I had innocently entered my favorite Trader Joe’s store, pushed my carrt to the right and was strolling past the buckets of fresh bouqets headed for the breads. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bucket on a top shelf, filled with stately, 3 foot long gladiolas, begin to tip toward me. I yelled, tried to reach it, but failed. The tall bucket spewed a gallon of water down my legs and formed a growing pool around my feet.

The shoppers around me were in a state of suspended animation- just momentarily, until I began slopping out of the puddle in my flip-flops and drenched pants. I didn’t say anymore, but my brain was yelling “Really! I didn’t touch it!! That bucket literally attacked me! Didn’t you see what happened?? Its all a big mistake!”

The kind TJ employee who arrived with a mop, assured me that it was alright.  I shouldn’t give it a second thought.  But I did.  And a third and fourth, partly because my pants were dragging a watery trail behind me, but mostly because I wasn’t apologizing, thank you very much!

Still frustrated, I finished shopping, put my bags in the car, wrung out my pant legs as well as I could, and headed thru the insanely busy parking lot toward the exit.  I had just started into the exit lane when someone suddenly stopped and a traffic jam developed out in the street.  Hemmed in, front and back, I couldn’t move inches in any direction.  When the jam finally broke up, and we all resumed our exit, a man drove up beside me, rolled down his window and yelled, “Next time leave room!!!”

Now, if I had accidentally spilled that precarious bucket, and had thoughtlessly pulled out and blocked traffic, I would have graciously apologized and smiled, kicking myself a little for being careless.  But, doggone it!  I didn’t do it!!!   It wasn’t me, people!!!!  Read my lips!  I’m I-N-N-O-C-E-N-T!!!!!

A couple of my most painful memories involve the same issue.  In highschool I had a math teacher who made learning fun, and I thoroughly enjoyed figuring out difficult problems, and let him know how much I liked it.  Then one day the principal called me into his office and said that my teacher felt I was too “cocky.”  To this day, that word turns my stomach, because I am the only one who knows that the accusation was false.

Worse than that, was the time when my best friend and I, at age thirteen, had the wonderful privilege of spending a week on a 35-foot yacht belonging to my aunt and uncle. They took us many places aboard the yacht, but during the week they both worked, and we were docked in Tacoma, right off Point Defiance Park.  We had a wonderful time exploring the park while they were gone each day.  One day we returned to the yacht to find both of them very distressed.

“You girls were told not to touch the steering wheels.  Now the cable is broken and needs to be replaced.”  We insisted that we hadn’t touched either wheel, on the lower or upper deck.  Someone had come aboard, taken the cover off the wheel on the upper deck and turned the wheel in one direction while someone else turned the lower deck wheel in the opposite direction until the cable snapped.  It wasn’t us.  But they never believed us.  For years I struggled with that, with no way to resolve it.

I know that Jesus said we are blessed if we are falsely accused for His sake.  But what about the times that make absolutely no sense, and just leave us fuming??    What is that thing in us that has such a need for justification?  And such a reaction to injustice?   Except, of course when we actually are at fault!

Maybe I need to begin to catch myself and respond this way: ” Well, I didn’t do it this time, but it surely does happen that I am careless, or thoughtless, or just plain disobedient.  So I guess I can bite the bullet here and let it be a lesson for the future.”  Or, “No, I didn’t do this, but you should see what I DID do last week!”

Yep.. that’s what I’ll do, all right.  Mmm-hmmm.  You betcha.  Just watch me.  No, don’t.

I can hear them.  “Let’s see now.  We can use stiff, scratchy material and cut it so the corners are really sharp.  Put a big, black one on that sheer, white blouse.   Oh, and we can use prickly, metallic thread for added irritation.  Also, you know that there are quite a few people allergic to silk, so let’s make labels out of those tiny scraps left over from silk clothing. That way, even if they avoid buying a silk garment they will still get the itch.  Of course,  when we must use a soft material, we can always sew the label directly into a major seam so that it is virtually unremovable without dismantling the garment.  And we know that most people will be far too impatient to do that carefully, so they will always end up with holes in that brand new piece of clothing!  That way, even if they are infuriated with us, they can’t bring the item back because it is mutilated and they did it themselves!!!  Ha!  We are so good at this!!”

Maybe I’ve finally gone off the deep end.  After 72 years of squirming under aggravating labels, to call this obsession a pet peeve would be like calling Noah’s flood a puddle.  Its now progressed past the point of blinding rage to a dogged determination on my part.  When the new garment is halfway out of the bag I’ve grabbed my scissors, razor blade, seam ripper, ice-pick, chainsaw- whatever it takes to get rid of those ____ tags.

