for a new one and others tried a technique recommended by a G.I. stationed in Iraq. The soldier said he was able to fix his IPOD by getting a small screw driver, taking it apart, shaking it and then putting it back together.

I felt backed into a corner I had to make a decision about my relationship with my IPOD. Would I opt for counseling (shaking it), separation (returning it for another one) or divorce (returning the IPOD and IPOD radio and getting my cash back)? My decision was rather quick, almost as quick as my decision to purchase it. No more Nanos for me, back to the good old CDs.

"Praise the Lord. For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant and praise is becoming." Psalm 147:1

The Trees are Telling the Glory of God

Autumn Colors: crimson, orange, yellow-gold. All cast against a blue sky paired with a cool breeze and the whisper of falling leaves. I am blessed with a spectacular view from the windows in our town home. And the view never ceases to amaze me. It is like having a living painting in one's home. Now with the falling leaves, I can also see the the sun sparkling upon the river. More beauty, more wonder, more proof of God's love for me and all man & womankind.

When we were considering moving from our home in LaGrange to a townhome in Willow Springs, one of my prayers was that I would be able to enjoy a beautiful view.

Prior to moving, I enjoyed watching the seasons pass with a very large gingko tree that was perfectly positoned in the center of our yard. It became a dear friend to me as my life carried me to many different events: births, a growing family, new jobs and careers, graduations, illnesses, even a couple of extremly different types of dogs, etc. And my gingko tree was always there for each new phase of my life. I would love to watch the tree loose its leaves in the fall, usually all in a day, and the last to do so. The gingko leaves always looked like pieces of falling gold from the sky. Dancing in celebration of another wonderful year, soon to come to a close.
Unfortunately, the folks who bought our home did not have the same appreciation for this tree as I did and it was immediatley cut down in order to put up a massive garage. The trade off of cement for dancing gold just didn't seem fair.

But, God has so answered my prayer for scenic beauty, that I just have to praise and thank Him for this special kindness. The beauty of nature, endowed by the Creator can do so much for one's soul! Emptiness is gone. Melanchony gives way to wonder and the ordinary becomes the atypical with each leaf's variant color. Don't miss a moment of this outdoor concert of color and be sure to listen for the maestro's voice in it all. "The Heavens are telling the glory of God..."

Psalm 19:1

Trekking to Their Turf

My daughter celebrated her 27th birthday about a week ago. As part of that celebration, my husband and I joined her and her friends at a drinking establishment in the near north area of Chicago. It was a Friday night and the place was packed, filled with 20 and 30-somethings celebrating the end of the workweek and the beginning of the weekend. My husband and I do enjoy meeting and talking with the younger generation, especially our children's friends. They are referred to as the echo boomers or generation y. They were born between 1977 and 2002. Though the serene fifties and turbulent sixties were the backdrop for my youth, the advent and growth of communication technologies are the strongest influence on this generation. They feed on this technology the way a swarm of bees would feed on a field of daffodils. Iphones, Blackberries and Ipods seem at times to be extra appendeges. I think, it is just their way of staying in touch with each other, after all life today is certainly lived at a faster pace than before.

When I am around them I really like to listen to what they have to say. Jobs seem to occupy a lot of conversation, as they learn the practices and practicalities of their particular occupational environment, whether it be business, education, medicine or law. They are finding the realities of work much different than the textbook version they encountered in college. Additional challenges include relationships, marriage and parenting. Amidst the challenges they daily face, they are meeting those challenges head on. I applaud them because being around them encourages me when I think about the future. I am bombarded daily by mostly bad news from the media. However, these young people give me hope, because they themselves are filled with hope. You can see it shining in their eyes. I would advise my fellow boomers that when you need a lift just visit a local pub and strike up a conversation with these "y'ers," they'll engage you with their thoughts and ideas, and who knows they may also listen to yours.

A Thousand Cups of Tea...and All That

On Halloween it will be the fifth anniversary of my mother's death. As I reflect on my mom's life I remember most clearly her last years. Because of dementia she moved in with me and my family. My mom was fiercely independent and definitely did not like the fact that she was not living on her own. Day in and day out she would ask me and my husband when she could go home to her, "flat," rather than her house. The memories of living in an apartment flat were apparently more vivid than living in her house.

