Month: November 2021

Holy lives please God.

This is a fact.

Holiness is made possible through the shedding of Christ’s blood on the cross. First and foremost it is by grace alone that we are made holy before God.

As someone who has been a believer for 55 years I have struggled with holiness and how it looks in my life.

I am well aware of my pitfalls, my sins, my shortcomings. These things are not holy, yet they are covered by the transaction that took place 2,000 years ago.

But how does holiness manifest for me today, this day, in my moment by moment?

I like a scenario painted in a book I read long ago (the name escapes me right now) where the author writes that you can choose a blue shirt or a red, and this may have minimal effect on your life, your holiness—

I’m not sure why I think of this from time to time, but I believe that each small thought and choice can affect other things.

I swim at the YMCA regularly. Once in a very long while I am the first and only person to enter the pool. The water is like glass, completely still. I put my finger in and that stillness is disrupted, even for the thousands of gallons of water in front of me.

I choose a red shirt.

It’s a ripple.

God, in His infinite knowledge (how can we comprehend this?) has written this chapter already. I can rest in this peaceful awareness of His plan, His ultimatum.

This is still holiness, I believe.

I am struggling with the day-to-day right now. I battle depression and lack of motivation.

I’m functional.

I actually faced four grades of middle school math classes yesterday, the strugglers. I can relate to struggling with math. I related to these kiddos. We had a good day together. No one was beaten up, everyone left the classroom with a peaceful countenance.

This is success on a daily basis.

This may be what holiness looks like, too. Small victories, keeping a clean slate, clearing up the stains as they appear. Trusting the God who made everything to make the way clear, to keep us in perfect peace, even when you are hated and persecuted.

Even when you are seeing a veil of fog and the sun has been dimmed with the blue of depression.

MARANATHA!

It can’t be long now. I woke up from a deep sleep the other day with a strange sensation that something was different. Is this the rapture?

I think the rapture will happen so suddenly we will hardly be aware of it. One existence to another in a twinkling, a fraction of a second.

Are you praying for your “snatch list?”

Pray that they escape from the coming darkness, the beast system, from the Illuminati, from false doctrine, from pervasive evil, from the beautiful side of evil.

My “snatch list” gets longer and longer.

Let’s pray.

I’m not exactly sure what the straw was, the one that broke the camel’s back, but it was something in the past month. Was it his birthday? The anniversary? The difficult assignment for my public finance and budgeting class—the one I just couldn’t understand?

Was it the aching heart?

Was it the resolve to live quietly and contentedly without him?

Was it the beginning of house repairs, the busier subbing schedule, the return to the hotel’s front desk?

Usually cooler temps give me a boost to buckle down on things needing to be done. The lethargy of summer disappears and the anticipation of the holidays drives the energy forward in preparation.

Oh well.

I’m floundering.

I admit it.

Some of you know that this has been a year of heart ache, continuing to be untangled, two steps forward, one step back.

When Brian passed away the reason for my master’s degree evaporated. I’ve been candid with my professors about my apparent lacksadaisical attitude toward my classes. I’ve been candid here on my blog, too.

Motivation is pretty key to learning. I’ve observed this in everyone. No one is exempt from it.

I could say that getting the MPA was motivation, but it seems rather empty. Learning administration is something I need, not that I’m gifted in it (I’m opposite, actually). I thought that starting a non-profit organization to help those leaving jail would be helpful. It certainly is needed. Recidivism is a major issue, at least it is here in Minnesota. I assume it has something to do with human nature and the inability to change without spiritual intervention.

There are dime-a-dozen self-help ideas out there. Some people dig in their heels and grit their teeth, pull themselves up by the bootstraps and ignore the supernatural void in their hearts—the God-shaped vacuum—and achieve a measure of success.

Sometimes the success comes from evil powers instead of holy ones.

Knowing the need for proper human existence, proper life skills, proper attitudes toward the Creator is a key concept that some beings never considered. It’s true. I’ve seen it, met them.

There is a sub-cortex part of the brain that has to do with basic survival. Food and warmth, basic life preservation, nothing more.

Finding the motivation to live well, to contribute, to love something—to fulfill purpose, is necessary to all humans. We must rise above the amygdala.

I am toying with that amygdala existence right now. It is akin to fetal position. Motivation is hard to come by, and I see no great tomorrow. I might see vague visions of position in the clouds but their forms are elusive right now.