I wont bother to try to list the other items with labels stuck, glued and taped to them.  I can’t even begin to estimate how many hundreds of purchases I’ve permanently messed up with alcohol, goo-gone, turpentine or such, just trying to remove the stuff.  And we wont even bring up the subject of packaging, except to say that I have been known to nearly slice my hand in half trying to retrieve some tiny item buried in plastic that is tough enough to repel a blow-torch.

Funny. As I’ve finally vented my rather intense aversion, an even more disturbing thought emerges thru the cloud of frustration.  How often am I guilty of slapping a label on another person, group or culture, and how much more painful, damaging and difficult to remove is that?  Hmmm.

Every time time I used The Hoe I thought about you, diligently pushing it back and forth among your astounding varieties of dahlia plants, making sure that no encroaching weed was detracting from their beauty.  Then on to the veggies, rows of them, all of them determined to shelter still more sneaky, green intruders.  Any grandchild who spent a summer night at your house woke to the scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch of Grandma’s Hoe, as you worked in the garden while the sun was still in the tree-tops.

Then came the day that you tried to ignore a terrible head-ache and went out to hoe the garden in spite of it.  You were almost finished when the headache became unbearable, and you made your way across the driveway with The Hoe to lean on the old, grey Plymouth for support.  When you fell, the dog barked urgently until Grandpa came to investigate.  You never regained consciousness on this earth.

I’m not superstitious, but I have to admit that it has crossed my mind more than once in the last twenty-six years, that maybe The Hoe would claim two Grannies!  I know that you worried about a lot of things, and I am sorry that you had to deal with Fear for so many years. I allowed you to pass some of that along to me, and I remember what it was like to be immobilized by it.

But I’m glad that you are free now, and if you can see us, you are probably amazed that your son didn’t die by the time he was forty (or earlier) as you feared.  Instead, he’s been sitting on “your” steep roof for a month and a half, working away, artificial heart-valve, pace-maker, blood-thinner and all.  He’s already enjoyed at least thirty-three bonus years!

Today I bought a new Hoe.  I’ll hang the old one on the wall in the garden house to remind myself that I did outlive The Hoe!   But I don’t think I have much chance of wearing out that new one!

The Bucket

I have a very old bucket in my garden-  so old that it truly could be classified as an antique. It is decorative, and appears quite intact.  There is a plant growing in it.  But if you look more closely, or pick it up, you will discover that the bottom is all rusted out.  The plant is growing directly in the garden and the bucket comes right up without disturbing anything.  Just like it was never there.

Sometimes I feel like that bucket.  Been around a long time.  I’m amazingly intact, (good genes) and unless you see me before I paint on my missing eyebrow,  my looks  probably wont scare you!   However, evidences of rust do show up now and then.  And once in a while when I take time to feel sorry for myself, I think that if I disappeared, nobody would notice.

Come on, now.  Doesn’t anyone else ever have thoughts like that??  LIke “Its been forever since I last posted on this blog.  Life has been good at pulling the rug out.  Do I still have anything worth saying?  Did I ever?”

So, instead of trying to scrape the bottom of my bucket for words of wisdom that somebody else MIGHT want to read, I’m asking God to open my eyes and ears to some of the ways He speaks.  I have a feeling that there are myriad things He is saying constantly in the world around  me, that I miss by being too busy to notice.

Tell you what-  I’ll be keeping my eyes and ears open, and let you know what happens.  Hmm.  I guess it was a rusty, old bucket that started all this, wasn’t it??

The foregoing long, quiet period of time, has been basically focused on our family. Yes, the restoration continues, and with every round, God digs deeper. And guess what? For restoration to exist, something must be broken, beat up or in a state of deterioration.

Think of an old, antique couch, worn, faded, cushions sagging, protruding springs, broken frame. Then comes the re-upholsterer- the restorer. First the fabric comes off, then the old, lumpy padding gets pulled out. If the springs have come untied or are broken, they have to be fixed. When the piece is stripped down to the frame, if it is broken, or cracked or needs nails and screws, that is the first step in the restoration process. When that process is finished, the old couch is better than new.

It seems that there is always something in our lives that is in need of restoration- we will never “arrive” this side of eternity! These past months have been a family-time of learning and un-learning, pain and joy, devastation and healing, allowing the great Restorer to go several layers deeper in all of us.

Its always somewhat of a shock to realize that “Uh-oh! There is more restoration needed here!” God sure knows just how to work on the “happily ever after” syndrome that can so easily creep into my writing, no matter how I fight it!

