Missing It.....

Come spend time with me, a little voice said to me.

And I WANTED to.

It had been a while since we spent time just us, together.

But the day was just beginning and I was busy.

Yet I thought and thought and thought about that voice.

I said to myself, “Well he knows my heart.”

And yet I still thought and thought and felt just awful.

How could I just turn away from him?

The sun was bright on my face and it would have been the perfect time,

If it were not for ME complaining that it was not the right time for ME.

And then I thought, what if he stops asking?

What if he grows tired of me putting him off with a thousand “laters?”

Or “tomorrow, I promise,” or “how about we talk while I do the dishes or fold laundry?”

After all something is better than nothing, I reasoned, though I would never accept that kind of “quality time” from Joel in place of us being alone and spending time together.

But I would accept that with him.

Should I have told him I loved him when he asked me to spend time with him?

Would he have believed me by my actions and not just my words?

Hmmmmm….

And I knew I had blown it, like eating brownies after the kids have gone to bed, blown it.

Why?

Because my flesh is weak. It has been allowed to feast without restraint. It is lazy and hence I am lazy.

And another little voice, this one different comes now and sweetly asks me if she can have breakfast.

Now, instead of getting out of bed when I was sweetly asked by my Lord, who wanted to spend the quiet of the day with just me alone, I roll out to feed my littles.

And I will feed them, but how much more could I feed them of that food that will last after yet another bowl of oatmeal has gone.

Sigh.

And I pour oatmeal and sigh, and begin another day, knowing I had missed out on something sweet.

Because I was lazy.

And I am not saying that if you miss your appointment with the Lord in the wee hours of the morning you are sinning.

I AM saying that when He calls and you put him off, you are missing it.

Missing what is really important.

More important than your sewing project, your one hour of good morning sleep, your book, or and early dinner.

I know that the Lord is grieved when we do not spend time with him, just you and him.

He IS jealous over us with a godly jealousy.

And I think of Joel eating out with his friends and how long it has been since we have gone anywhere alone.

Just us enjoying being together.

I miss him.

Do I miss the Lord?

Do I treat him like a friend who left us a message wanting to “catch up” and we put off that phone call, not because we do not like the friend, but there is JUST SO MUCH to do and SO MUCH catching up to do.

It is easier to just try to see if it will magically go away?

Hmmmm…

And I wash oatmeal bowls, and I make shopping lists,

And I am sorry.

And I say, “Lord, I am yours. I am your servant. You bought me. YOU lifted my feet out of the miry clay. YOU know my dowsitting my uprising, and you alone understand my thought afar off. Meet again with me today. I love you. I love you more than anything and more than anyone.”

And the sun hits my Bible just so on the chair in the living room and I know I need to get some of that “living water” and pile some littles on my lap….

Do you have a date with God friends?

Grape jam hilariousness....

I am a fan of jam.

Always have been, always have been.

Jam and bread of some kind or fashion deserve each other.

Like Barak and Michele……only in a good way.

Nothing says, “Hello Day,” like toast with jam and tea.

I know, I’m not even English.

And I like jam so much that I have come to cringe and such expressions as, “Boy I am really in a jam,” and it is “Jam packed.”

However being in jam does sound lovely and sometimes you would think that my two year old swam in it after our ritual lunch of pbj.

And my jam jars are pretty packed so as to not waste jam or space for that matter.

I have not been offended by the phrase, “You got yourself in a real pickle,” YET, though the more I enjoy the bread and butter ones we canned a few months ago, I am getting a little unfond of it.

And red squiggle I personally think that “unfond” should be a word.

Yeah, it’s been a while since I have gotten out of the house, but stick with me and you’ll get a good laugh somewhere in here I promise!

So with all these things in mind, we fast forward to family devotions.

Good times.

The kids gathered round Joel and I, Joel going through the Old Testament, reading names like, “Dodo” and “Puah . “

Uh, yeah that’s in there….. go see for yourself.

And I am supposed to listen with the clan and NOT laugh.

Seriously?

So….. on we go through Judges and we land on Sampson tonight.

And just as my tired mind was beginning to wander off to my shopping list…… hey at least I am truthful!

My ear caught something about the regulations put before Sampson’s Mom and Dad.

Apparently at our house Sampson was not to eat any fruit of the vine.

And that might possibly be the way the story goes at YOUR house with YOUR kids, but wait! There’s more….

Dear husband who worked an 11 hour shift is getting weary and as he describes to the wee ones what the “fruit of the vine” entails he slips something in there that erupted spontaneous internal laughs from someone who will remain anonymous who just may be typing this….