Since she spent her life being a housewife she relished any job that I would give her around the house, from folding laundry to washing windows. She loved housework! That was hard for me to understand when I was younger, but the older I get I am surprised by the fact that I actually like housework, too; perhaps, because of the simplicity of the task and the feeling of accomplishment that accompanies a shiny, clean house. My mom embraced every task around the house, large or small. And she did everything with a strong dedication to perfection.

Because of her dementia, she had to take medication that would combat the frustration she would feel due to the loss of cognitive ability. But many times, she would still become highly agitated with her situation. It was then that I always offered her a cup of tea and some sweets and they would become a balm that would be instantly soothing. As a result, our tea time because a daily occurrence when I would get home from work. We would talk and I would tell her about my day and she hers. Her daily descriptions would be usually the same, but she did enjoy relating them and listening to the escapades of my middle school students.

She often spoke of her sisters and how much she missed them. My mom was the last of her family to pass on and this fact seemed to her a type of punishment. Though she loved her husband, children, grandchildren and especially her son-in-law (Because of his gift of humor, he always made her laugh.), she missed having someone from her own generation to kibitz with about life.

When she passed away, our friends made a card that showed her waiting for the Archer Avenue bus with her babushka on her head and her purse in hand, ready for a day of shopping in Brighton Park with her sisters at the Archer Avenue Big Store.

She had many sayings that I remember fondly, like, "Life waits for no one," "Are you dieting?" and every one's favorite, "...and all that." She was very proud of her Polish heritage and would often sing and sometimes swear in Polish. News of anything Polish would automatically brighten her day and leave her smiling. She had a very bad sweet tooth and if left alone with a poppy seed coffee cake, she would eat it all, one small piece at a time, in a day. Our Labrador Retriever would be the happy recipient of parts of her repast, much to our dismay. No cakes for dogs!

But today, my fondest memory lies in the times we had tea, sipping and smiling and sharing our day's events, while putting aside the effects of old age and dementia. A thousand cups of tea for a thousand treasured memories.

Revisiting 60's Feminism: UGH!

I belong to a book club and our recent selection, LOVING FRANK by Nancy Horan triggered memories from the feminist rhetoric of the 1960's. The novel is a fictionalized rendition of the actual affair between famous architect, Frank Lloyd Wright and a woman named Mamah Borthwick Cheney. Mamah and Frank are already married when they meet and they soon fall madly in love and embark upon an affair, leaving their respective spouses and children abandoned to the care of others. They believe they have a right to do this because they are seeking a "true" relationship that mirrors their "true" selves. They travel through Europe, specifically Germany and Italy, exploring the "truth" of their relationship and their art (particularly Frank), with only fleeting moments of their parental responsibilities visiting their love nests. Mr. Wright particularly feels he is above any moral code because of his artistic gifts and what he will bring to American architecture. Mamah is an educated (university) woman, who says she loves her children but must leave them to the care of others because ultimately she will be a better mother because she left them. (?) She then becomes a disciple of a Swedish feminist named Ellen Key (actual person) who entrusts upon Mamah the task of translating her texts into American English, so American women can read about true freedom in all aspects, including sexual.

As I was reading this book, and be sure it is a good read, particularly when one realizes that it is based on fact, so many thoughts about the sixties feminist movement pummelled me.

Yes, back in the 60's I was in college and considered myself a feminist. Though I didn't burn my bra, I did have a subscription to Ms. Magazine and read a lot of Gloria Steinman. I wanted to make sure that women had every right a man did, especially in the workplace and home. Equal pay for sure. Sharing a home meant sharing household responsibilities like cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, laundry. When children came along, parental responsibilities were also to be equally shared. HOWEVER, leaving husband and children to find one's "true" self was never one of the options I ever considered. I was too busy finding my "true" self in the context of wife and mother, along with many other selves, adult daughter, friend, co-worker, neighbor, church member, etc. According to the philosophies expounded by the characters in this book I was lying to myself by allowing myself to be limited by societal structures of the female identify. Now, I realize that these characters lived at a time when women didn't even have the right to vote, but to proclaim freedom from parental/spousal responsibility in the name of true love makes me want to do more than clear my throat. Narcissism is replete within these characters, and I do feel sorry for them, because they are so caught up in living a lie rather than the truth. (No spoilers here. You'll have to read the book for yourself to see how it ends.) LOVE is suppose to be sacrificial. That is the nature of love. From Paul, "It is not self-seeking...it always perseveres and it rejoices in truth. " And what is truth? No, rather who is TRUTH? His name is Jesus, who shows us the truth of a loving father for all times and all eras.

