STRETCH MARKS
Kimberly Stuart
David C. Cook
Fiction
ISBN: 9780781448925
Reviewing for: FIRST Wild Card
Tour Date: Before October 31, 2009
Author’s Website: Kimberly Stuart
Back Cover:
My Review:
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Review: Stretch Marks
STRETCH MARKS
Kimberly Stuart
David C. Cook
Fiction
ISBN: 9780781448925
Reviewing for: FIRST Wild Card
Tour Date: Before October 31, 2009
Author’s Website: Kimberly Stuart
Back Cover:
My Review:
Monday, September 28, 2009
Review: Its Not About Him
ITS NOT ABOUT HIM
Michelle Sutton
Sheaf House
Fiction
ISBN: 9780979748578
Reviewing for: CFBA
Tour Date: September 28
Author’s Website: Michelle Sutton
Back Cover:
My Review:
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Easy Enchilada Casserole
I don't know what's wrong with me, but I can't stop. Maybe now that I have all this time at home, I have time to try new recipes. Add this one to the list...
Easy Enchilada Casserole (from Megan @ Fried Okra)
2 lbs. ground beef
1-15 oz. can tomato sauce
1 can mushroom soup
1-10 oz. can mild enchilada sauce
8 oz. cheddar cheese, grated
8 oz. mozzarella cheese, grated
12 corn tortillas
Brown and drain ground beef. Stir in tomato sauce, soup and enchilada sauce. Heat through. Cut tortillas into small pieces. In 9 X 13 pan, layer 1/2 the tortilla pieces, 1/2 hamburger mixture and 1/2 cheeses. Repeat layers (end with cheese). Bake at 350° for 30 minutes.
Easy Enchilada Casserole (from Megan @ Fried Okra)
2 lbs. ground beef
1-15 oz. can tomato sauce
1 can mushroom soup
1-10 oz. can mild enchilada sauce
8 oz. cheddar cheese, grated
8 oz. mozzarella cheese, grated
12 corn tortillas
Brown and drain ground beef. Stir in tomato sauce, soup and enchilada sauce. Heat through. Cut tortillas into small pieces. In 9 X 13 pan, layer 1/2 the tortilla pieces, 1/2 hamburger mixture and 1/2 cheeses. Repeat layers (end with cheese). Bake at 350° for 30 minutes.
Vicki's Quick, Easy, & Delicious Enchiladas
Vicki's Quick, Easy, & Delicious Enchiladas
1 lb ground beef (remember, I have mine pre-cooked in the freezer)
1 can cream mushroom soup
1 can enchilada sauce
8 oz shredded cheese
corn tortillas
*onion
*4 oz diced green chiles
1. Heat cooked meat in skillet, add soup and enchilada sauce.
2. Add chopped onion and green chiles if desired. 3. Bring to a boil & simmer about 20 minutes. 3. Fry tortillas in small amount of oil about 5 seconds each, fill with cheese, roll up.
4. Place in sauce and heat just long enough for cheese to melt. Serves 4.
El Dorado Casserole
El Dorado Casserole by recipegoldmine.com this makes a lot
easy and uses few dishes
1 lb ground beef (remember, I keep this in the freezer already browned)
1 med onion, ch.
1/2 t garlic powder
16 oz tomato sauce
1 c sliced black olives
8 oz sour cream
1 c cottage cheese
3/4 c chopped green chiles
7 oz crushed tortilla chips
8 oz Monterey Jack cheese, shredded
1. Cook beef until browned. Drain. Add onion through olives. Cook over low until onion is clear. Combine sour cream, cottage cheese, chiles.
2. Layer half chips, meat mixture, sour cream mixture, and cheese in 2 1/2 qt casserole (no bigger). Repeat.
3. Bake at 350 30 minutes. Serves 8!
easy and uses few dishes
1 lb ground beef (remember, I keep this in the freezer already browned)
1 med onion, ch.
1/2 t garlic powder
16 oz tomato sauce
1 c sliced black olives
8 oz sour cream
1 c cottage cheese
3/4 c chopped green chiles
7 oz crushed tortilla chips
8 oz Monterey Jack cheese, shredded
1. Cook beef until browned. Drain. Add onion through olives. Cook over low until onion is clear. Combine sour cream, cottage cheese, chiles.
2. Layer half chips, meat mixture, sour cream mixture, and cheese in 2 1/2 qt casserole (no bigger). Repeat.
3. Bake at 350 30 minutes. Serves 8!
This Is Addicting
...looking through all these recipes. This one, I make several batches every winter - pretty much using this same recipe, minus the chocolate coated candy and raisins. The big difference thought, is doing it in a crock pot. I will have to try that. Interesting....
FAMILY FAVORITE PARTY MIX
1 c. bite size crispy wheat cereal squares
1 c. bite size crispy rice cereal squares
1 c. bite size crispy corn cereal squares
1 c. peanuts
1 c. pretzel sticks
1/4 c. butter, melted
2 T. Worcestershire sauce
1 t. seasoned salt
1 t. garlic salt
1 c. candy-coated chocolates
1 c. raisins
Combine cereals, peanuts and pretzels in a slow cooker; set aside. Mix together butter, Worcestershire sauce and salts; gently stir into cereal mixture. Cover and cook on low setting for 3 to 4 hours.
Uncover and cook on low settings for an additional 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Drain mix on paper towel-lined baking sheets; transfer to a large bowl. Cool. Add candy-coated chocolates and raisins; toss to mix. Store in an airtight container. Makes 7 cups.
One More
Impossible Apple Pie
8 tart apples -- peeled, sliced
1 1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp allspice
1/4 tsp nutmeg
3/4 cup milk
2 Tbsp. softened butter
3/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cups Bisquick -- divided
1/3 cup brown sugar
3 Tbsp cold butter
Combine apples -- cinnamon, allspice, and nutmeg in slow cooker. Toss thoroughly. Combine milk soften butter, sugar, eggs, vanilla, and 1/2 cup Bisquick. Spoon over apples. Combine the remaining 1 cup Bisquick and brown sugar. Cut cold butter into mixture until crumbly. Sprinkle this mixture over top of apple mixture. Cover and cook on low for 6-7 hours until apples are soft.
Saving A Recipe
Stephanie, over at Aggieland Mommy Cooks, participates in a meme called "Slow Cooker Thursday". I don't have any recipes to continue to this meme, but this recipe that she contributed some time back sounds WON-DER-FUL, and I want to try it. The best way for me to remember where I "wrote it down" is to post it right here at my blog. I will be trying it in the next day or or two, and will let you know how we liked it. Thanks Stephanie! You might hop over there and visit her blog. She has several different blogs - this one is devoted just to cooking. Lots of yummy recipes I saw as I skimmed through.Taco Casserole (Crock Pot) from book: Fix It and Forget It
1 1/2 lbs ground beef, browned
14 1/2 oz can rotel
10 3/4 oz can cream of onion soup
1 pkg dry taco seasoning
1/4 c water
6 corn tortillas cut into 1/2" strips
1/2 c sour cream
1 c shredded cheddar cheese
2 green onions, sliced
1. Combine beef, tomatoes (rotel), soup, seasoning, and water in slow cooker.
2. Stir in tortilla strips.
3. Cover. Cook on low 7-8 hours.
4. Spread sour cream over casserole. Sprinkle with cheese.
5. Cover. Let stand 5 minutes until cheese melts.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
To-Do Tuesday
Fold Clothes
Blog Entry
Visit and Comment
Do entry(s) responding to comments left for me
Participate in a daily meme
Walk to the stop sign
Wednesday
Finish filling out survey papers
Call the various hospitals about payment
Walk to the stop sign
Fold clothes
Declutter 2 boxes from office
Blog Entry
Visit and Comment
Do entry(s) responding to comments left for me
Participate in a daily meme
Thursday
Walk to the stop sign
Fold clothes
Declutter 2 boxes from office
Blog Entry
Visit and Comment
Do entry(s) responding to comments left for me
Participate in a daily meme
Friday
Walk to the stop sign
Fold clothes
Declutter 2 boxes from office
Blog Entry
Visit and Comment
Do entry(s) responding to comments left for me
Participate in a daily meme
Saturday
Walk to the stop sign
Fold clothes
Declutter 2 boxes from office
Blog Entry
Visit and Comment
Do entry(s) responding to comments left for me
Participate in a daily meme
Sunday
Open Day
Monday
Walk to the stop sign
Fold clothes
Declutter 2 boxes from office
Blog Entry
Visit and Comment
Do entry(s) responding to comments left for me
Participate in a daily meme
My list repeats itself, but at this point in time, that is what I need. Consistentcy. I too embarassed to put "get dressed" on the list, but quite honestly, it should be there. There are days I literally don't get dressed, that I stay in my nightgown all day. Those are my "not so good days". Today I got dressed, did things around the house, AND walked to the stop sign (1/4 of a block), so in my book these days ... today was a GOOD day.
What’s on your to-do list this week?
For more To-Do Tuesday, visit Crazy Adventures in Parenting.
The Stop Sign
I know for those of you who exercise regularly, and your routine is compounded of walking, you will walk several miles or for 30 minutes. I don't exercise regularly, and spending 21 days in the hospital really set me back to what I can and can't do. I lost alot of strength in my legs, not being able to lift them even high enough to get in my car now by my self. Or in the shower, which requires lifting my legs up and over the bathtub -- although, I am able to do it now, but its taken me 2 months to get to that point. David has been after me (in a gentle way) to get up and be more active. He'll come home and say "are you ready?"...meaning, are you ready to go for a walk. When I haven't even gotten dressed, and feeling sleepy is the only thing I have felt all day, of course I'm not ready.
Today, I was ready. I got up and got dressed. I folded clothes, put dishes in the dishwasher, picked up things around the house. I worked on the computer and I was ready for him when he got home.
We left the house, walked down the sidewalk and out on to the street. Did I want to walk uphill and then downhill on the way back? or walk downhill first, and conquer the uphill on the way home? Its not a big hill, matter of fact, you don't even notice it...unless you are walking. I decided to tackle walking uphill first.
I walked to the stop sign.
And back home. A whole 1/4 of a block. Isn't that pathetic? And yet...baby steps. I came home, collasped in my chair, and cried. Granted, I've never been an athletic person at any point in my life, but ... 1/4 of a block? To the end of the street and back (we live in the middle of the block)? Thats all I could do. And yet, I have to stop and think. The middle of June, I had to use a walker to get around. And just recently, we had to buy a plastic thing to put on our toilet to raise the seat so I didn't get stranded sitting there, like I did one night (an hour and a 1/2, because I couldn't get my footing or the leg strength to get up off our toilet as it was).
Its been a path of baby steps all summer. Yes, I should have been walking to the stop sign months ago. But, I didn't. But, that shouldn't undo what I did tonight. Or what I will do tomorrow and the next day. Baby steps. Its the stop sign today. And tomorrow. But next month, maybe it will the highway (2 blocks) , or the downtown (3 blocks). Its just a matter of pushing myself just a little bit more and a little bit more. Thats all I can do.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Happy Homemaker Monday
The weather in my neck of the woods:
Nice. In the 80's
One of my simple pleasures:
Cloud watching
On my bedside table:
Channel changer, pain pills, bottle of water, pair of scissors, diaper wipes, pill dispenser
On my TV:
Dr. Phil
On the menu for tonight:
Ham, scalloped potatoes, green beans
On my To Do List:
Get out and walk, keep laundry going, do the dishes
New Recipe I tried last week:
I didn't try any new ones last week :(
In the craft basket:
Sadly, blogging, reading, and journal writing have overwritten any crafts I used to do. My eyesight isn't good enough to do cross stitch anymore; and I've lost interest in crocheting.
Looking forward to:
HEALING !!!!!!! I have had a rough summer with an allergic reaction to Kelfex -- hundrededs of blood vessels all over my body. 99% of them have healed and right now have just left brown "age spot loooking" spots. But I have 5 of my legs, that can only be descriped as crater-looking spots. Big holes in m legs. 5 of them. And they hurt! and they are taking their sweet time healing!
