Whose Stuff Is It Anyway?

In a sudden burst of organizational fervor, I cleaned out my walk-in closet of ‘stuff’ I was suddenly motivated to part with. This is major because some of it I haven’t used but have been unable to part with for years. My motive was to put order into my hidden life. Hidden because who sees your closet? No one. But God that is. He evidently sees our closets. I had no less than the Almighty Himself say to me earlier this week, “Your outer life is very productive, but your inner life needs some order.” I didn’t have to ask Him “Why, whatever do you mean, Lord?” I knew. Having moved into this apartment several months ago (see blogs below about moving) I still have not unpacked all my boxes. That would tell I can really can live with whatever was in them, yes? In addition to the boxes I had a stash of clothes I-don’t-wear-anymore-but-will-do-something-creative-with one day (I told myself). I had found a website a while back that teaches you how to weave rugs out of old t-shirts and fabric from clothes you don’t wear anymore but want to keep in your life. Wonderful. I wouldn’t have to say goodbye or abandon my old now-has-a-hole-in-it but beautifully colored blouse, or the dress that had so many memories connected to it. I could weave them into a rug and remember each one as I viewed their colors in the rug. So I had a collection of odds and end clothing I was surely going to cut into strips one day and weave into said rug. But then, do I need a rug? Not really. Would that rug then become clutter and something else I can’t do away with? What to do?

I heard the Lord whisper, “Whose stuff is it, yours or Mine.” Uh, would ‘ours’ do, Lord? No answer. I got the point. If I tell Him my life is entirely His, wouldn’t that mean the ‘stuff’ too? Guess so. He must have sent an angel to help me because one morning I woke up and before I knew it, it was 2 pm and I had sorted through and made some major emotional decisions and in the hallway near the front door of my apartment was now three giant trash bags of give away stuff. It admittedly took me several day of tripping over them till I finally bit the bullet and decided to actually take them to the give-away store. There was a thrift store not too far from my home, but I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t someone making a lot of money off of other people’s discards as the store always seemed quite busy but had no sign such as Salvation Army or Goodwill. Did I want to contribute to something like that?

I got in my car and headed there, soon realizing I had forgotten my sunglasses. Squinting somewhat painfully in the bright sun, as I pulled into the parking, I saw a humble sign that said the proceeds went to support Viet Nam Vets. Well, then. I can do that. A patriotic warmth spread through me as I suddenly found myself feeling good about giving away my 25 year old bed spread with the matching ruffled pillow shams and the drapes that I loved but haven’t matched anything in 15 years, and the dress with the memories. It was for America and the men who had bravely fought for us, whether I agreed with the war or not. Let bygones be bygones. God is still in America. There were still men in need having been wounded in the effort and my drapes could be of some help to ease their pain.  

As I parked the car and began to unload the bags, I saw there were people coming in and out of the store who were obviously not born in America. I heard several languages as I loaded up a shopping cart with my large plastic bags of stuff. I saw mothers with little kids and teenagers all chattering together at once, fathers trying to keep little kids near them – like I happened on a village square in another country as these people were outside the store not in it. Some were showing off the treasures they had found in the store. A few young mothers, obviously housewives, were speaking Spanish so I don’t know what they said, but I could just picture one of them going home with my bedspread with the ruffled pillow shams and loving them. My heart leaped with unexpected joy as I now thanked God for the pleasure that bedspread had brought to me for many years, of how I had enjoyed it and now He had ordained that it was to go on to bless someone else. 

The sudden realization came to me that all my ‘stuff’ really isn’t my stuff at all.  The Bible says, “The Lord richly supplies us with all things to enjoy” (1 Tim. 6:17). Whatever I’ve had that I'd enjoyed was God’s gift to me. It is all His and while we may enjoy it for a season, it doesn’t diminish the memories we have if we give it away for someone else to enjoy. What freedom! The lady who took my stuff at the donation center seemed genuinely happy to receive it. She blessed me as if I had bestowed something wonderful upon her and I blessed her back. Nice. 

I decided to take a spin through the store to see if there was perhaps a treasure for me before I continued on my journey that day, even though I wished I hadn’t forgotten my sunglasses. And what was I to find? A basket full of sunglasses. I bought two, one for slightly cloudy days and one for bright sunny days like that day. Total cost: $1.50 for the two. I happily got in my car and asked God to bless the people who had previously worn my new sunglasses, the ones He had sovereignly ordained would be there for me on a day when I needed them. Thank you, Lord. You’re so thoughtful. 

All Moved In.

It's been months since I moved in. Should anyone have actually been reading #1-10 of my moving blog and wondered what finally happened, I'm here, happily living in my new digs. On moving day, I rented a truck and a flock of friends and family came to help shlep and hours later here I was. There were, as could be expected, some challenges. For instance, while the top of my desk made it, the bottom somehow self destructed. All this time I thought it was made of oak, but it turned out to be fiberboard, making me wonder what else in my life I think is real that isn't. Who knew it even came apart? My amazing grandson Zander (short for Alexander), age 15, took two short bookcases and set the desk top on them as if they were legs. Perfect! Except the desk now stuck out from the wall in my office the length of the bookcases plus I basically lost 12' of bookshelves. Not to worry, at least I have access to my computer. I never would have thought years ago that a computer would matter so much. It's now only as important as say, oxygen.  

But what to do with the books that would have gone in those book cases? Well, truth be known, though it looked like I was all unpacked and settled in, if you looked behind the shower curtain in my otherwise cute hall bathroom you would have found the tub piled high with boxes of books. If I didn't have company coming two weeks ago who would need to shower in that tub, the books would still be there. Amazing what company coming motivates you to do.