A Better Understanding of Anatomical Complexity

The human body has 206 bones, 4,000 tendons, 640 skeletal muscles and 360 joints, and they all amazingly work together to allow us to eat with a fork and knife, blow dry and curl our hair, put on earrings, vacuum stairs, walk dogs, wash windows, play golf and tennis, water ski, bicycle, hike, jog, and lift a variety of objects including those precious little things called, "babies." A little over one month ago in the fraction of a second, I broke one of those bones and joints and displaced a couple of tendons. It is called an olecranon fracture of my right elbow. The part of the elbow that is the olecranon is what we call our "funny bone," or the pointed tip of the elbow. I had to have surgery to reattach that triangular piece back to my elbow, or more specifically the end of my ulna. No crazy glue would work, instead my surgeon reattached it with a screw and a washer. He also had to drill a couple of holes and reattach some tendons because they are needed to help my elbow bend. (see drawing)

Now I am in the throes of physical therapy, with daily exercises to try to get my right elbow to bend like it used to. When I said the pledge of allegiance this week at school and tried to place my right hand over my heart, I had to really push it and there was pain. I am still unable to cup my right hand with my left hand in order to rinse my face with water. I also look "gimpy" when I put face cream or make-up on. My therapists tell me that I have made good progress, but there is still a while to go before I regain my elbow's full range of motion. In fact, total healing time for an olecranon fracture is about 12 weeks. At some point in time, I may also have to have the screw and washer removed from the elbow if it sticks out too much.

With all that said, this experience has taught me just how complex and precise are the movements of the human body. Every bone, tendon, muscle, etc. is interdependent on each other. Nothing is able to work alone. And at the cellular level it is even more complex. The simplest living cell has over one trillion molecules. That is more than 1,000 times 1,000 times 1,000 times 1,000 times 1,000 or 1,000 times one billion. Those numbers are mind staggering.

This all leads me, more than ever, to proclaim the power, magnitude and awesome intelligence of our Creator God. Though I broke my elbow accidentally, the complexity of the human body is no accident of evolution. It was created by a supreme being in order to glorify Him and commune with Him. "Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness..." (Genesis 1:26)The current complexities of our body chemistry and construction are only a remnant of what they were at creation. Because of sin we are subject to imperfections, accidents, disease and death. However, no matter what their current state, we can, one day, count on full restoration if we know Jesus. He substituted his blood for ours, not surgically, but sacrificially. Once again let me say with the psalmist, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made..." (Psalm 139:14)

The Gift of Driving

Do you remember when you first got your driver's license? What a great feeling of freedom.

You felt like you could go anywhere and do anything. That life was yours for the taking.

Recently, as I was stricken with a broken elbow, I was sidelined from the driver's seat and boy was that a bummer. I had to be driven everywhere and I found that to be very limiting. I couldn't just run an errand or visit a friend at a moment's notice. Every trip had to to planned with an available driver, either my husband or a family friend. I felt sort of trapped and I didn't like it. I mean, this is America, I should be able to go where I want, when I want. Having this temporary inconvenience really bothered me, and I began to realize how I took the ability to drive for granted. That doesn't necessarily mean that I love all aspects of driving, like being stuck in traffic and having to go to the bathroom or driving around in circles looking for a parking place or even driving in a blizzard.

With those exclusions, driving remains a gift that I will appreciate more fully since I finally got the OK from my doctor to once again, turn on the ignition and blast my "Jesus music" as I sing to the heavens and drive to my destinations! However, the next time I'm stuck in traffic, rather than letting my frustrations fester, I will offer a prayer for those people who are denied this gift of freedom for medical, monetary or aging reasons.