Homemaking Tip for this week:
None, other than, never given up. Don't let housework overwhelm you, or you truly will become overwhelmed.
Favorite Blog Post of the week (mine or other):
Karen from Write from Karen blogs every day .. sometimes numerous times a day. And its not just mindless fluff. I always love what she has to say, and her thoughts weren't lost on me with this post: Setting Them Up To Succeed. She has 2 teenage boys, which I can relate to, having lived through the teenage boy life 10 years ago with my own teenage boys, as well as having one right now as well.
Favorite photo from last week:
:( Didn't take any. Really need to get on the stick with the my photo taking.
Lesson learned the past few days:
The more I walk, the more active I am, the better I feel ... physically, mentally, emotionally.
On my Prayer List:
The healing of my body, our minister search, the new secretary and her adjustment period, Ethan and his attitude, Sherry B., Bill H.
Devotionals, Scripture Reading, Key Verses:
We must pay more careful attention . . .
to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away.
Hebrews 2:1 NIV
to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away.
Hebrews 2:1 NIV
If you lose your faith, you will probably do so gradually. You will let a few days slip bywithout consulting your compassw. Your sails wil go untrimmed. Your rigging will go unprpared. And worst of all, you will forget to anchor your boat. And, before you know it, you'll be bouncing from wave to wave in stormy seas.
And unless you anchor deep, you could go down.
How do you anchor deep? Look at the verse again: "We must pay more careful attention . . . to what we have heard. . . ."
The most reliable anchor points are not recent discoveries, but are time-tested truths that have held their ground against the winds of change. Truths like: My life is not futile. My failures are not fatal. My death is not final.
Attach your soul to these boulders and no wave is big enough to wash you under.
**Credit**
Grace For The Moment (July 24)
Max Lucado
And unless you anchor deep, you could go down.
How do you anchor deep? Look at the verse again: "We must pay more careful attention . . . to what we have heard. . . ."
The most reliable anchor points are not recent discoveries, but are time-tested truths that have held their ground against the winds of change. Truths like: My life is not futile. My failures are not fatal. My death is not final.
Attach your soul to these boulders and no wave is big enough to wash you under.
**Credit**
Grace For The Moment (July 24)
Max Lucado
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Doing It Normally
Oops. I was looking at my notes in the my Day Planner...and I forgot one other "highlight" of my day that made it a good day. This is going to sound really silly, but, when you are somewhat helpless to do something, and then you are able to do it, its exciting, because you were challenged and you achieve what you were trying to do.
What is this exciting new accomplishement? I got in and out of the shower standing up. I didn't even look too funny doing it. Up until this point, I had to get in the shower, bent over, using the tub for support, and stretching my leg out straight to get in. Even before that, I had to have David in there to help me get in and out.
So, to get in the shower, having the leg strength to do it the way you have to do it when you have a tub/shower, by bending your knee, lifting it up, and clearing the tub, and then doing the same with the other one ... for the first time in 2 months, I was able to do it as a normal person!
What is this exciting new accomplishement? I got in and out of the shower standing up. I didn't even look too funny doing it. Up until this point, I had to get in the shower, bent over, using the tub for support, and stretching my leg out straight to get in. Even before that, I had to have David in there to help me get in and out.
So, to get in the shower, having the leg strength to do it the way you have to do it when you have a tub/shower, by bending your knee, lifting it up, and clearing the tub, and then doing the same with the other one ... for the first time in 2 months, I was able to do it as a normal person!
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Thursday Tidbits
Even though I was not looking forward to it, Thursday turned out to be a pretty good day. Thursday is the day we travel to Topeka to go to the Wound Care Doctor. The nurse takes a pair of tweezers and picks out the dead skin of the open wounds I still have left. They put deadening cream on them, but it still hasn't helped. So, needless to say, they have been appointments that I would just as school canceled or rescheduled, but David wouldn't let me (imagine that).
The open wounds must be healing because, even though it hurt, this appointment wasn't as bad as these last few have been. At least I didn't cry like I did the last 2. I won't say it didn't hurt, but I was able to tolerate it.
After the appointment, I had several things on my shopping list of things we needed to get. We needed to stop at Sam's and at Walmart. Then stop for a Bloomin' Onion at Outback (to go), and pick up chicken to take home for supper as well. The last time we did this, all that sitting in the car made me extremely uncomfortable going home. My legs had swelled (edema), the wounds hurt more because of the picking at them. I just hurt, and it hurt going home.
So, this time, I decided I wouldn't make that mistake. I would go in to the 2 stores, but we would either take a wheelchair and David could push me and I'd push the cart, or I'd get a motorized chair. The end result was -- which made it a red lettered day for me was -- I ended up walking both stores. Yes, I walked slower than David, but the fact still remainds, I walked the whole big store of Sam's (what I was wanting was in the back far corner). And Walmart, I didn't walk as much ... as much as we had spent at Sam's, it was one of those "get in get out, don't look around" kind of shopping. And what we needed was all in the pharmacy area. I got what we needed, and then sat down and waited for my prescription to be filled. We got it, and paid for our other stuff and left.
When we were waiting for our Onion, we got to talking about the prescription they had just filled. I had had the same prescription filled here in town just a couple of weeks ago. The only difference was it was for 60 pills, not 100. However, we only paid $15.00 for the 60 ... so you would think $57 for 100 is just a bit much. While we were waiting, I called our pharmacy at home, and asked them about it, and she said she thought it would be around $25. David said for $27, he would drive back across town to try and do something about it.
He called them and questioned them, but he was on the line for so long, we decided after we got our Onion, we would just head on over there, regardless of what they said on the phone. Surprisingly enough, they took the prescription back and gave him the doctor written script back so we could get it filled somewhere else.
I don't like making waves, and I probably wouldn't have in this instance either -- just learning from my mistake and going on. But, I was kinda glad David did make waves and we were able to get my prescription at the cheaper price at home!
Waves or not, I did good day, with the amount of walking I did. Now, to just continue doing so and maybe I will see some improvements in leg strength, if not in wound healing.
The open wounds must be healing because, even though it hurt, this appointment wasn't as bad as these last few have been. At least I didn't cry like I did the last 2. I won't say it didn't hurt, but I was able to tolerate it.
After the appointment, I had several things on my shopping list of things we needed to get. We needed to stop at Sam's and at Walmart. Then stop for a Bloomin' Onion at Outback (to go), and pick up chicken to take home for supper as well. The last time we did this, all that sitting in the car made me extremely uncomfortable going home. My legs had swelled (edema), the wounds hurt more because of the picking at them. I just hurt, and it hurt going home.
So, this time, I decided I wouldn't make that mistake. I would go in to the 2 stores, but we would either take a wheelchair and David could push me and I'd push the cart, or I'd get a motorized chair. The end result was -- which made it a red lettered day for me was -- I ended up walking both stores. Yes, I walked slower than David, but the fact still remainds, I walked the whole big store of Sam's (what I was wanting was in the back far corner). And Walmart, I didn't walk as much ... as much as we had spent at Sam's, it was one of those "get in get out, don't look around" kind of shopping. And what we needed was all in the pharmacy area. I got what we needed, and then sat down and waited for my prescription to be filled. We got it, and paid for our other stuff and left.
When we were waiting for our Onion, we got to talking about the prescription they had just filled. I had had the same prescription filled here in town just a couple of weeks ago. The only difference was it was for 60 pills, not 100. However, we only paid $15.00 for the 60 ... so you would think $57 for 100 is just a bit much. While we were waiting, I called our pharmacy at home, and asked them about it, and she said she thought it would be around $25. David said for $27, he would drive back across town to try and do something about it.
He called them and questioned them, but he was on the line for so long, we decided after we got our Onion, we would just head on over there, regardless of what they said on the phone. Surprisingly enough, they took the prescription back and gave him the doctor written script back so we could get it filled somewhere else.
I don't like making waves, and I probably wouldn't have in this instance either -- just learning from my mistake and going on. But, I was kinda glad David did make waves and we were able to get my prescription at the cheaper price at home!
Waves or not, I did good day, with the amount of walking I did. Now, to just continue doing so and maybe I will see some improvements in leg strength, if not in wound healing.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Review: Second Hand Jesus
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Secondhand Jesus: Trading Rumors of God for a Firsthand Faith
David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Glenn Packiam is an Associate Worship Pastor at New Life Church and the Director of New Life School of Worship in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He was one of the founding worship leaders and songwriters for the Desperation Band. Glenn's worship songs, like "Your Name", "Everyone (Praises)", "My Savior Lives", and "We Lift You Up", are being sung in churches all over the world. Glenn is the author of Butterfly in Brazil. Glenn and his wife, Holly, and their two adorable daughters, Sophia and Norah, live in Colorado Springs.Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 143476639X
ISBN-13: 978-1434766397
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Thursday
Life couldn’t have been any better. We had been in our new house for just over a year, and it was almost time to start decorating for the holidays. Winter’s frost was just blowing in over the Rocky Mountains. These were days of sipping hot chocolate and looking back over a year of steady church growth, rapidly expanding influence, and a company of close friends to enjoy it with. On top of all that, my wife, Holly, and I were expecting our second child, another girl. Life was good and there was no end in sight.
And then it was Thursday.
Everyone was distracted at work. There were meetings going on, first upstairs and then off campus, and later on campus in an impromptu staff meeting. Internet clips kept us glued to the screen as we tried desperately to decipher truth, accuracy, and some reason to believe the best. But as Thursday soldiered on, doubt was sitting lower and more heavily inside me.
I remember the feeling when I got home. My heart was kicking against my chest with frantic irregularity as I ran up the stairs to our room. The sinking, tightening knot in my stomach seemed to sink with each step. I opened our bedroom door, and with breathless shock sputtered, “Babe, some of it’s true.”
I had just returned from an elders’ meeting where I learned that the seemingly absurd accusations leveled against our beloved pastor had enough truth in them to warrant his removal from office. On Friday, we learned that he would never be allowed back. By Sunday, we were sitting in church with hot tears racing down our faces, listening to letters that told us words we never thought we would hear. Our pastor had been a prominent national figure because of his role as president of the National Association of Evangelicals. He had been featured on Barbara Walters and other major news shows, had been called the most influential pastor in America. It was the biggest religious debacle in my lifetime. And it happened at my church. My church.
Thursday came and everything changed; my unshakeable “good life” became a nightmare of uncertainty. Would the church implode? Would everyone leave? Would I have a job next week? Could I ever get hired in ministry again? The songs, the influence, the success, the notoriety—it all became foolishly irrelevant.
Slowly, I replayed the past. The preceding years had been heady times. Our pastor’s meteoric rise to the evangelical papacy paralleled the growing muscle of a conservative Christian movement now beginning to flex in the public square. The young men who had helped build our church, myself included, now found themselves swimming in much bigger circles of influence. We were talking to the press, traveling to Washington DC, and dropping more names than Old Testament genealogy. We had become powerful by association. And it was intoxicating. We were like the eager young men in Tobias Wolff’s fictitious memoir of an elite prep school on the Eastern Seaboard, full of idealism and world-changing dreams.
It was a good dream and we tried to live it out, even while knowing that we were actors in a play, and that outside the theater was a world we would have to reckon with when the curtain closed and the doors were flung open.1
On Thursday, the theater doors flung open. The dream was over now. There was no thought of making an impact or changing the world. It was now about survival. How could we help our church stay intact?
As the days became weeks, it became clear that our church was made up of strong families who truly were connected to each other. It is a community akin to a small Midwestern town. So what if the mayor is gone? We’re all still here. I watched men and women rally together in a heroic display of Christ-like love.
It wasn’t long before the shock of scandal gave way to the discomfort of introspection. This was ultimately not about a fallen pastor; it was about fallen nature, a nature we all have lurking within us. It became less about the worst being true about him, and more about the worst being true about us. We began to allow the Lord to turn His spotlight, one more piercing than the light of any cameras, on our own hearts. Secret sins, recurring temptations, hidden pride all looked sinister in His light. There was no such thing as a little white anything. Every weakness was now a dangerous monster with the potential of ruining our lives. Couples began to have difficult conversations with each other, friends became more vulnerable than they had ever been. Honest was the new normal. That sounds so strange to say.