At the same time, I never want to forget the truths we’ve learned and the restoration we have experienced in the Bittersweet story. I rejoice in the fact that God is in the business of offering beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness. He is so faithful to continue to do just that.

Laurie and I are excited to be interviewed tonight on primetime TV in Augusta, Georgia. We will be on 49 WBPI TV, on Club 36 from 8:00-10;00 pm EST, and then re-broadcast tomorrow from 10:00 am to 12:00 pm EST If you think of us, please pray for us. All we want is to share the things we have learned that might help others and in that to show-case our Great Restorer! More later.

Today I stood peering at the hole and accompanying pile of dirt with one of my daughters.  The surrounding ”lawn” has dirt clods and excavator tracks on it and the flower bed contains cement blocks and drain pipe sections.  There is mud on my window and dirt on my floor.

I turned to my daughter and said, “You know, that looks kinda like our life right now. It looks like a mess, and everything is out of control.”  She agreed, and I continued, “But God digs deep to accomplish what He wants in our lives, and He has a perfect plan for the finished product.”

She agreed again.  She had to- I’m her mom.  Right?  Wrong- she’s a grown-up now, with a family of her own.  But I’m so very thankful that she understands, at a far younger age than I did, that no matter how things turn out, God makes everything alright.  How does He do that?!

Meantime, I’ll wait for my yard to reappear.  Better than before, I’m sure.

We are now at home in Redmond, Washington. The videoing and taping is done,  the music is recorded and mixed and most of the media piece is put together.  We used an incomplete version in Virginia, but have now gotten most of the parts and pieces added.  Of course, we will need more than one version depending upon who is speaking!  One thing I know for sure,  is that I have no desire to be a movie star!!!  Videoing is not really my cup of tea, but one must make sacrifices along the way!  We will now be able to send the DVD to Laurie and Timothy Carr and let Laurie do some speaking also!

A few weeks back I did a radio interview, which you can download and listen to in the media department of this website.  Interviews are fun, but the time certainly goes quickly.  I am loving speaking for various venues-  with a MOPS group coming up in a few days.

In April, Tom and I will be going to the Mt Hermon Writers Conference where we will work together for the first time since I have been working in that conference for the last 22 years.  During those years, about 1/2 of our wedding anniversaries have occurred while I was at the conference and Tom was somewhere else- like home!  I’ve gotten flowers while there, and one time he surprised me by coming for a couple of days.  But this time, we will celebrate our 50th anniversary in the middle of the conference.  This year also marks the 40th anniversay of the Mt Hermon Writers conference.   So there will be celebrating!

On April 25 I will be speaking at the Beulah  Alliance Church in Edmonton, Alberta at their bi-annual womens outreach breakfast.  We have dear friends up there, and Tom will probably figure out a way to come with me to visit them for a few days.

Life is full and at times “bittersweet”- and God is faithful.  Restoration continues. There IS spring in the dead of winter.

Anyway, we are currently involved in preparation for being able to “go it on our own”, just the two of us–Tom and me. That involves a lot more than we would ever have imagined. We have had to video, record, add photos, and are in the process of mixing the music that the girls recorded as a part of our media presentation. Videos have to be re-done (too much background noise) more pictures taken and included. There were so many technical kinks to work out– I am amazed at the complexity of it all! But, hey– we are learning.

The most important part of our learning is of the heart. Just what is our message? What is it that God is truly after? We have known from the start that its not just to tell a wonderful story. Jesus told a lot of stories, but each story had an objective. Our overall message is ‘Restoration’, but we are asking God to equip us to bring that to individuals, marriages, families and groups. We obviously can’t do that in our own strength, or through our own resources. So this has also been a time to get serious about allowing God to do it His way. Its an on-going adventure.

We were surprised and homored as extra seating was brought in and filled.  We had expected that people would be foo celebrating Memorial Day elsewhere!  We had some technical difficulties, but people were very gracious and affirming. (click on title to read full post)

The girls were able to record (in a studio) the songs that we use in our presentation, so that they can be added and used even when they can’t be with us.

We brought home the beauty of the Methow and its residents, in our hearts.

Hanging out with all those kids, I was struck with the fact that there really doesn’t have to be an age-gap.  Tom and I stood in front of them recalling that we had met at 14 and 16, and that our love has only gotten richer over the past fifty-some years.  Guess what, young people!  Love and romance are definitely not exclusive to the younger generation!

Thnak you for the opportunity, Cedar Park!