Back to School...Back to Reality

For a teacher, like myself, summer is a time of fantastic freedoms. Freedom from bells, schedules, paperwork, deadlines, parents, administrators, students. Now, in a few days my freedom will be over as I begin yet another school year, my 20th to be exact. There are things I do like about going back to school. New books, fresh unsharpened pencils, blank spiral notebooks and smiling new students. It is a time to begin again that quest for knowledge and the ability to use it well. It also means for me, a reality check that my time is really not my own. It is a gift from God, and I need to use it for His purposes, rather than my own. Within my sphere of teaching I have always found His purposes to be manifested each school year in different students. You know the really, really, needy ones. Sometimes they are the outcasts, at other times they are the popular and gifted ones. And sometimes, in fact, most of the time, they are children who are suffering from neglect or abuse at home. My boss (THE BOSS), I feel has called me to minister his love and discipline to these needy ones. It is my call to reality. "Has not the potter a right claim over the clay?" (Rom. 9:21)

Pain, drugs and tears

Hello everyone. It has been a long time since I have been able to blog due to a broken elbow and surgery on my right arm. I still do not have full range of motion with my arm, but as you can see I CAN BLOG AGAIN! Here are my first thoughts about dealing with this situation.

The pain from breaking off a piece of bone from my elbow was intense, it bloody hurt a lot. I received a perscription for a pain killer, "propoxyphene-n-100" which is a generic form of Darvocet (a narcotic). WOW. The pain was gone, but so was I. I felt totally clouded and had no emotions. Since I like my emotions, I asked my doctor for alternative and he prescribed 600 mg. of Ibuprofen. I tolerated it much better. After narcotics I awoke one morning and with just thinking about my elbow, the pain, the recovery, my lost summer vacation days, the fact that I couldn't drive for awhile and would probably have pins and plates in my body forever. This wasn't a pity party, but a recognition of the fact that I had a serious injury and would have to deal with it. I cried. It was the first time since the accident happened and boy did it feel good to just cry.

This incident triggered a memory for me back to 1976 when my father-in-law passed away from a long battle with cancer. I was in my mid-twenties. My mother-in-law shared some of her tranquilizers with me and I took a Valium. She said it would make me feel better and it did, but again I didn't like the feeling. There was a two day wake for my father-in-law and I remember going back the second day without Valium and feeling tremendous sorrow and emotional pain. I lost someone I loved and it hurt and I felt it and cried. The crying continued for the funeral, but I found the act of crying (which is the human response to pain) to help. All the tranquilizer did was to rob me of my emotions.

Pain is a part of of the human condition and we all encounter it sooner or later. Now, I'm not against pain killers for any serious condition and certainly post- surgery is a time for pain relief, but the narcotics are bad. I wonder about all the people who are prescribed these drugs too easily and miss out on the human feelings of pain that cause us to turn to tears and the Healer (Dr. Jesus) for freedom from both physical and emotional pain. Are drugs the answer?
I think not.

Blogging Buddies, the Bible & Me

This will be my eighth blog and I am thoroughly enjoying putting my thoughts (from my head) and feelings (from my heart) into print. Besides the joy of writing, I have also gotten closer to my cousins via their blogs. I know when they usually publish new posts and look forward to reading and then writing comments. I think blogging is a great way to have some thoughtful conversation with another person without actually speaking. I feel that I am really getting to know someone on a deeper level. I feel closer to them because they are sharing not just words, but thoughts, ideas, and feelings. I our communication crazed society there are lots and lots of words out there, but how many carry thought and reflection with them? I am not familiar with other electronic communication tools like My Space and Face book (my children love these). I did try Shelfari (a book blog) for awhile, but I can write about books on my own blog along with many other topics.

Since I also like to write about my relationship with the Lord, my blog is also helping me learn those scripture verses that I know are "in there, but where?" I like that a lot.

What do you think, are your ready to blog?

Check out my cousins's blogs:

http://1corinthians13love.blogspot.com/

http://ouiesthoughts.blogspot.com/

Feeling Groovy at 60 and Beyond

Sixty years old. Sixty years young. Just plain old sixty years of life. That's me and this is the week for celebrating and reflecting on the past as I look forward to maybe another sixty years. Come on, wishing is good!! And so is the celebrating. In fact, I think I've been having a birthday bish-bah (a word coined by my friend, Lynn) from the beginning of June to these last few days of the month.

My initial party was provided by my sweetie sorority sisters at the Russian Tea Room in downtown Chicago. I love tea, especially when served in little floral teapots with delicate cups and saucers. I imagine myself as a character from a Jane Austen novel having delightful conversation and tea in that perfectly perfect English manner.