But far beyond discussions and confessions, one question, one I never thought I would have trouble answering, relentlessly worked its way to my core. It surfaced from the pages of Henri Nouwen’s book, In the Name of Jesus. Nouwen had been an influential theology professor at Harvard, living at what most would have considered the apex of his career. But something was wrong.
After twenty years in the academic world as a teacher of pastoral psychology, pastoral theology, and Christian spirituality, I began to experience a deep inner threat. As I entered into my fifties …I came face to face with the simple question, “Did becoming older bring me closer to Jesus?” After twenty-five years of priesthood, I found myself praying poorly, living somewhat isolated from other people, and very much preoccupied with burning issues.2
But Nouwen’s inner wrestling was largely unnoticed by those around him, which made it more difficult for him to accurately gage the condition of his heart.
Everyone was saying that I was doing really well, but something inside was telling me that my success was putting my own soul in danger. I began to ask myself whether my lack of contemplative prayer, my loneliness, and my constantly changing involvement in what seemed most urgent were signs that the Spirit was gradually being suppressed … I was living in a very dark place and … the term “burnout” was a convenient psychological translation for spiritual death.3
Haunted by the emptiness of his own spiritual walk, Nouwen started on a journey that eventually led to his resignation from Harvard. He took a position as a chaplain at Le Arche, a care facility for the handicapped. There he learned what it meant to live out a life of love and servanthood, to live as Christ among the broken, to truly “lead in the name of Jesus.” I had read his profound and honest reflections years before, but as I reread them in the wake of the scandal, I found myself convicted. Nouwen’s question dealt with something deeper than sin; it was about the essence of the Christian life, the thing we must have above all else.
I remember sitting with a few friends in my living room on New Year’s Eve, reflecting on how insane 2006 had been. We decided to have a little dessert and ponder the year that was now in its closing hours. Each couple took turns reviewing highs and lows of the year. For the most part, it had been a good year. Bigger and better opportunities, unexpected financial success, the births of healthy children, and the accelerated elimination of debt were some of the items on the good list. But we had also experienced Thursday, and “bigger and better” now seemed as days long ago, auld lang syne. The events of that day in November now overshadowed everything the next year might hold. Everything was good now, but how long would it continue? Would the things that had gone awry last year create repercussions that would undermine all the things we had held so dearly? For some, the fear of losing the jobs they loved was becoming a distinct possibility. The reality of how suddenly a curve in the road can appear was sobering us.
And then I raised The Question: Did we—did I—know Christ more as a result of the passing of another year? Were we any closer to God? It was not the sort of question to answer out loud. I wrestled with it in silence. It was a question of my own relationship with Christ.
I have been a Christian since I was a young boy. I spent my high school years sitting in on the Old Testament history classes my mom taught at our church’s Bible college, listening to sermon tapes, and praying and planning with my dad as he and my mom planted a church. My youth was defined by long quiet times, meaningful journal entries, and leadership roles in our youth group. I was a theology major in college and had been in full-time, vocational ministry for six years. Yet in the wake of Thursday, none of this mattered. Did I truly know God … today? Was my knowledge of Him active and alive, or stale and sentimental?
There was no easy or succinct way to answer that question. But as I allowed it to burrow its way in my heart, I began to see something. I had long lived subconsciously believing that God was a sort of cosmic agent, working to get me bigger contracts and better deals while saving me from scammers and opportunists. God was my Jerry Maguire, my ambassador of quan, and my prayers were spiritually cloaked versions of asking Him to “show me the money.” Not necessarily literal money—just comfort, success, good friends, an enjoyably smooth road, an unmitigated path to the peak of my game.
If you had suggested that theology to me, I would have condemned it, criticized it, and denied three times that I even knew of it. It wasn’t until Thursday came and went that I saw what was lurking inside. I had slowly bought the suburban rumors of God. My house was an evidence of His blessing. Our growing church was an indication of God’s pleasure. Things were going to get better and better while I kept my life on cruise control. Never mind that I had struggled—mostly unsuccessfully—to have consistent time alone with God. Forget that I had hardly spent time worshipping God offstage.
The more my wife and I searched our own souls, the more we realized we had become passive, complacent, at times even indifferent about our own knowledge of God. We had been lulled to sleep by our own apparent success, numbed into coasting by our spiritual Midas touch.
What began in the days after Thursday was a journey, a road of uncovering and discovering, of stripping away what thoughts of God we now knew were rumors and finding again the face of Christ.
These were not rumors that came from one man, one pastor. In fact, it’s hard to say that any of them did. Any search for the headwaters would be misguided anyway. Because that’s not the point. It’s not where the rumors came from; it’s why they came at all.
Here’s what I’ve learned: Rumors grow in the absence of revelation. Every time we keep God at arm’s length, declining an active, living knowledge of Him, we become vulnerable to rumors. Lulled by false comfort and half-truths about God, we—in Keith Green’s famous words—fall asleep in the light.
What the Heck is Going On?
Until life comes to a screeching halt.
There are moments when time stands still. Our old vision of the world, like a scrim on a giant set, rolls up out of sight, leaving us with a jagged, stark picture of reality, its edges sharp, rough, and bare. Everything looks different, feels different. Things that once peppered our lives with meaning are now completely irrelevant and vain. Things we had ignored and overlooked are now incredibly clear, almost stunning in the forefront. The football team whose games you would never miss now seems horridly trivial. The powerful boss you were trying to impress, you now scorn and dismiss. The child you once wished would
just go to sleep, you now run to hold in your arms.
A death of a loved one, the finality of divorce, the weight of debt crushing into bankruptcy—these are the moments that shake us, that wake us up and make us numb all at the same time. My moment is not that tragic in light of others. I think of a friend whose wife is facing a medically incurable disease. Or another friend whose wife decided married life was overrated and the party scene was where she belonged. I know a father who can’t escape the grief of losing a child years ago. Sorrow covers him like a cape and time offers no oxygen. There is no way to compare tragic moments. The game of my-moment-is-worse-than-your-moment, while possible, is seldom profitable. Pain is acutely real to those who are breaking under its weight.
These are the “what the heck?” moments. The moments where everything stops except you, as you slowly look around. Examining. Reflecting. Puzzled. Bewildered. The silence is broken by a bellow from deep inside: “What the heck is going on?” Or some less sanitized version of the same. How could this be? And what’s more, how could this be while God is with me?
The psalmists understood this feeling well. Fully two-thirds of Psalms are laments, an old-fashioned term for a “what the heck?” moment prayer. Imagine these words being prayed at church:
Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? (Ps. 10:1)
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent. (Ps. 22:1–2)
My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” (Ps. 42:3)
These were covenant people, people to whom God had made an unbreakable promise, a promise to bless them, protect them, and make their days go well. So why on earth were they being pursued by enemies, losing their belongings, and getting depressed—all while watching the wicked flourish? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t lining up with the covenant—or at least their understanding of it. And so they took their complaint up with God.
What’s interesting is that for the most part, we don’t find out how God specifically responded. There are “Psalms of Thanksgiving,” where the psalmist restates his lament in the past tense—recounting how he was in trouble—and then gives thanks to God for delivering him. But the “lament psalms” grossly outnumber the “thanksgiving psalms.” We don’t know if all became well on earth all the time. But we are told two crucial things: the consistent character of God—good, just, faithful, loving—and the characteristic response of the psalmists—the choice, the vow, to praise. In one of the psalms quoted earlier, the words of lament are followed by these words of praise:
Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the praise of Israel. (Ps. 22:3)
Maybe in some ways, the Bible is written the way the Oracle in The Matrix prophesies: It only tells us what we need to know. It does not tell us all there is to know, only what we need for life and godliness. Here is the lesson of the psalmists: All of our experiences and emotions can become a springboard to find God and see Him for ourselves. God is present on every scene, waiting, wanting us to seek Him, believe in Him, and worship Him with every ounce of our existence.
Our discussion here is not first about suffering. The question of whether God causes it, allows it, or has nothing to do with it, has been voiced since the days in the garden. Our discussion here is simply that these moments—whether they come from our free will, the Devil’s evil schemes, or God’s strange providence—present us with an opportunity. Regardless of your theology, these two things are common to mankind: We all experience a measure of suffering, and every experience can be redeemed.
C. S. Lewis wrote, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”4
Crumbs of Rumor
Too often, we walk through life with our hands fixed firmly over our eyes and ears, ignoring and avoiding the living presence of Christ with us—maybe from fear or guilt or simple apathy. But every once in awhile, our hands are pried off our face, our eyes are almost forcibly opened, our ears are unplugged. We catch a glimpse for ourselves, a glimpse that will be our undoing. And our salvation. In that moment, we are ruined and redeemed by that little glimpse.
Job had that experience.
He never auditioned for the role, never signed up for the part.God chose him. He chose him, we are often told, to prove a point to the Devil. But I’m beginning to wonder if God chose him to show Himself to Job, to save Job from the stiff, straight lines he had drawn around God. Think about it. The story doesn’t end with the Devil returning to heaven and saying, “Okay, God, you win. You were right. Job didn’t curse you. He does indeed serve you for nothing.” If that were the central tension in the story, there is a glaring
lack of resolution.
A series of ridiculously unfortunate events befalls Job in a very short span of time. What takes place in the lengthy remainder of the book is a dialogue between Job, three of his friends, and a presumptuously precocious young man named Elihu. After sitting silently for seven days, the three friends can’t bear to hold in their wisdom. One by one they present their cases to Job, trying to explain why he is suffering and what he should do about it. They generally agree that things have gone so poorly for Job because of some hidden sin in his life. They plead with him to go before God, repent, rid himself of his sins, and make peace with the Almighty. Job refuses. He insists on his innocence and laments to God with words that are
uncomfortably honest.
Then Elihu speaks. He dismisses the elders’ wisdom, preferring his own fresh insight. He is less willing to condemn Job for sin, but not as reluctant to rebuke him for pride. He hints at God’s sovereignty and our inability to fully understand His ways. But he, too, echoes the familiar refrain that obedience will lead to a prosperous, pleasant life, and that disobedience will lead to tragedy and sorrow.
As arrogant and simpleminded as Job’s friends may seem to us, as hard as it is to imagine ourselves saying something like that to a friend who has just lost everything, remember that they are simply
articulating the prevailing wisdom of the day. It was their misguided understanding of the covenant that gave them this simple premise: Obey God, and all will be well; disobey, and you will suffer.
That formulaic and faulty view of the covenant may be the reason the book of Job is included in Hebrew Wisdom Literature. It may be that the purpose for the book of Job is to counter an overly black-and-white view of life. Perhaps God understood that humans would take the rich, profoundly unique covenant that He had made with His people and reduce it to simplistic, pithy phrases. Maybe God knows our propensity to redact the living words of relationship into rumors that spread like fire—and that sooner or later, we will get burned.
What if the book of Job is not all about some intergalactic dispute between God and the Devil? What if it’s really about revelation and relationship with mortals?
At the end of the story, after Job asks God over and over with the nagging persistence of a two-year-old why he has suffered, God responds. Not with answers, but with questions—questions that bring Job to his knees. Finally Job cries:
I admit I once lived by rumors of you; now I have it all firsthand—from my own eyes and ears! I’m sorry—forgive me. I’ll never do that again, I promise! I’ll never again live on crusts of hearsay, crumbs of rumor. (Job 42:5–6 MSG)
This is the climax of the book of Job. It’s the way this incredibly moving story of suffering resolves. The mention of God restoring to Job more than what he lost is sort of an afterthought, a footnote to the story. It comes after Job finds firsthand knowledge of God. The story of Job is first and foremost a salvation story: God saved Job from small, narrow, rumor-laden views of Himself. And then Job lived holy-ever-after. It’s what happens when rumors give way to revelation.