I feel like a teenager again, but I’m a grandma approaching 60.

What should I do?

Concentration has come hard for me. I’m easily distracted from boring textbooks. (I didn’t used to be this way.)

Gritting my teeth has become tiresome.

Watch me grieve. Watch me deal. Watch me try.

I am not without hope. I have Jesus. Even if I cannot see or imagine the future, I do trust. I never really lost that.

I’m spending a lot of time putting my hope in answered prayer. God always answers, yes or no, but I can pray for my needs and desires. He will answer. It might not look like I thought it would.

I choose to stay on the drafting table. The tablet it still open for His writing my life story. The clay is still soft and able to be molded.

I am still going to try.

I think a degree in public admin could be helpful on many levels, even if I have no natural bent toward administering.

I guess I can learn. I can serve.

The millennium is coming. I might as well prepare for it. We believers will ALL be administrators for 1,000 years. Isn’t that impressive?

MARANATHA!!!

I just watched a show that had a ruby red Ford Fusion and a Scamp camper. I wonder if someone in the entertainment world is spying on me. Hilarious! I see corgis everywhere, but that isn’t unusual. Scamps are. My ruby red Fusion is unusual too, as it is a 2014 manual trans. (It’s a lot of fun, actually, and I hope it never dies.) I pull the Scamp with my white pick-up, not the Fusion, but it made me laugh to see my stuff in the TV show. Maybe I just don’t watch much TV.

Pets are fine. Yukichan is finally house-trained. Time to really deep-clean. She is still tearing up all toys and shoes within her reach, though. Puppy antics continue. The cats are reluctant to leave the warmth of the house. Yes, we’ve had snow this past week.

We are adjusting to the new driving patterns since our road became a dead-end. It takes me an extra five minutes to get to the YMCA now for swimming. All things in time. School seems to be going okay for Ed and Cherie. Margaret listed the old Saturn on Craig’s List to sell. Must clear out the back parking area for the snow plow this winter. I’m hoping someone wants it for parts or something. It doesn’t work right now. I’m sure Brian could troubleshoot what is wrong with it. Alas. I cannot.

The house repairs continue. We are addressing the laundry room next. The porch ceiling is beautiful and bright! The new tile in the basement looks lovely. The gutters are on and they look marvelous. Our new roof is really exceeding all expectations. Corgi Hollows looks sharp!

I’m hoping that next weekend my eldest son can come out and do yard clean up for winter. The leaves are truly down now, after one of the longest and colorful, warm autumns I’ve ever experienced.

I guess I’m ready for winter.

I’ve unpacked my sweaters, my down coats, and my wool socks. Boots stand ready. The wood fireplace is in operation, as the wood shed is all set for the season. The fire looks and feels good. I’m knitting a sweater for Yukichan. She doesn’t have the scruff of Corwyn.

It’s cozy.

This is just a little report from Corgi Hollows, especially for those of you that actually stop in and are a physical part of our lives.

Our road, which has been open to a major US highway for decades, will close that access this weekend. The only way to get to Corgi Hollows is from the north, now, a back road down a steep hill, back up, through the swamps. We will now be a “dead end.”

It’s a little unnerving. Old habits die hard, and this is a permanent change.

I don’t know why I have a feeling of claustrophobia about it, but perhaps the accumulated change in my life is just so pervasive I am driven to the edge by this life alteration.

Funny, aren’t we?

Have you read “Life of Pi?”

I did, for book club a few years back. That book points out the routine enjoyed by animals—and humans—and why zoos are not the worst places after all.

We—mammals— like the security of ritual and routine.

I will miss the turn I’ve made for almost 60 years. I guess I didn’t think it would really happen.

I’m glad for my truck, now, which will hopefully get us out up the hill to the north on snowy days. I think about stuff like that.

Today would have been our 32nd wedding anniversary.

Like Asian cultures do, to remember those that have passed and special events, I took Ed and Cherie out to the restaurant that Brian and I went to occasionally to celebrate our anniversary. Margaret dropped off a beautiful bouquet, remembering, for sure, that Brian never forgot to bring me flowers.

I had to do something. I will celebrate a marriage that lasted for 30 years.

Thank you, friends, for your kind thoughts and sweet memory of this day for me.