Next, I went from that uniquely English party (I am an English teacher and love all things English.) to an all-American tailgate party at U.S. Cellular Field with the Chicago White Sox. I must admit that I had a metamorphosis from being a Cub fan to a White Sox fan since daughter number two worked for the organization. The White Sox won, the scoreboard exploded with fireworks and a Happy Birthday to me was posted on the jumbo tron. Yahoo! What fun is that!

Lastly, I had a birthday dinner with my immediate family. We ate Greek food, we toasted, we laugh and we all told stories. Everyone had an amusing story to tell of events from the past, especially the high school foibles of my girls and the recent European travels of the boys at the table. When the kids toasted me they asked what advice I would give them from my vast years of experience. Cherish friends and family, laugh a lot, and never forget Jesus. I think that sums it up fairly well.

Now, besides all the celebration, I have been doing some reflection. Like those t-shirts that say "Life is Good," life is good and God especially has been very good to me. My husband has survived two major life threatening illnesses and my children and I are healthy and we all have productive jobs that provide us with many extras along with the necessities of life; friends abound and indeed life is good!

The day before my actual birthday, my husband and I were at mass and I was praying for an inspirational verse for my birthday. The Psalm reading of the day went like this:

Responsorial PsalmPs 139:1b-3, 13-14ab, 14c-15R. (14)

I praise you, for I am wonderfully made.

O LORD, you have probed me, you know me:you know when I sit and when I stand;you understand my thoughts from afar.My journeys and my rest you scrutinize,with all my ways you are familiar.

I praise you for I am wonderfully made.

Truly you have formed my inmost being;you knit me in my mother's womb.I give you thanks that I am fearfully, wonderfully made;wonderful are your works.

I praise you, for I am wonderfully made.

My soul also you knew full well;nor was my frame unknown to you when I was made in secret,when I was fashioned in the depths of the earth.

I praise you, for I am wonderfully made.

HOW'S THAT FOR A SIXTY YEAR OLD FROM THE SIXTIES

FEELING GROOVY!

One more thing. On the way home from dinner with the kids this was the song that was playing on the radio. It was a blast from the past that is very fitting to my life today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFCGn_bU_kI

Daddy & D-Day

My Dad has been deceased for almost seven years. He was close to 87 years old when he passed into eternal life. As I remember my Dad in the days leading to Father's Day, I also am caused to reflect on perhaps the most defining moment in my Dad's life. The D-Day Invasion of Normandy, France. It has been 65 years since that historic day. In fact, the day that my Dad participated in the invasion was five years and one day before I was born.

My Dad was a member of the 3rd Armored Division, called the "Spearhead," because it was this company of men who spearheaded the Allied forces across Europe into Germany. Particularly, his battalion was the Maintenance Battalion, and it was their job to keep the armor (tanks, trucks, jeeps, motorcycles) rolling the cause of freedom throughout the countries occupied by the Nazis. My Dad was a welder by trade, trained at Crane Company, so this was an easy fit for him. My Dad's parents were from Poland and he, himself, was a first generation American, who wholeheartedly embraced the American principles of "life and liberty." He always said that the stories he read in the newspapers about what Hitler was doing in Europe, taking over country and country, made him want to fight. He enlisted on June 12, 1941, which was six months before Pearl Harbor.

I loved to listen to his stories, whether it was about the time his unit was on the ship heading for the invasion dressed in desert fatigues when suddenly in the middle of the night they were given new camouflage fatigues. This was an way to fool Hitler into believing that the invasion would come through Africa, rather than Europe. Another story, a funny one, was about the time he was testing a motorcycle after repairs. He was speeding (Dad always had a heavy foot), crashed and ended up in a hospital in Belgium. He said he was waiting to see those cute army nurses, when he found himself surrounded by monks who had turned their monastery into a hospital. Oh well, he must have received a lot of prayers because he made it home safely and in one piece.