I have come to the uncomfortable realization that I have believed rumors about God that have kept me from Him, kept me from really knowing Him. I suspect I am not alone. This book is about some of the more popular rumors, and the path to finding the truth. What you read here is not intended to be the basis for your view of God. Instead, this book is an attempt to jog your mind, stir your heart, provoke your questions, and whet your appetite for the quest, for the journey that only you can take. The journey that Job took. A journey that is not necessarily one of suffering, but one that by design means eye-opening, paradigm-shattering discovery. So yes, in some sense it hurts. It’s a journey that begins with your fist to the sky and can end with your knees on the earth. A journey that begins with questions and ends with speechless worship.
Mine began on a Thursday.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:
1. What are some of your “what the heck?” moments?
2. Do you think your knowledge of Christ is active and alive or stale and
sentimental?
3. What are you looking for God to do in your heart as you read this
book?
Life couldn’t have been any better. We had been in our new house for just over a year, and it was almost time to start decorating for the holidays. Winter’s frost was just blowing in over the Rocky Mountains. These were days of sipping hot chocolate and looking back over a year of steady church growth, rapidly expanding influence, and a company of close friends to enjoy it with. On top of all that, my wife, Holly, and I were expecting our second child, another girl. Life was good and there was no end in sight.
And then it was Thursday.
Everyone was distracted at work. There were meetings going on, first upstairs and then off campus, and later on campus in an impromptu staff meeting. Internet clips kept us glued to the screen as we tried desperately to decipher truth, accuracy, and some reason to believe the best. But as Thursday soldiered on, doubt was sitting lower and more heavily inside me.
I remember the feeling when I got home. My heart was kicking against my chest with frantic irregularity as I ran up the stairs to our room. The sinking, tightening knot in my stomach seemed to sink with each step. I opened our bedroom door, and with breathless shock sputtered, “Babe, some of it’s true.”
I had just returned from an elders’ meeting where I learned that the seemingly absurd accusations leveled against our beloved pastor had enough truth in them to warrant his removal from office. On Friday, we learned that he would never be allowed back. By Sunday, we were sitting in church with hot tears racing down our faces, listening to letters that told us words we never thought we would hear. Our pastor had been a prominent national figure because of his role as president of the National Association of Evangelicals. He had been featured on Barbara Walters and other major news shows, had been called the most influential pastor in America. It was the biggest religious debacle in my lifetime. And it happened at my church. My church.
Thursday came and everything changed; my unshakeable “good life” became a nightmare of uncertainty. Would the church implode? Would everyone leave? Would I have a job next week? Could I ever get hired in ministry again? The songs, the influence, the success, the notoriety—it all became foolishly irrelevant.
Slowly, I replayed the past. The preceding years had been heady times. Our pastor’s meteoric rise to the evangelical papacy paralleled the growing muscle of a conservative Christian movement now beginning to flex in the public square. The young men who had helped build our church, myself included, now found themselves swimming in much bigger circles of influence. We were talking to the press, traveling to Washington DC, and dropping more names than Old Testament genealogy. We had become powerful by association. And it was intoxicating. We were like the eager young men in Tobias Wolff’s fictitious memoir of an elite prep school on the Eastern Seaboard, full of idealism and world-changing dreams.
It was a good dream and we tried to live it out, even while knowing that we were actors in a play, and that outside the theater was a world we would have to reckon with when the curtain closed and the doors were flung open.1
On Thursday, the theater doors flung open. The dream was over now. There was no thought of making an impact or changing the world. It was now about survival. How could we help our church stay intact?
As the days became weeks, it became clear that our church was made up of strong families who truly were connected to each other. It is a community akin to a small Midwestern town. So what if the mayor is gone? We’re all still here. I watched men and women rally together in a heroic display of Christ-like love.
It wasn’t long before the shock of scandal gave way to the discomfort of introspection. This was ultimately not about a fallen pastor; it was about fallen nature, a nature we all have lurking within us. It became less about the worst being true about him, and more about the worst being true about us. We began to allow the Lord to turn His spotlight, one more piercing than the light of any cameras, on our own hearts. Secret sins, recurring temptations, hidden pride all looked sinister in His light. There was no such thing as a little white anything. Every weakness was now a dangerous monster with the potential of ruining our lives. Couples began to have difficult conversations with each other, friends became more vulnerable than they had ever been. Honest was the new normal. That sounds so strange to say.
But far beyond discussions and confessions, one question, one I never thought I would have trouble answering, relentlessly worked its way to my core. It surfaced from the pages of Henri Nouwen’s book, In the Name of Jesus. Nouwen had been an influential theology professor at Harvard, living at what most would have considered the apex of his career. But something was wrong.
After twenty years in the academic world as a teacher of pastoral psychology, pastoral theology, and Christian spirituality, I began to experience a deep inner threat. As I entered into my fifties …I came face to face with the simple question, “Did becoming older bring me closer to Jesus?” After twenty-five years of priesthood, I found myself praying poorly, living somewhat isolated from other people, and very much preoccupied with burning issues.2
But Nouwen’s inner wrestling was largely unnoticed by those around him, which made it more difficult for him to accurately gage the condition of his heart.
Everyone was saying that I was doing really well, but something inside was telling me that my success was putting my own soul in danger. I began to ask myself whether my lack of contemplative prayer, my loneliness, and my constantly changing involvement in what seemed most urgent were signs that the Spirit was gradually being suppressed … I was living in a very dark place and … the term “burnout” was a convenient psychological translation for spiritual death.3
Haunted by the emptiness of his own spiritual walk, Nouwen started on a journey that eventually led to his resignation from Harvard. He took a position as a chaplain at Le Arche, a care facility for the handicapped. There he learned what it meant to live out a life of love and servanthood, to live as Christ among the broken, to truly “lead in the name of Jesus.” I had read his profound and honest reflections years before, but as I reread them in the wake of the scandal, I found myself convicted. Nouwen’s question dealt with something deeper than sin; it was about the essence of the Christian life, the thing we must have above all else.
I remember sitting with a few friends in my living room on New Year’s Eve, reflecting on how insane 2006 had been. We decided to have a little dessert and ponder the year that was now in its closing hours. Each couple took turns reviewing highs and lows of the year. For the most part, it had been a good year. Bigger and better opportunities, unexpected financial success, the births of healthy children, and the accelerated elimination of debt were some of the items on the good list. But we had also experienced Thursday, and “bigger and better” now seemed as days long ago, auld lang syne. The events of that day in November now overshadowed everything the next year might hold. Everything was good now, but how long would it continue? Would the things that had gone awry last year create repercussions that would undermine all the things we had held so dearly? For some, the fear of losing the jobs they loved was becoming a distinct possibility. The reality of how suddenly a curve in the road can appear was sobering us.
And then I raised The Question: Did we—did I—know Christ more as a result of the passing of another year? Were we any closer to God? It was not the sort of question to answer out loud. I wrestled with it in silence. It was a question of my own relationship with Christ.
I have been a Christian since I was a young boy. I spent my high school years sitting in on the Old Testament history classes my mom taught at our church’s Bible college, listening to sermon tapes, and praying and planning with my dad as he and my mom planted a church. My youth was defined by long quiet times, meaningful journal entries, and leadership roles in our youth group. I was a theology major in college and had been in full-time, vocational ministry for six years. Yet in the wake of Thursday, none of this mattered. Did I truly know God … today? Was my knowledge of Him active and alive, or stale and sentimental?
There was no easy or succinct way to answer that question. But as I allowed it to burrow its way in my heart, I began to see something. I had long lived subconsciously believing that God was a sort of cosmic agent, working to get me bigger contracts and better deals while saving me from scammers and opportunists. God was my Jerry Maguire, my ambassador of quan, and my prayers were spiritually cloaked versions of asking Him to “show me the money.” Not necessarily literal money—just comfort, success, good friends, an enjoyably smooth road, an unmitigated path to the peak of my game.
If you had suggested that theology to me, I would have condemned it, criticized it, and denied three times that I even knew of it. It wasn’t until Thursday came and went that I saw what was lurking inside. I had slowly bought the suburban rumors of God. My house was an evidence of His blessing. Our growing church was an indication of God’s pleasure. Things were going to get better and better while I kept my life on cruise control. Never mind that I had struggled—mostly unsuccessfully—to have consistent time alone with God. Forget that I had hardly spent time worshipping God offstage.
The more my wife and I searched our own souls, the more we realized we had become passive, complacent, at times even indifferent about our own knowledge of God. We had been lulled to sleep by our own apparent success, numbed into coasting by our spiritual Midas touch.
What began in the days after Thursday was a journey, a road of uncovering and discovering, of stripping away what thoughts of God we now knew were rumors and finding again the face of Christ.
These were not rumors that came from one man, one pastor. In fact, it’s hard to say that any of them did. Any search for the headwaters would be misguided anyway. Because that’s not the point. It’s not where the rumors came from; it’s why they came at all.
Here’s what I’ve learned: Rumors grow in the absence of revelation. Every time we keep God at arm’s length, declining an active, living knowledge of Him, we become vulnerable to rumors. Lulled by false comfort and half-truths about God, we—in Keith Green’s famous words—fall asleep in the light.
What the Heck is Going On?
Until life comes to a screeching halt.
There are moments when time stands still. Our old vision of the world, like a scrim on a giant set, rolls up out of sight, leaving us with a jagged, stark picture of reality, its edges sharp, rough, and bare. Everything looks different, feels different. Things that once peppered our lives with meaning are now completely irrelevant and vain. Things we had ignored and overlooked are now incredibly clear, almost stunning in the forefront. The football team whose games you would never miss now seems horridly trivial. The powerful boss you were trying to impress, you now scorn and dismiss. The child you once wished would
just go to sleep, you now run to hold in your arms.
A death of a loved one, the finality of divorce, the weight of debt crushing into bankruptcy—these are the moments that shake us, that wake us up and make us numb all at the same time. My moment is not that tragic in light of others. I think of a friend whose wife is facing a medically incurable disease. Or another friend whose wife decided married life was overrated and the party scene was where she belonged. I know a father who can’t escape the grief of losing a child years ago. Sorrow covers him like a cape and time offers no oxygen. There is no way to compare tragic moments. The game of my-moment-is-worse-than-your-moment, while possible, is seldom profitable. Pain is acutely real to those who are breaking under its weight.
These are the “what the heck?” moments. The moments where everything stops except you, as you slowly look around. Examining. Reflecting. Puzzled. Bewildered. The silence is broken by a bellow from deep inside: “What the heck is going on?” Or some less sanitized version of the same. How could this be? And what’s more, how could this be while God is with me?
The psalmists understood this feeling well. Fully two-thirds of Psalms are laments, an old-fashioned term for a “what the heck?” moment prayer. Imagine these words being prayed at church:
Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? (Ps. 10:1)
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent. (Ps. 22:1–2)
My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” (Ps. 42:3)
These were covenant people, people to whom God had made an unbreakable promise, a promise to bless them, protect them, and make their days go well. So why on earth were they being pursued by enemies, losing their belongings, and getting depressed—all while watching the wicked flourish? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t lining up with the covenant—or at least their understanding of it. And so they took their complaint up with God.
What’s interesting is that for the most part, we don’t find out how God specifically responded. There are “Psalms of Thanksgiving,” where the psalmist restates his lament in the past tense—recounting how he was in trouble—and then gives thanks to God for delivering him. But the “lament psalms” grossly outnumber the “thanksgiving psalms.” We don’t know if all became well on earth all the time. But we are told two crucial things: the consistent character of God—good, just, faithful, loving—and the characteristic response of the psalmists—the choice, the vow, to praise. In one of the psalms quoted earlier, the words of lament are followed by these words of praise:
Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the praise of Israel. (Ps. 22:3)
Maybe in some ways, the Bible is written the way the Oracle in The Matrix prophesies: It only tells us what we need to know. It does not tell us all there is to know, only what we need for life and godliness. Here is the lesson of the psalmists: All of our experiences and emotions can become a springboard to find God and see Him for ourselves. God is present on every scene, waiting, wanting us to seek Him, believe in Him, and worship Him with every ounce of our existence.