He said, “The fruit of the vine was grape juice, wine and…… grape jelly.”

Ok even now I just die laughing………..

My eyebrows raised, my dimples shone and the giggles were as stifled as they can possibly be.

GRAPE JELLY??

Poor Sampson.

Whatever did his Mom pack in his school lunches anyhow???

No wonder he rebelled and gave away his secrets…… I mean a man can only go so long with out a crustless pbj with crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly.

And the even funnier thing is that the kids actually looked like they felt sorry for him, as if he had to abide by rules that they themselves could never follow…. LOL

And I will say that the grape jelly touch added such twenty first century-ness to the Old Testament.

And we prayed and brushed teeth and sent the troops to bed and I turned to sweet exhausted hubby and smiled,

“Grape jelly, huh?”

And he gave me the, don’t even go there smile and we all turned in for the night.

But you can be sure that Hubby’s lunch will NOT contain something tomorrow.

Yep. Grape jelly.

Instead there will be a note telling him that today we will abide by Sampson’s nazarite vow.

Today there will be no grape jelly, no grape juice and certainly no grape wine.

Today there will be strawberry jam.

Buttered Noodles and Barely Friends

Buttered noodles late into the night here in Humphrey.

And there is just something about butter.

And noodles.

Butter loosens everything up and makes it so much more appetizing.

I am sure you have heard the analogy about a woman’s brain being like a plate of noodles?

Or one looooong noodle actually.

One long noodle beginning at birth and carrying all the happiness and worries and blessings and scars from life as we have lived it, weaving everything into present day so you can be making buttered noodles at 10 on a Monday night and be able to still recall moments from your childhood before the butter melts.

Amazing really.

Though we try, we do not categorize things. We just meld everything together into our noodle of living.

Good and bad sit together on our plate of heaping pasta called our memory.

Recently I read someone’s blog who quite poetically spoke about not closing the door to friendship.

We have all been there.

Time and distance or past hurt have separated you for some reason or another and you are a hair’s breadth away from not only closing the door, but duck tapping and pad locking it shut.

For keeps.

Some friendships surprise you.

The door grows cobwebs, the hinges are just about rusted through and you have given up hope. You don’t say much about it or do much about it, you kindov ease away from it and prepare to forget it.

And then it happens. Just a note in passing, just four words, just a lifetime of memories and good times that come flooding back in moments buttering everything and loosening up what was tight and awkward.

“Just thinkin’ about you.”

And a sweet breeze catches the cobwebs and wide the door to your friendship swings and your heart soars with new hope.

I have been the one to send the note, and I have been the one to receive it.

I have been blessed to push the door open and blessed when it swings of its own accord.

Where are you with a friend?

Tonight I was a recipient of one of those notes. Unexpected.

From my sister.

I am the third in a string of girls. One smart, one distant and one loud.

I will leave you to choose which one I was and still am.

And it seemed like we were always our own forces, my sister and I.

Never headed in the same direction, never meeting in the middle, never understanding the other or what was happening in their life.

So we ran silent.

My heart begged for her acceptance. Years passed and many tears and pleas and “why don’t you like me’s” finally turned into, “have it your way.”

And I could have cared less about the door to our friendship.

It was in the cellar of an old house and an old life.

I was grown up now and needed to find my own way without her.

And more years would go by and I would find myself remembering her birthday and her favorite candy and wanted to reach out but almost forgot how.

Perhaps the past just bled too far into the future to try to remedy things. Let the sleeping dog lie.

Yet I always still wanted her to love me.

I wanted her to like who I had become.

Still more years would pass before I would even try to find the doorknob.

And then I became so brokenhearted. I remembered that our years are so fleeting, so brief, soon gone. I didn’t want something to happen to her or I and she not know that deep down, though hidden, I loved her.

I liked her.

So I would tell her here and there.

Family gatherings and such.

I stared sitting closer, listening more and talking less, until one day before she was to go in for surgery, I went to see her just to pray over her. Pray with her, face to face.

And I left her and wept on the long drive home.

Because I love her.

Because I missed her.

Because she is my sister, my own flesh and blood friend and no matter where a door is hidden it can never be removed. Though closed there will always be a crack of light reminding me that it is still there if I would take the time to open it.

And then tonight, unexpected, swinging the door open for me to see was a note.

She loves me.

And it fell on me like water to a thirsty soul.

And it filled cracks that I forgot that I had.

And I wrote her back…..

Telling her that I love her too.

There is little as sweet as renewing an old friendship.

Find a door.

Send a note.

Today.