When the movie, "Saving Private Ryan," came out I asked him if he wanted to see it and he politely declined, saying, "I saw it once already and that was enough." I always remember his description of the landing at Omaha Beach as exactly the way Spielberg portrayed it in the movie. Speaking of movies, the last scene in the movie, "Life is Beautiful," shows an American G.I. rolling through with his tank and giving a little boy who had survived in a concentration camp a ride on the top of the soldier's tank. My Dad told of a similar experience, pushing through France and Belgium to liberate a concentration camp in Germany, only to find that the Nazis killed almost everyone before the Americans could get there. He always talked about how sorry he was that they couldn't get there in time. However, I really think that the evil and lunacy that one sees in war happened when he described a situation at the end of the war, that according to him, was caused by the politicians and not the soldiers. His unit was at the Elbe River in Germany. German soldiers were surrendering with their hands up in the air. The Russian Army (our ally) was on the other side and they were just shooting down the Germans and the American were told just do nothing. My Dad was really bothered by this because as a soldier he was an adherent of the policy that you should not shoot someone who is surrendering. Perhaps, this led to his cynicism toward politics later in his life.

Now reflecting on these stories and my Dad's service to his country that gave him 1 service stripe, 3 service bars, the American Defense Service Ribbon, the American Campaign Medal, the European African Middle Eastern Theater Ribbon with 3 Bronze Battle Stars and the Good Conduct Medal, I can count myself as one of the children of the men who fought to destroy evil and restore freedom with their own lives. I can just hope and pray that when it is my turn to do the same and "spearhead" the cause of liberty and freedom in God's name, I will do the same.

One more thing, my Dad had a great devotion to St. Joseph (his namesake) and St. Therese of Lisieux (often called the Little Flower of Jesus) and always credited his life to their intercession.

HERE IS A GREAT YOUTUBE VIDEO OF THE 3RD ARMORED DIVISION:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUWzvu1Z4Pc

the poor or THE POOR?

As a Christian I am very familiar with all the exhortations in Scripture about the poor and serving them. In fact, according to the Concordance in my NIV Bible there are 74 verses that have to do with the poor. The strongest verse, I think, is Jesus telling the rich young man what he is lacking, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell all your possessions and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come follow me." (Matt. 19:21) Growing up Catholic, I always thought this verse only applied to the missionary priests and nuns who were serving the poor around the world. Certainly, Mother Teresa and her sisters are excellent examples of people who serve the poor. But what about me? How have I really served the poor? Oh, I have made donations to the poor at church, at work and especially during the Christmas season when I make donations to the Salvation Army bell-ringers and the Toys-for-Tots program at the school where I teach. But, is this really SERVING the poor?

My thoughts about the poor became intensified when I recently read three books, What is the What? by Dave Eggers, Q&A (populary known as Slumdog Millionaire)by Vikas Swarup and There Are No Children Here by Alex Kotlowitz. The first and third book are true stories that deal with children suffering from poverty and violence. The former takes place halfway around the world in the Sudan and the latter takes place in inner city Chicago (my own backyard). More people are familiar with Slumdog because of the Academy award winning movie, which takes place in the slums of India. As I read these books, my heart was troubled. How can this be happening to these kids? Does anyone care? What is the cause? How can the violence and poverty be stopped? What is the government doing? What is the church doing? Are donations enough? I don't think so. What can I do? Here's a great quote from Mother Teresa, "Let us not be satisfied with just giving money. Money is not enough, money can be got, but they need your hearts to love them. So, spread your love everywhere you go. "

Spreading love and helping the poor is just what my church's monthly Food Pantry is doing. My husband and I made the step to get involved by helping with the food distribution during its monthly evening hours. Jesus did send them out two by two.

When we arrived to work at the Food Pantry one of the first things I had to do was guard my heart against making any judgements as literally hundreds of people gathered in the back of the church. These people were not book characters, but living breathing human beings; a unique assortment of ages and ethnicities. Many of our church's Food Pantry customers don't speak English but Spanish, so we have to have enlist the help our Spanish Deacon and his wife to translate the procedure for food distribution. Each participant must register and obtain an I.D. card, which helps our church learn the names of the people and families we are serving. Then, as people arrive they are given a number, just like at the deli counter. When their number is called they line up and receive a ticket for a bag of groceries and another bag of assorted items that they can pick through, like toiletries, juices, candy, diapers or whatever the pantry receives from donations.

The first couple of times I worked at the pantry it was my job to unpack donated items and place them on a table for later distribution. I wanted to welcome everyone with a smile and hello. What surprised me is that the evening had the atmosphere of a party and social gathering. There were people chatting, children running, and babies crying, all in the church. Everyone was happy and thankful for this service. Many people, who I didn't even know, were thanking me all night. The merry atmosphere was contagious. And the end of the evening I carried the merriment home with me.