Our discussion here is not first about suffering. The question of whether God causes it, allows it, or has nothing to do with it, has been voiced since the days in the garden. Our discussion here is simply that these moments—whether they come from our free will, the Devil’s evil schemes, or God’s strange providence—present us with an opportunity. Regardless of your theology, these two things are common to mankind: We all experience a measure of suffering, and every experience can be redeemed.
C. S. Lewis wrote, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”4
Crumbs of Rumor
Too often, we walk through life with our hands fixed firmly over our eyes and ears, ignoring and avoiding the living presence of Christ with us—maybe from fear or guilt or simple apathy. But every once in awhile, our hands are pried off our face, our eyes are almost forcibly opened, our ears are unplugged. We catch a glimpse for ourselves, a glimpse that will be our undoing. And our salvation. In that moment, we are ruined and redeemed by that little glimpse.
Job had that experience.
He never auditioned for the role, never signed up for the part.God chose him. He chose him, we are often told, to prove a point to the Devil. But I’m beginning to wonder if God chose him to show Himself to Job, to save Job from the stiff, straight lines he had drawn around God. Think about it. The story doesn’t end with the Devil returning to heaven and saying, “Okay, God, you win. You were right. Job didn’t curse you. He does indeed serve you for nothing.” If that were the central tension in the story, there is a glaring
lack of resolution.
A series of ridiculously unfortunate events befalls Job in a very short span of time. What takes place in the lengthy remainder of the book is a dialogue between Job, three of his friends, and a presumptuously precocious young man named Elihu. After sitting silently for seven days, the three friends can’t bear to hold in their wisdom. One by one they present their cases to Job, trying to explain why he is suffering and what he should do about it. They generally agree that things have gone so poorly for Job because of some hidden sin in his life. They plead with him to go before God, repent, rid himself of his sins, and make peace with the Almighty. Job refuses. He insists on his innocence and laments to God with words that are
uncomfortably honest.
Then Elihu speaks. He dismisses the elders’ wisdom, preferring his own fresh insight. He is less willing to condemn Job for sin, but not as reluctant to rebuke him for pride. He hints at God’s sovereignty and our inability to fully understand His ways. But he, too, echoes the familiar refrain that obedience will lead to a prosperous, pleasant life, and that disobedience will lead to tragedy and sorrow.
As arrogant and simpleminded as Job’s friends may seem to us, as hard as it is to imagine ourselves saying something like that to a friend who has just lost everything, remember that they are simply
articulating the prevailing wisdom of the day. It was their misguided understanding of the covenant that gave them this simple premise: Obey God, and all will be well; disobey, and you will suffer.
That formulaic and faulty view of the covenant may be the reason the book of Job is included in Hebrew Wisdom Literature. It may be that the purpose for the book of Job is to counter an overly black-and-white view of life. Perhaps God understood that humans would take the rich, profoundly unique covenant that He had made with His people and reduce it to simplistic, pithy phrases. Maybe God knows our propensity to redact the living words of relationship into rumors that spread like fire—and that sooner or later, we will get burned.
What if the book of Job is not all about some intergalactic dispute between God and the Devil? What if it’s really about revelation and relationship with mortals?
At the end of the story, after Job asks God over and over with the nagging persistence of a two-year-old why he has suffered, God responds. Not with answers, but with questions—questions that bring Job to his knees. Finally Job cries:
I admit I once lived by rumors of you; now I have it all firsthand—from my own eyes and ears! I’m sorry—forgive me. I’ll never do that again, I promise! I’ll never again live on crusts of hearsay, crumbs of rumor. (Job 42:5–6 MSG)
This is the climax of the book of Job. It’s the way this incredibly moving story of suffering resolves. The mention of God restoring to Job more than what he lost is sort of an afterthought, a footnote to the story. It comes after Job finds firsthand knowledge of God. The story of Job is first and foremost a salvation story: God saved Job from small, narrow, rumor-laden views of Himself. And then Job lived holy-ever-after. It’s what happens when rumors give way to revelation.
I have come to the uncomfortable realization that I have believed rumors about God that have kept me from Him, kept me from really knowing Him. I suspect I am not alone. This book is about some of the more popular rumors, and the path to finding the truth. What you read here is not intended to be the basis for your view of God. Instead, this book is an attempt to jog your mind, stir your heart, provoke your questions, and whet your appetite for the quest, for the journey that only you can take. The journey that Job took. A journey that is not necessarily one of suffering, but one that by design means eye-opening, paradigm-shattering discovery. So yes, in some sense it hurts. It’s a journey that begins with your fist to the sky and can end with your knees on the earth. A journey that begins with questions and ends with speechless worship.
Mine began on a Thursday.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:
1. What are some of your “what the heck?” moments?
2. Do you think your knowledge of Christ is active and alive or stale and
sentimental?
3. What are you looking for God to do in your heart as you read this
book?
Review: You Make Me Feel LIke Dancing
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
You Make Me Feel Like Dancing: A Novel (Va Va Va Boom Series)
David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Allison Bottke spent 17 years as a professional fund-raiser before her personal journey prompted her to create the best-selling God Allows U-Turns anthologies. Now a popular speaker and author of hip-lit fiction as well as nonfiction, Allison was one of the first plus-size models with the Wilhelmina agency. Today, she has created a place where fun, fashion, food, family, and faith merge to empower and inspire boomer women all around the world. That place is her website.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 448 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1434799492
ISBN-13: 978-1434799494
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Susan Anderson yawned and mumbled an incoherent complaint. She tried to focus heavy-lidded eyes on the glowing chartreuse numbers of the digital clock. Six a.m. She rolled onto her side and picked up the ringing cell phone, wishing she’d shut it off the night before. This was her day off, the one day in seven she could stay ensconced in her luxurious bed, wrapped in Egyptian cotton like a mummy princess. The one day in seven she could snuggle with her hubby when he came home from working the night shift.
“I’m-sorry-to-wake-you-up-but-it’s-an-emergency-and-you’re-the-only-one-who-can-help-something-horrible-has-happened-to-Tina.”
“Slow down, Karen,” Susan whispered hoarsely. “I understand you haven’t been to sleep yet, but I’m still waking up, okay? Now, start from the top. Who’s Tina?”
Stretching like a limber feline, Susan propped her pillow against the headboard and slowly sat up, her eyebrows knitting together as she listened. Her eyes opened more fully as she listened to Karen’s amazing tale.
“… that’s the whole story. I’m afraid she’s going to do something drastic. Please, you have to help her. I know you don’t work Mondays, but you’re the only one I know who might be able to do something.”
Susan leaned her head back and yawned again as she considered.
“Susan? Susan, are you there?”
“Still here. Sorry. Okay. I need coffee and a bagel, but you can tell her to meet me at the salon at seven.”
“Seriously? Fantastic! You’re a lifesaver!”
Susan hung up the phone, rolled onto her stomach, and buried her face in her pillow. Part of her wanted to go back to sleep. But the rest of her loved a challenge—and this was truly a challenge. Although dull moments were few in her world, so were new ventures these days—at least ventures of the dramatic magnitude Karen had just described.
She pulled back the covers and eased up on the edge of the bed. Absentmindedly tucking a strand of ash-blond hair behind her ear, she considered her options for another minute or two before reaching for the phone.
“She works hard for the money, so hard.…”
“Stop singing, Loretta—please. It’s too early for Donna Summer, even for you. I hate caller ID.”
“Heretic—bite your tongue! It’s never too early for Donna. And you should love caller ID. It’s the only reason I always answer your calls.”
Susan laughed. More than a dependable employee, Loretta Wells was a good friend and a sister in faith. She was also the reason Susan could take Mondays off. Loretta was more than capable of handling things without the boss. In fact, she’d been Susan’s right hand for almost twenty years.
Every Monday morning before opening the salon at seven thirty, Loretta had coffee at the Starbucks just off Tropicana Boulevard. Susan knew she could depend on her to rise to this challenge, cut her Starbucks run short, and get things ready for Tina before she arrived.
Susan explained what little she knew about what she’d dubbed as Tina’s Tragic Trauma. “You don’t mind coming in early?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? Sounds utterly fascinating. Don’t worry about me—what about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you on a Monday in more than a decade. Think you can function?”
“Very funny. I’ll be just fine. See you in forty five.”
She flipped the phone shut, grabbed a notepad and pen from the bedside table, and scribbled a note to leave downstairs for Michael on her way out. Her husband wouldn’t get home until eight, about the time she was usually getting ready for work. He wouldn’t be happy with her for taking off like this on their one day together, but what could she do? This young woman needed her.
She recalled the most recent argument she’d had with Michael about this very subject.
“You’re a hairdresser for crying out loud—not George!” he had shouted into the phone last week when she called him from the salon at 2:30 a.m.
George was their neighbor, a psychologist who was on call for police emergencies twenty-four/seven.
“You wouldn’t say that, Michael, if you had seen her. The creep used a butcher knife to cut off her hair. I couldn’t say no. Michael, you should have seen …”
“What if he had showed up at the shop? What then? He might be outside waiting for you right now. Maybe I should come over and follow you home …”
“No, Michael, I’m fine. I’m sure he’s not waiting for me. He doesn’t have a beef with me.”
Susan didn’t tell him she had worried about the same thing when the girl showed up, referred by a friend who ran a shelter for battered women.
“I’m sorry I called,” she said with a sigh. What she had really wanted to share was her excitement at being able to pray with a young woman who was openly searching for an answer to the unexplainable emptiness in her heart.
“Me too,” Michael grumbled. “Now, get out of there and go home. I’ll stay on the phone while you lock up.”
That had been several days ago, and they had yet to talk about the situation again. She wasn’t exactly eager to bring it up—not with the way Michael had been acting lately. His sixtieth birthday loomed on the horizon, and Susan was quite certain he was having a delayed midlife crisis. She was hard-pressed to feel sympathetic. She was turning fifty in April, and she wasn’t snapping at everyone about every little thing.
Susan didn’t start thinking about Tina’s Tragic Trauma again until she was in the shower. What if she couldn’t help her? Lord, I’m almost embarrassed to bring this to you. I mean, I know it’s just hair. But what if Karen isn’t overdramatizing the situation? Surely someone wouldn’t commit suicide over a bad hair day, would she? Please help me help Tina. Amen.
Hurrying to get dressed, she pulled her thick hair back in a ponytail and wrapped a vintage Chanel scarf around her crown as a headband. She brushed her teeth, stroked on moisturizer, and applied her makeup in record time even though she’d been tempted to go without it, since her goal was to return home in a couple of hours and jump back into bed.
She quickly straightened up the bathroom for Michael, knowing he would take a shower as soon as he got home. When she finished, she sat down at her laptop and sent a quick e-mail to her online chat group. Then she checked herself one last time in the hall mirror and headed out the door.
From: Susan Anderson (boomerbabesusan@boomerbabesrock.com)
Sent: Monday, January 9, 6:43 a.m.
To: Patricia Davies; Mary Johnson; Lisa Taylor; Linda Jones; Sharon Wilson
Subject: You will NEVER believe this … story to follow
Good morning fellow boomer babes!
I’m off to work early … seems we have a Hair Emergency. I’ll fill you in when I know more. Can’t believe it’s only week two of the new year. Things haven’t slowed down at the shop … we’ve been operating full tilt since before Thanksgiving. Guess I shouldn’t complain … business is good. Hope everyone is healthy and happy.
Suze
Looking around the casino on his way out that morning brought Michael Anderson a bittersweet feeling. He liked his job, and every day yielded a new challenge. Yet, after thirty-five years, he was beginning to consider early retirement. The past night had been another busy one, and he was tired from walking the length of the property countless times as one mechanical problem after another surfaced. The Silver Spur was one of the oldest casinos in Las Vegas, and time was beginning to take its toll.
Of course, mechanical problems were easier to deal with than the inevitable people problems his wife seemed to encounter on a daily basis. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Susan, standing in one area, doing the same thing day in and day out. It must drive her crazy. It drove him crazy sometimes, just hearing about it.
“I love it, Michael, really I do,” she often told him. And he knew she was proud of her unique beauty salon, Disco Diva. But she had to be as tired of the daily grind as he was. They’d both been at it for so many years.
He couldn’t wait to get home and tell her his news—and this was the day to tell it. Monday was their only full day to spend together. Oh, sure, he saw her throughout the week, but not for long. Most days they were like the proverbial ships passing each other. He came home from the night shift just before she left in the morning, and she woke him when she returned from the salon in time for him to shower, get dressed, eat, and take off for work.
For years, though, they had enjoyed their evening meal together—Susan’s dinner and his breakfast. It was a solid ritual. And there was always something to talk about. Communication wasn’t a problem in their relationship. Having time to communicate was the problem. He’d once computed the time they’d actually spent together in the almost twenty-five years they’d been married; it was far less than the years implied.
And recently, it seemed, things were getting worse. More often than not during the past few months, Susan was already gone when he came home in the morning. And instead of waking him in person in the evening, she had taken to setting the alarm clock for him before she left for the salon.
This was all very unusual for her. He suspected she might be going through early menopause—not that he was an expert on such things. But she was certainly acting strangely these days. She spent more time at the salon than ever and seemed on edge a lot of the time.
That was another reason he’d decided to unveil his surprise a little early. It was time to free her from the growing responsibilities that were clearly taking away her joy.
Time for him to make their longtime dream come true.
“I’m-sorry-to-wake-you-up-but-it’s-an-emergency-and-you’re-the-only-one-who-can-help-something-horrible-has-happened-to-Tina.”
“Slow down, Karen,” Susan whispered hoarsely. “I understand you haven’t been to sleep yet, but I’m still waking up, okay? Now, start from the top. Who’s Tina?”
Stretching like a limber feline, Susan propped her pillow against the headboard and slowly sat up, her eyebrows knitting together as she listened. Her eyes opened more fully as she listened to Karen’s amazing tale.
“… that’s the whole story. I’m afraid she’s going to do something drastic. Please, you have to help her. I know you don’t work Mondays, but you’re the only one I know who might be able to do something.”
Susan leaned her head back and yawned again as she considered.
“Susan? Susan, are you there?”
“Still here. Sorry. Okay. I need coffee and a bagel, but you can tell her to meet me at the salon at seven.”
“Seriously? Fantastic! You’re a lifesaver!”
Susan hung up the phone, rolled onto her stomach, and buried her face in her pillow. Part of her wanted to go back to sleep. But the rest of her loved a challenge—and this was truly a challenge. Although dull moments were few in her world, so were new ventures these days—at least ventures of the dramatic magnitude Karen had just described.
She pulled back the covers and eased up on the edge of the bed. Absentmindedly tucking a strand of ash-blond hair behind her ear, she considered her options for another minute or two before reaching for the phone.
“She works hard for the money, so hard.…”
“Stop singing, Loretta—please. It’s too early for Donna Summer, even for you. I hate caller ID.”
“Heretic—bite your tongue! It’s never too early for Donna. And you should love caller ID. It’s the only reason I always answer your calls.”
Susan laughed. More than a dependable employee, Loretta Wells was a good friend and a sister in faith. She was also the reason Susan could take Mondays off. Loretta was more than capable of handling things without the boss. In fact, she’d been Susan’s right hand for almost twenty years.
Every Monday morning before opening the salon at seven thirty, Loretta had coffee at the Starbucks just off Tropicana Boulevard. Susan knew she could depend on her to rise to this challenge, cut her Starbucks run short, and get things ready for Tina before she arrived.
Susan explained what little she knew about what she’d dubbed as Tina’s Tragic Trauma. “You don’t mind coming in early?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? Sounds utterly fascinating. Don’t worry about me—what about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you on a Monday in more than a decade. Think you can function?”
“Very funny. I’ll be just fine. See you in forty five.”
She flipped the phone shut, grabbed a notepad and pen from the bedside table, and scribbled a note to leave downstairs for Michael on her way out. Her husband wouldn’t get home until eight, about the time she was usually getting ready for work. He wouldn’t be happy with her for taking off like this on their one day together, but what could she do? This young woman needed her.
She recalled the most recent argument she’d had with Michael about this very subject.
“You’re a hairdresser for crying out loud—not George!” he had shouted into the phone last week when she called him from the salon at 2:30 a.m.
George was their neighbor, a psychologist who was on call for police emergencies twenty-four/seven.
“You wouldn’t say that, Michael, if you had seen her. The creep used a butcher knife to cut off her hair. I couldn’t say no. Michael, you should have seen …”
“What if he had showed up at the shop? What then? He might be outside waiting for you right now. Maybe I should come over and follow you home …”
“No, Michael, I’m fine. I’m sure he’s not waiting for me. He doesn’t have a beef with me.”
Susan didn’t tell him she had worried about the same thing when the girl showed up, referred by a friend who ran a shelter for battered women.
“I’m sorry I called,” she said with a sigh. What she had really wanted to share was her excitement at being able to pray with a young woman who was openly searching for an answer to the unexplainable emptiness in her heart.
“Me too,” Michael grumbled. “Now, get out of there and go home. I’ll stay on the phone while you lock up.”
That had been several days ago, and they had yet to talk about the situation again. She wasn’t exactly eager to bring it up—not with the way Michael had been acting lately. His sixtieth birthday loomed on the horizon, and Susan was quite certain he was having a delayed midlife crisis. She was hard-pressed to feel sympathetic. She was turning fifty in April, and she wasn’t snapping at everyone about every little thing.
Susan didn’t start thinking about Tina’s Tragic Trauma again until she was in the shower. What if she couldn’t help her? Lord, I’m almost embarrassed to bring this to you. I mean, I know it’s just hair. But what if Karen isn’t overdramatizing the situation? Surely someone wouldn’t commit suicide over a bad hair day, would she? Please help me help Tina. Amen.
Hurrying to get dressed, she pulled her thick hair back in a ponytail and wrapped a vintage Chanel scarf around her crown as a headband. She brushed her teeth, stroked on moisturizer, and applied her makeup in record time even though she’d been tempted to go without it, since her goal was to return home in a couple of hours and jump back into bed.
She quickly straightened up the bathroom for Michael, knowing he would take a shower as soon as he got home. When she finished, she sat down at her laptop and sent a quick e-mail to her online chat group. Then she checked herself one last time in the hall mirror and headed out the door.
From: Susan Anderson (boomerbabesusan@boomerbabesrock.com)
Sent: Monday, January 9, 6:43 a.m.
To: Patricia Davies; Mary Johnson; Lisa Taylor; Linda Jones; Sharon Wilson
Subject: You will NEVER believe this … story to follow
Good morning fellow boomer babes!
I’m off to work early … seems we have a Hair Emergency. I’ll fill you in when I know more. Can’t believe it’s only week two of the new year. Things haven’t slowed down at the shop … we’ve been operating full tilt since before Thanksgiving. Guess I shouldn’t complain … business is good. Hope everyone is healthy and happy.
Suze
Looking around the casino on his way out that morning brought Michael Anderson a bittersweet feeling. He liked his job, and every day yielded a new challenge. Yet, after thirty-five years, he was beginning to consider early retirement. The past night had been another busy one, and he was tired from walking the length of the property countless times as one mechanical problem after another surfaced. The Silver Spur was one of the oldest casinos in Las Vegas, and time was beginning to take its toll.
Of course, mechanical problems were easier to deal with than the inevitable people problems his wife seemed to encounter on a daily basis. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Susan, standing in one area, doing the same thing day in and day out. It must drive her crazy. It drove him crazy sometimes, just hearing about it.
“I love it, Michael, really I do,” she often told him. And he knew she was proud of her unique beauty salon, Disco Diva. But she had to be as tired of the daily grind as he was. They’d both been at it for so many years.
He couldn’t wait to get home and tell her his news—and this was the day to tell it. Monday was their only full day to spend together. Oh, sure, he saw her throughout the week, but not for long. Most days they were like the proverbial ships passing each other. He came home from the night shift just before she left in the morning, and she woke him when she returned from the salon in time for him to shower, get dressed, eat, and take off for work.
For years, though, they had enjoyed their evening meal together—Susan’s dinner and his breakfast. It was a solid ritual. And there was always something to talk about. Communication wasn’t a problem in their relationship. Having time to communicate was the problem. He’d once computed the time they’d actually spent together in the almost twenty-five years they’d been married; it was far less than the years implied.
And recently, it seemed, things were getting worse. More often than not during the past few months, Susan was already gone when he came home in the morning. And instead of waking him in person in the evening, she had taken to setting the alarm clock for him before she left for the salon.
This was all very unusual for her. He suspected she might be going through early menopause—not that he was an expert on such things. But she was certainly acting strangely these days. She spent more time at the salon than ever and seemed on edge a lot of the time.
That was another reason he’d decided to unveil his surprise a little early. It was time to free her from the growing responsibilities that were clearly taking away her joy.
Time for him to make their longtime dream come true.
It's Fall Y'All
Or not. I'm getting ahead of myself aren't I? But I LOVE fall. And its August, almost September. Thats. Fall. Don't worry. You won't burn out on a Fall look here ... because I'm sure I'll start winter and Christmas a tad bit early as well...like the day after Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
In Regards To ...
My Post: Thankful Thursday
Denise:Thank you for your prayers. This experience has blanketed me with many many prayers, many from friends and family, and even from people and groups that didn't know, but people who know me had passed my name on to be prayed for. All are very comforting to me.
Flip Flop Floozy:
Even I am surprised to see these pictures that I hadn't looked at in awhile. I know I was pretty traumatized, but I don't remember them looking that bad [grin] and am glad what I see now does look much better. What I can't see and still hurts is what is giving me problems, but when all of this first started, this is the area that was the worse effected, so I shouldn't be surprised that I'm still having problems. I just need to push myself to get up and walk more and eat less salty things -- which would help the edema quite a bit. But when you have nothing to do but sit here and think ... then it becomes a place of sit here and eat. Really need to work on changing that.
Grams
Yes, M'am. I know I should stay in a really positive frame of mind, but when it hurts because of open wounds when you get up to do anything, I don't know about others, but I tend to just sit and not do a whole lot becuase I don't want to hurt, although, intelluctually, I'm thinking the more I get up and move around, maybe the less it would hurt. I don't know what its going to take to heal these last few sores...it sounds like putting this cream stuff the wound doctor has given me, as well as them picking at them to remove the hard dead skin (which hurt like H***), and as we all know, I don't do pain well. And we've tried everything. I have taken my Morphine and Hydrocodone just as I've gone to the appointment. They have put a topical pain killer on the skin. And it still HURTS. He prescribed something that is supposed to deadened the nerve endings. You have to work up to it, but I can take up to 1800 mg of it, and I'm almost there. And I don't see much difference. They still hurt. The only difference I see is wanting to sleep more, and being really groggy when I wake up. But, we'll see. I missed my appointment last week (the wound care doctor said going every 2 weeks was OK....it was David who said we could go every week, so I rescheduled last week to this week. Pray for me that its a good day!
My Post: To-Do Tuesday
Lisa:
It bothers me that so many of my entries center around what I've been through. I'm not looking for pity (although prayers are ALWAYS welcome) or attention. But, the bottom line is, what I've been through IS my life right now, the repercussions of it, the aftermath of living through it, and it seems like its all I can think of. The depression, the denial. And, yes, the thankfulness that it turned out to not be as bad as it could have been. I can't imagine what life would be like if each and every one of those little blood blisters turned into a painful crater, instead of the brown spots I have, which fade just a little more each day. Yes, I do think I will have some scars when some of the bigger blisters were and they had to cut them open. But for the most part,even if the brown spots don't go away, I can live with them.