The following months I had the job of announcing the numbers and directing people from the church to the line in the lobby for their tickets. That was really a fun job. I called, signed numbers with my hands, so those who didn't understand English could tell it was their turn to get in line. I found myself making a connection to all the young children as I tried to engage them in the counting of numbers in English. Again, it was fun and it was very apparent that everyone there was enjoying each other and the "drama," that I put into announcing the numbers. For those individuals reading this post, this type of language communication is called, TPR, or Total Physical Response, which pairs listening to a target language with actions. Sort of like charades. Like charades it has a game-like quality and is loads of FUN. I found myself thoroughly enjoying this service to the poor. I also got to personally chat with a number of different people. A 73-year old woman, who called herself, "the little old lady from Pasedena," many young girls who were eager to help with straightening out the hymnals after the younger children played with them, and even a couple of teen-age boys who helped me translate the need for having one's I.D. card ready to help the ticket line move more quickly. Just being there with the poor and seeing their hope and happiness ignited by free bags of groceries gave me a deep feeling of joy, though my feet did hurt from standing all night. What I'm learning is how to live out more of God's love in my life: "We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel, but our lives as well, because you had become so dear so us." (1 Thess. 2:8) For me, the title to the post becomes capital letters in my life.

Hummingbirds and raccoons

After a long Midwest winter, I longingly look forward to springtime, which means my hummingbirds will return to my garden. I get out my feeders and go to Wal-Mart to stock up on hummingbird food. I carefully mix the powder with water and add some extra sugar because I know my birdies love the added sweetness. My husband and I also purchase some annuals for our flower boxes. The type of flower is not as important as the color, eye-popping red is guaranteed to be the perfect eye candy for the hummingbirds. Perhaps the vivid red delivers a sweeter nectar, but I'm not sure. With all my careful preparations in place, I received my reward. The sweet red juice brought the sweet sound of hummingbird wings. They had arrived!

I carefully positioned myself to observe these marvelous creatures enjoying a free feast provided by moi. Springtime had arrived and summer was coming quickly. However, I would soon be robbed of my joyful bird watching.

One morning as I looked out my window, I noticed that my feeder was completely empty.

Someone or something had drunk all the red juice. I quickly made another batch and filled my feeder once again. Perhaps, I thought, the wind and rain had spilled out the juice. This time I added more sugar just to make sure that my birds would thoroughly enjoy their food and tell all their friends about the super sweet taste. But once again, the next morning the feeder was empty. Now who was the culprit? Cats, bats, raccoons, coyotes and fox all frequent the woods behind our house. This required a plan. Each night just after dusk (which is a busy feeding time), I took my feeder in for the night. This plan worked for a few days until one evening I forgot to take the feeder in and sure enough it was empty in the morning. What was I to do? With paper and pen in hand I wrote myself a couple of large notes reading, "Bring in the bird feeder." and left them in conspicuous places around the house and this time and each day after I did not forget. Oh, I even found the culprit, which was a huge raccoon that I saw one evening at twilight (no vampires where I live) slowly scout my yard, deck and feeder. I was the conqueror and once again my birdies could delight in their nectar and I could delight in watching them.

Lesson learned: Many predators want to rob us of our joy, happiness and delight in the Lord. They may not look fierce (raccoons are kinda cute), but their sole purpose is to steal our bread of life, Jesus. We have to have a plan and remember it day after day. For me, most recently, when my joy in the Lord was taken away by the cynicism of others or my own sinful nature I needed to use the "sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God" (Ephesians 6:17) to thwart the schemes of the enemy. Also, I constantly needed to remind myself to do this and not try to manage any battle in my own strength. It was and is a lesson that I hope to remember everytime I hear the flutter of those hummingbird wings.

A Mother's Day Reflection: Praying Moms Make a Difference

Praying for my children has always been a joy. However, when they reached their teen years, my prayers became more fervent. It seemed that I was encountering a new kind of battle. I felt like a mother lioness, backed into a corner, trying to protect her young from a charging enemy. Peer pressure, drugs, alcohol, foul language, and sex, seemed to surround my children on all sides, especially from popular music, movies and television. (which at the time wasn't even cable). I didn't know what to do, so I cried out to God and He led me right to a neighborhood religious bookstore called, HIS PLACE. I casually walked in and looked around the store. My eye caught a pamphlet about a group of moms, called MOMS IN TOUCH.