I've never been a "beauty" in any sense of the word before this, so just living through it, marked or not marked, it really doesn't matter ot me. I just want those few spots that are left and giving me so much trouble to stop hurting. If they would stop hurting, my mind frame would so much better, and I could concentrate on other areas of my life. But right now, there are days I don't even want to get dressed because pulling pants over those areas, even though I have them packed with gauze and netting, it hurts to have the pants putting pressure on them. But, we have plans with the doctor to do things to make them get better. What he does every week ... well, the nurse does, and then he looks at them ... the picking off the dead or bad skin is supposed to help make it heal faster.
Also, if we could get rid of the edma in my legs, they say the edema is slowing down the healing process. I am on a waiting list for a prodecure called Lymphedema. My legs are wrapped in such a way it "milks" my legs and the water out of my body (I will be peeing it all out). When my legs are "normal" size, the healing process should speed up as well.
The one saving grace in all this is while we are dealing with the open sores, surgery for the cyst on my ovary and the polyup on my colon will continue to be put off, which is OK with me. My OBY/GYN says she won't touch the inside until the outside is healed. We see her August 31. So, if the craters are still exposed and we are still dealing with them, she will probably want to give all of this another month. Works for me:) I'm not stubborn or anything. I just don't want surgery. I. feel. fine!
Glad I Could Help
My middle son has come over a couple of times to try and print out a form to order a prescription. His insurance company wants him to go through this company, and he pays $20 every 3 months for his prescriptions.Well... first off, my computer is slow, and for whatever reasons, after he brought the form up, he couldn't get it to print. So... yesterday, he brought HIS laptop over and tried to print it out. Still wasn't successful. Needless to say, he was getting frusrated.
I'm not sure why he came over today, but we got to talking about prescriptions, and that we buy ours through Walmart, most of them at $4 -- and they mail them to us free of shipping cost. He works in Emporia 4 days a week, so having them mail his prescription to him isn't an issue.
He did go to one of our local pharmacies, and found out that he could get this prescription that he as going to do through his insurance company for $11.99. Hmmm.... $10.00 at Walmart, $11.99 at the local pharmacy ..., or $20 through his insurance company. He decided to just through our local pharmacy because there was no wait. When he has gone to Walmart, he has had to wait an hour or more to get anything filled. ...and he's not very patient.
David isn't either, but he gets around it by either calling in and having the pills mailed ... or if we are headed to Emporia, we would just call from home ... its an hour drive up ... so chances are, by the time we get there, they are filled, or by the time we get done shopping, they for sure should have them done.
Nonetheless, I'm glad Matt and I talked about it, and he will be able to by pass the hassle he had this time getting his precription filled (getting the form printed out, so he could mail it in), not to mention the money he will save by buying locally. I take 12 different prescriptions, and I think David takes 5 or 6, so the $4 deal at Walmart saves us alot of money. I think all but maybe 3 of them between us are covered by the $4 deal. Then, where you buy them really does make a difference. We buy them locally instead of at Walmart, because there is like a $20 difference. Amazing. But its just all a matter of asking questions and checking prices.
Monday, Monday
I love days like today. It rained most of the day, but it didn't storm. None of that frightening thunder and lightening. Just a cool steady rain. I curled up in my chair, with the blanket the CWF ladies gave me -- all soft and cuddly, and pretty much read all day. I would check my email or my blog -- and I did think I should do some blogging, which I did eventually do. But for the most part, I just read, and that was relaxing. I didn't allow myself to throw a "woe is me" pitty party. I just embraced the day, enjoyed what was given to me, and it was nice.Now, tomorrow, I need to concentrate on doing some book reviews. When I was in the hsopital, I got behind, with reading, with reviewing. I do want to continue with the publishing companies that I have been with, continue to receiving books, and continue reviewing them. But when I was in the hospital, for whatever reason, my eye sight deterioated, and I couldn't read anything. So reading a book wasn't enjoyable. David did go buy me a large print Bible, and that was a comforting thing to have, to read and to embrace the words.
Now that I am home, and have time on my hands, I have gotten back in the groove of reading, and am enjoying it. Today was a highlight day just that, and I love it. The only thing that would have made it better was to have a mountain of snow falling down, and a enjoying a cup of hot chcolate, curled up under my blankie. But...since its only August, I'm thinking that a bit of an unreasonable thing to wish for. Those days are coming soon enough.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Edition "D"
Edition "D"
Depression - I really wish I could say that this isn't part of my life right now, but it is. I have good days, and I have bad days. When those advertisements on TV come on, describing what "depression" is, and you should take this pill or that pill ... I have to agree. There are days that I get up, ready to go, to do something. But, since I am out of the workforce now, that isn't an option. David does the laundry, so I fold it. But how long does that take? I should be in blog heaven -- blogging my little heart out, working on my autobiography, doing numerous memes each day, as well as a regular blog entry each day. I should be out there visiting, leaving comments. I have permission to blog all day. But, as you scroll down through the entries, I definately have not wound myself up and landed in blogland.
I'm pretty sure one of the pills I'm taking IS for the depression. I had one doctor that followed me, and was asking me every day how I was doing. Just the questions he asked led me to believe he was more interested in my emtional state than my physical state. He asked if it would be OK to prescribe a pill for depression, that he knew I was going through a lot -- and this was before everything else hit. I take so many pills, I'm not 100% sure what all of them are for, but I'm pretty sure one of them is for depression.
I guess the good side is that its not an everyday thing. There are days that I really do feel good, and try to make the effort to do more than I did the day before. I think one of the things that gets me down is the pain. It just won't go away. And I know that I have these appointments laying ahead of me which is going to hurt every more. If this one spot didn't hurt, I think I would have really good days most of the time. I'm such a wimp.
Denial - This really hit home when a box of my personal effects from the church office was brought home. I've been living in this world that I will be returning back to my "normal" life shortly, even though we have talked about it, and I know I'm not because of the "disability" we are trying to get on. I know this intelluctually, and accept it as such. But emotionally, I know I am in denial, and it hurts to know that not working at a job for the rest of my life could be what life has dealt me, and emotionally, I just can't accept it, even though because of the overwhelming medical bills that we have, we have to do what we have to do.
David - He is my husband of 25, almost 26 years. When we married, we became the instant parents of 4 children. He had 2 girls from a previous marriage, I have 2 from a previous marriage. I won't say our marriage was easy going and trouble free. We had our ups and downs, often associated with blended families. And some of those troubles went beyond the children. When the closing of the company we had both worked at for a very long threw a loop in our lives, he started driving a truck, and not being home during the week. But, we survived, and the trucking company grew to the point where he couldn't drive and dispatch both, so he started dispatching from the office, and stopped driving...which meant he was home every night. That made life for us much easier. We are moving into a new transition ... Ethan graduated this year, so sometime soon, he will be moving out, and we will then become Empty Nesters. Interesting. We have made it this far with children. Surely we can make it another 25 years without children.
And I do have to say, he has been a true angel through this medical crisis. Except for one day (which was his parent's 60th wedding anniversary event, and there was lots of pressure on him to be there ... matter of fact, there were a few family members who thought maybe, just maybe, I could be there as well), he was there every single day for me. With all the different medical things they kept throwing at me, I really don't know how I would have made it emotioally, taking hit after hit. Trying to then pass on to David what they said ... welllll.... it was just better that he was there, to soak it all as well as ask questions while they were right there. He had his lap top there, and was able to keep all 13 of his drivers rolling down the road while he sat by my side. Matter of fact, having those 13 guys to keep track up and deal with was a blessing in disguise. He was really ansy on the weekends, when he didn't have to dispatch or talk to his drivers or brokers.
Even after getting out of the hospital -- except for pushing me a bit to walk more, he has been wonderful. He has taken something we have talked about for years, and finally put it into action. He started decluttering. The house is finally started to take shape, and he hasn't griped about having to do it. He accepts the fact that I am physically limited, which really surprises me. He doesn't have the best bedside manners.
After 25 years, I love him more than ever, and plan on loving him more and more and more as the years roll on.
December - This is the month that David was born in, as well as one of his daughters. David lacked 4 days of having to register for the draft when he got older. When I was in the hospital this summer, I was in the same hospital that he was in when he was a month old. His head grew larger than it was supposed to, and they found that he had a blood clot on his brain. He spent 3 months in the hospital as they dealt with it. While I was in the hsopital, he went down and had the transcripts of those 3 months mailed to us. It was interesting reading!
Determined - When I can reach that key (reference: commercial for a pill for depression) and am wound up for the day, I am determined to get better. This is not going to be a permenent way of life for me. I have ideas and plans, and as I gain more stength in my legs, and can get the pain under control, the world is mine, and nothing will stop me from doing what I want to do!
Doctors - When I was admitted to the hospital, I h ad one doctor, and we were in our local hospital, so all was fine. When they moved me to Topeka, its a bit fuzzy just what doctor or doctors I had, but I'm thinking I had just one primary doctor, and then a few other people did things to me, like a biopsy on my arm. But when they moved me to KU Med ... it is a teaching hospital. So, I had a variety of doctors. They worked as a team, and I think I had most of them figured out by the time we left there.
I had never lived through something like that, and seen so many doctors at one time. Each doctor specialized in something; and even now, doctor appointment after doctor appointment, to do a re-check to make sure I'm OK. Fortunately, things have slowed down a bit, and we can stop and breath, and not have to travel every other day.
We see the wound care doctor this Thursday, and then possibly again the next Thursday -- the doctor is saying every 2 weeks, but only because of the distance we have to travel. So, David keeps saying that its OK to go every week ... we'll just see how everything is doing this Thursday, and figure it out from there if I'll go the 26th or not. For sure though, we have appointments in Kansas City on the 31st. We have a couple of them, which is the way to do it. If we have to travel that far, we might as well have as many appointment we can for that day as we can, which is what we did that day.
Diana -- she is a wonderful lady who checks on me (via blog) and always brings a lot of sunshine to my days. She blogs under the name of "Sunshine On My Shoulders", and I love reading her blog daily, and being a part of her life as well.
Drugs - Ahhh.... this would be the legal kind. I am not a pill taker, but I have learned to be one. I have 12 different prescriptions that I take. And some of those I have to take more than one. I have an AM/PM dispenser to help me keep everything straight. All in all, I think I take 30 pills a day, give or take a few, because my prednisone comes down a 1/2 meg every 2 weeks; and right now I am to take my Coumadine 4 mgs on day, 5 the next day, 4 the next, 5 the next. And then in 2 weeks, I go take a blood test, and depending on where my level is, they will call me and tell me what dosage I should be taking now. Isn't it fun? I am getting better. Its been awhile since I've gagged on any of my pills. This is a good thing.
Dividers - Ok. This is going to sound really silly. But, if it makes me feel good, then, its a good thing, and let it be, silly or not. I have always carried a day planner, and used it spottingly. Its just one of those things. You see the policeman going through someone's dayplanner after an accident, and finding all kinds of information. That is what I was looking for. Again, silly, I know. However, when I went in the hospital, David latched on to my day planner, and he used it quite extensively. And when we got home, with all the doctor appointments we had, I realized that I really needed to use it. Each day has a page, and I write down thoughts I want to blog about, and appointments, and like the other day, we ordered prescriptions, so I wrote the # of each one down and the name, and then checked them off when they came in, and also wrote down the price. Keeping track of "everything" really has been helpful. I had to let one company know what doctors I had seen, when, and why. It was all in my day planner, and all I had to do was go back and look.
Here's the catch though. I'm only keeping one month in my book. The rest of the year goes in a plain book that is the same side; and when we get done with a month, I take out the old month and put in the the new month. The old month, that has pages and page filled with information, it goes in the plain book, and I keep it right here by my chair (actually, the chair next to me has a pocket at the bottom of it (it was an electric reclining chair that doesn't work any more, and the pocket was to put the control thing in) -- and I keep the book there.