I read through the booklet and discovered that there was an actual organization of moms praying for their children on a weekly basis, fighting against all the problems of childhood and adolescence. I wrote to the organization and asked for materials on how to pray. I soon learned of a woman named, Fern Nichols, who lived in Poway, California, who was also backed into a corner and prayed. Led by the Lord and her desire to protect her children, she started a movement of praying moms that today number over 20,000 groups and more than 150,000 women world wide. This ministry is called Mom in Touch: moms who are in touch with God, their children, their schools and one another through prayer. http://www.momsintouch.org/
Fern's vision is to have every child and every school covered in prayer.

Through Moms in Touch, I learned the four steps of prayer: Praise, Confession, Thanksgiving and Intercession. I talked with other moms at my daughter's school and we started praying. We would gather once a week for an hour of prayer; and God was faithful and answered. He answered prayers about the transition from middle school to high school, prayers about finding good friends, prayers about grades, prayers about school activities, prayers about jobs, prayers about driving, prayers about church youth groups, prayers about choosing the right college, and on and on. Sixteen years later I am still part of a Moms In Touch group, now praying for my adult children (no grandchildren yet), jobs, friends, and spouses. Most of all that their faith in the Lordship of Jesus is strengthened and His power made perfect in their lives.

This year Moms in Touch International will celebrate their 25 anniversary. They are hosting Arise! Cry Out!, a worldwide day of extraordinary prayer for children and schools on November 14, 2009. I believe that there can be no higher calling for any mom than passionate intercessory prayer for the body, soul and spirit of her children. I would strongly recommend the book, Every Child Needs a Praying Mom by Fern Nichols for more inspirational stories of prayers prayed, lessons learned, and battles won. Philippians 4: 6&7"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Oh, because of MIT and intercessory prayer, I have experienced my own spiritual growth that would best be described as swimming a long distance, while feeling both tired and refreshed at the same time. My bumper sticker, "Praying Moms Make a Difference."

All the women we loved

I recently received a forwarded e-mail from a friend with an attachment labeled, " All the women we loved." Sometimes I just delete forwards, but I usually enjoy female perspectives on almost any topic, so I opened it. This one surprised me with various photographs of female television and movie actresses, then and now. Names that I'm sure anyone over 50 would recognize, Annette Funicello, Elke Sommer, Anne Margaret, Jill St. John, Barbara Eden, Elizabeth Taylor, Raquel Welch. These ladies were my generation's vision of beauty: blond, brunette and red head. The slide show listed their ages from 64 through 91. Some of the ladies aged well and others did not; but one thing was surely evident they did all age! Sagging skin, wrinkles, and grey hair.

This aging process is, indeed, one that slowly seeps into all our skins, and unfortunately quickens with time. I, too, am dealing with this as I approach the big 60. These photos made me stop and reflect, one of those, "What's it all about?" moments. I found many comforting verses in my Bible, here's just one: "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." 1Samuel 16:7. Though my physical appearance is aging, my heart is growing softer and younger. Gone are the critical attitudes, cynicism, and covetousness of youth. They have been replaced by a deeper understanding of who God is and who I am not. Yet a desire to be all that He wants me to be is renewed daily. Hopefully, through my remaining years with his help, I can get there. Though my face and body will be old, I'll have an Easter heart, that will dazzle the world.

What's in a name?

"What's in a name? A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet," ponders Shakespeare's Juliet as she reflects on her lover's name that is also the name of her enemy. So why did I pick the name, "Easter Eagle" for my blog? A couple of reasons. First: Eagles are beautiful creatures that fly above the heavens at great heights surveying the happenings on earth. Majestically, they scan for movement, weighting the possibility of a food source. Even though I am afraid of heights, as I look to the sky I often wonder what it would be like to fly and see everything at once. Would height and speed give me a new perspective, one that I'm lacking on earth?

Now comes the Easter part. Of course I have a new perspective, thanks to JESUS, one of eternity.

Easter, the day of His resurrection allows me a whole new perspective on life, one that I would like to share with others. Therefore, I have chosen the name Easter Eagle as my official pen name.

Hope you enjoy the view!