When David was decluttering, he was going through my books. He didn't throw my books away, but when he came across dayplanner type books or pages that were from years gone by, he threw them away. I just happened to see something he had thrown away -- a spiral planner from like 2005. Good reason to throw it away, I agree. However.... flipping through it, it had a lot of beautiful nature pictures all the way through it. So, I retrieved it out of the trash, and started to work on making dividers out the pictures. He had bought me a package of clear plastic page protectors that was the size of my book. At the time, I was only wanting 3 -- to seperate all the hospital stuff out with.
But now... I have 12 dividers, and they are all "tied to together" theme wise because I have taken them all out of that old planner book. I love the way it all goes together. I love having my planner book organized like this. My sections are:
- Calendar
- Addresses
- Personal
- Ethan
- Jason
- Prescription Information
- Misc
- DDS/SSD
- KU Med
- St Francis
- CC Hospital
- Notes (blank)
In the different hospital sections, I have business cards, I have the bills we have recieved from them. I have note pages with notes taken of conversations we have had with them.
Our son owes us money, and he has been mowing our yard this summer to help pay off that debt. So, he has a section, and I record each time he mowes.
Ethan wanted me to keep a section in my book for him. Last year when he was in school, and I was carrying a day planner, it would have the school calendar, his locker information, pages from the teacher letting us know when all the music productions would be, or when they would be taking a trip. Important stuff like that that needed to be hung on to. But, since he's not in school this year, he really doesn't need a section in my dayplanner.
However... when he was at camp, they gave him a sheet that has everyone addresses on it. He knows he will lose it, so ... guess who has section, and what is in there. He also just newly went and got his own insurance instead of being on dad's...and he got his first bill. I know when he's out on his own, "Mommy" can't keep track of things for him. But. That bill has 7 holes punched in it, and is in Ethan's section, so we know where's its at. We have looked at the calendar, and he has decided that he needs to pay it out of this coming paycheck. So, I have written on Thursday that "Ethan needs to pay insurance bill". I will see if he remembers, and if he doesn't by Friday, then I will gently remind him that is something he needs to do. In the calendar section (where the calendar is all on one page for the month), I write his schedule as we get it. That is more for me, not him, so I know what hours he works, and try to plan suppers around it, etc. And, David is always asking when Ethan works, so the more knowable I am about it, the better.
Anyway, the dividers maybe me happy. They look good. They work. And they keep me organized. These days, ANYTHING to keep me happy and content is a good thing. It keeps me occupied keeping it organized, and it makes me feel worthwhile when I can put my finger on information in an instant. And if I can't, then that becomes my next project ... to figure out why it wasn't, and make the change to when I need that information the next time, it WILL be in my book.
Am I'm obsessive, or what?
Sunday, August 16, 2009
C-C-Changes
Not working these days, sometimes it hard to seperate the weekend from the weekdays. I know when I was working, the days were very much compartmentalized...you always looked forward to Friday, so you have 2 days off. And Sunday evening marked the end of those days off, and you were back to work on Monday. For me, one day isn't much different than the other, whether its a weekend or a weekday.
The only difference is, on Sunday morning, the last few weeks, I have attended church. It felt really good to get back. And not being able to take but a few steps without having someone stop and hug me and welcome me back, and ask how I'm doing. Or comment on my hair. I had waist length in May. But, after a few days in the hospital, it was driving me up the wall. It was getting tangled, and the CPAP wasn't helping the situation. I had spent 3 days here our at local hospital, so it would have been day 4 or 5, when I was in the Topeka hospital, and our girls were visiting, and I made a comment about my hair, that I had a good mind to just get it cut. The girls said they could do it, and they talked to a nurse, who directed them to a room that had a mirror and a sink, and room for the wheelchair, and away we went. When I got back, I had a new short bob, and have loved it every since. Its easy to wash and dry, using a round brush, and curling it under. Everyone has loved it, and I have gotten many many comments on it. I'm glad I did it, and I don't miss my long hair at all.
This is just one of many many changes. As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of our members died unexpectedly. She was very very active, heading up the funeral dinners, and fundraiser dinner for our church, and other areas in the church (we had talked a couple of times even about us -- she was wanting to do a fundraiser for us, and I talked her out of it, because we don't want it to mess up anything we are trying to do with the Social Security Disability). Not having her there leaves a big hole in the structure of our church family, not to mention our hearts as friends. Her husband is carrying on the best he can. I know its hard for him.
Another change is our minster is retiring. August 31 is his last day. He's been with us 18 years. Again, even with a new minister being brought it, his presence is going to be missed. I had silently said to myself that I didn't want to break in a new minister. Watch what you ask for...
My not being there leaves a bit hole in the church structure. They have 2 people filling in the position, but they are both being very vocal about it being "just temporary". And I understand. I want it to be "just temporary" as well. Not knowing, not having a definate goal or date in place drives me nuts. I want to go back to work in the worst way. But. Not being able to get in my vehicle on my own is a real obstacle Leaking legs is a real obstacle. Wanting to sleep all the time (depression? medications????) is an obstacle.
I looked around this morning, and was amazed at how many new faces I saw. This is wonderful, and I am glad that our church is growing, regardless of the obstacles we have faced as a church
no matter what Satan throws at us, we will get through it.
The only difference is, on Sunday morning, the last few weeks, I have attended church. It felt really good to get back. And not being able to take but a few steps without having someone stop and hug me and welcome me back, and ask how I'm doing. Or comment on my hair. I had waist length in May. But, after a few days in the hospital, it was driving me up the wall. It was getting tangled, and the CPAP wasn't helping the situation. I had spent 3 days here our at local hospital, so it would have been day 4 or 5, when I was in the Topeka hospital, and our girls were visiting, and I made a comment about my hair, that I had a good mind to just get it cut. The girls said they could do it, and they talked to a nurse, who directed them to a room that had a mirror and a sink, and room for the wheelchair, and away we went. When I got back, I had a new short bob, and have loved it every since. Its easy to wash and dry, using a round brush, and curling it under. Everyone has loved it, and I have gotten many many comments on it. I'm glad I did it, and I don't miss my long hair at all.
This is just one of many many changes. As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of our members died unexpectedly. She was very very active, heading up the funeral dinners, and fundraiser dinner for our church, and other areas in the church (we had talked a couple of times even about us -- she was wanting to do a fundraiser for us, and I talked her out of it, because we don't want it to mess up anything we are trying to do with the Social Security Disability). Not having her there leaves a big hole in the structure of our church family, not to mention our hearts as friends. Her husband is carrying on the best he can. I know its hard for him.
Another change is our minster is retiring. August 31 is his last day. He's been with us 18 years. Again, even with a new minister being brought it, his presence is going to be missed. I had silently said to myself that I didn't want to break in a new minister. Watch what you ask for...
My not being there leaves a bit hole in the church structure. They have 2 people filling in the position, but they are both being very vocal about it being "just temporary". And I understand. I want it to be "just temporary" as well. Not knowing, not having a definate goal or date in place drives me nuts. I want to go back to work in the worst way. But. Not being able to get in my vehicle on my own is a real obstacle Leaking legs is a real obstacle. Wanting to sleep all the time (depression? medications????) is an obstacle.
I looked around this morning, and was amazed at how many new faces I saw. This is wonderful, and I am glad that our church is growing, regardless of the obstacles we have faced as a church
no matter what Satan throws at us, we will get through it.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Food 4 Thought Friday
Food 4 Thought Friday ~ This week's questions
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Breakfast
When was the last time you really laughed out loud and what about?
Because the past few months have been filled with fears and tears, the moment we laughed out loud stands out, and yet, I can't remember just exactly what we were laughing about. I was still in the hospital. Ethan had come to visit. And he had said something about one of the nurses as she left.
I took whatever it was he said wrong, we look at each other and just burst out in laughter. I don't think it was all that funny. But given the place and the moment, I think it was a release of emotions, and we just could not stop laughing for awhile. It was good to laugh though, because so many of the days had been filled with tears and scary moment, scary decisions to make. Laughter IS the best medicine.
Lunch
How much time do you spend exercising in a week?
I know most people, if they excercise, spend 30 minutes, an hour, or more on some kind of a machine, or walking at a rec center or around their town. Right now, I have special circumstances. Now granted, even before all of this happened, my exercise level was basically non-existant.
But, in "today" terms -- how much time to I spend exercising? Probably 5 minutes. After spending 21 days in the hospital, it takes time to build your edurance back -- esp. your leg endurance, when you are extremely overweight like I am. My exercise right now consists of walking up our porch steps, 5 round intervals, and also trying to walk out to the street a couple of times. And I tyy to do this twice a day. Once when Ethan is around, and once again when David is around. My goal is to add to that number, to get where I can do 10 rounds at a time, then 15.
My real goal is to be able to get in my vehicle all on my very own. I can get one leg in, but I just get can't get that other one. So, either David or Ethan have to be there, to help lift that other leg in, all the while pushing on my butt to slide me in as well. Being able to get in on my own would be a true goal reached. Being able to drive myself again, another goal. But it all starts with baby steps -- at the porch.
Dinner
Do you look forward to fall or dread summer coming to a close?
You know, being pretty much housebound, summer really hasn't affected me. If anything, I have told the guys to turn the A/C down, that I was cold. So, I haven't suffered the summer effect this year, although, I'm thinking, all in all, its been a pretty mild one, so I haven't missed much, suffering through the heat. I love fall, with all its pretty colors and such. Fall also brings more weekends of camping, but I don't think that will be happening either. I know I wouldn't be able to sleep in the bed. We haven't camped all summer, so unless things hurry up and heal, I don't see us camping much this fall either.
Midnight Snack
What is something(s) you tell yourself on a daily basis?
That what is going on right now is just temporary. That life WILL get back to normal and I can look back on this period of time as just one of those things I had to go through, and that it is NOT going to be a permanent way of life.
Recipe of the Week (instead of your recipe for life, what is it just for this week?)
The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want.
Thankful Thursday
Even though we are still seeing a wound care doctor because I have 5 spots that are taking their sweet time healing, as I look at my arms, I can't help but be thankful, to give thanks to God every day, that I healed as quickly as I did. Because no one knew a whole lot about my condition or about Vasculitius, the doctors really didn't know how things would heal, and how long it would take. The first two pictures were talen when I was at my worst. As the nurse works on the wounds I still have ( she uses tweezers to pick out the bad skin that has grown, so the new skin will grow in right), I can't help but be very very thankful that the majorit of the spots healed to what you see on the August 14 picture. They look like age spots, or "old lady liver" spots. I can deal with that.
June 1
June 1
August 14
Because we didn't know what was going to happen, I am sooo thankful that those spots didn't turn into the painful "craters" that we are dealing with now. What I am dealing with how is 5 spots that are probably 1/4 inch deep (think round teaspoon--you can lay one down in the spot). A couple are right around the area where the knee bends, and I can't see them to doctor them without help. Another one is on the side of my calf, which I can medicate and cover myself. I have a spot on the top of my foot, but its not a crater. Just a painful open sore, which is getting better, but still makes wearing shoes a difficult process.
Right now, because its covered with guaze and netting, I wear sandals when I got out. I can fasten the top, but not the middle. And the the back strap fastens, so between the two that will fasten, I can wear them and get by. It'll be nice though when I can wear them the way they were meant to be worn. But, at this point, I am thankful for what I can do, and will strive to make things better, and one of these days I WILL be back to 100%.
Friday Felicities
Friday Felicities is a meme created by Nattie – now a resident of heaven. This meme is all about creating a list of things that make you happy and Nattie knew that when you concentrate on your blessings your sorrows are not as overwhelming. If you would like to participate please create your own blog post and then go over to Becky's blog -- Joyful Mother and link your post with other Friday Felicities participants.
- Being able to walk the porch steps more times today than I did yesterday.
- Subway sandwiches
- Moments of no pain
- David being involved in getting the house decluttered and cleaned
- The white cheese we like so much at our Mexican restruant -- being able to find it at Sam's and so now we can enjoy it at home as well.
- An organized dayplanner
- Cards in the mail
- Hugs from my church family when I show up at church
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