For the first few weeks I would wake up in the middle of the night surprised I was here. But soon enough Lizzie made the adjustment and so did I.  It turns out that the designated dog walking spot for the complex is on the river so Liz and I get to see life on the St. John's river on our early morning walk when the sky is still a bit on the pastel side and a plethora of water birds soar back and forth,  calling to one another, seemingly excited about another day as they dip now and again into the river for breakfast. From where I stand or sit at rivers edge, I can look in one direction and see the bridge over the river and the city, the lights of which are dazzling at night (a good vantage point to be praying for my city), or I can look the other way and pretend I'm on a primitive Florida island and wonder how it looked to the early settlers to find such rich and lush territory.

My daughter Ellen and her family live a kyack paddling distance away as there is only one property between her riverside home and my complex, not that I ever really considered taking them up on the kyack offer. It's the getting in and out the intimidates me. But it's wonderful to have them so close. When my visitors came recently we went and sat on her dock, drinking iced tea and watching the daylight sink into the river as fish (I think they're called Mullets) jumped out of the water in mini-purpoise-like immitations and we talked and talked as only old friends can.   

Back at my own little home, the wonderful rocking chair I rescued out of someone's trash and painted blue a while back sits on my little patio surrounded by pots of flowers. The big ole' granddaddy trees loom protectively above. With Lizzie on my lap, we often sit and rock at end-of-day and I talk with God about.... well, everything. It sounds idyllic, I know. I'm so grateful to God for His goodness. It's not that there aren't things to be concerned about, or to pray about. There's so much more to my life than where I live. Perhaps I'll get back to blogging about other things, but for now, I just wanted to let you know, anyone reading my moving journal, when you have a giant task in front of you, you only have to do the next thing. And somehow it all gets done and then one day you realize, you're well on the other side of it all. But don't forget to stop and look for the beauty that's around you. No matter where you are, if God's in your life, He will show you the beauty.  It starts with who He is!

Family, Friends & Boxes - Moving Journal #10

I don't necessarily recommend planning a vacation when you're in the midst of a move, but then again, it was a wonderful opportunity to take a break from the packing and the constant planning in my head of what to put where. My two daughters, one son-in-law, and a selection of four of my grandchildren drove to Philadelphia for a wonderful couldn't-have-been-better visit for a family event, and a day with dear friends. We drove the 14 hours both ways through the night, taking turns sleeping, caravaning in two cars, keeping in touch with cell phones for when we needed to make a stop: "Gotta get gas"..."Gotta pee"..."We're hungry," etc. I admit it was a very long drive and there were times I just didn't want to do it anymore.


Meanwhile, back at home, my dear friend Nancy was good enough to come and stay with Lizzie who, being a dog, has no idea why there are boxes everywhere and things are not as they have always been, though I have certainly tried to explain it to her. Still, she continues to look worried.

While I was gone, Nancy carried on the packing of my many books which has taken more time than packing everything else. She even went in search of boxes and discovered that the best source of book packing boxes can be found in auto supply stores. Those boxes that ship motor oil are the perfect size for books. The day I got back we went to various stores in search of more boxes. I've learned that coming just after noon and before three o'clock is the best time to obtain empty boxes of all sizes, just after they've unloaded them and before they crush them - a piece of miscellany that could prove very useful if you're planning to move.

Nancy has continued to come and help pack, for which I am most grateful. I am somewhat organizationally challenged - confusion tends to render me ...well, confused (did I mention that before?).  And like with the driving from Philly, I sometimes just don't want to continue to do this anymore. Giving up, in either case, has not been an option.

Terri came the first day and got me started, and then came yesterday afternoon, along with Sandy, in time for a quickie supper of chicken wings, rice and salad -- my last friends-for-dinner (one of my favorite things to do) in this home. They did an amazing job of getting the whole kitchen packed. Who knew there was all that stuff under the kitchen sink?

It's a true friend who will come and help you pack, filling boxes with paper wrapped items and securing box after box with tape. Doing it together is a bonding experience - (pun intended). I'm sure there are special rewards in heaven for such folks.



Attempted Categories -- Moving Journal #9

Boxes. When in need of boxes do not ask the manager of the supermarket. Go to the produce guy. He will load you up with apple and banana boxes. You need different kinds of boxes for different stuff. Small ones for books or they get too heavy. That's where the Dollar Store dumpstser boxes are good. Waxed boxes are pretty ugly but will serve for things that could spill, like cleaning supplies or food, not that I'm up to packing food yet.

Packing the books in categories turns out to be more tedius than I expected. Some categories are clearly more defined than others, but what category do you put something like "The Psychology of Jesus" in? Is that NT teachings, Jesus or counseling? Do I put "The Uses of the Old Testament in the New" in OT or NT? Not all have to do with God. There's my books on quilting, beading and knitting. Admittedly I do more looking at the pictures than I do any quilting, beading or knitting. Then there are books like "In Praise of Slowness: Challenging the Cult of Speed." I must find some time to finish that book one day. I found books I forgot I had. And others I've had for decades I'm rather attached to like old friends.

In my quest for categorizing my books, first I made piles on the floor. It quickly became too many categories, which meant more piles, and as I added to the piles, they didn't stay stacked due to being of varying sizes, and so the piles soon began to slouch over into each other. About that time, one 14 pound fluffy white ball of bounding enthusiasm named Lizzy (see photo) paid me a visit and that pretty much obliterated most of the deliniations between the categories. So much for that idea. 

I guess I'll put them more in categories on the unpacking end.

  

Old Letters & Books... Moving Journal #8

I've begun packing now that I have the Dollar Store boxes. I began with kitchen items and serving pieces I doubt I'll have any use for between now and the move. It was a start.

Then I began to dissessemble my office. I have books and more books. I think they spore when I'm not looking. When I moved last time my grandson Zander (e.g. Alexander) got the other grandkids to put the books in the shelves while he set up my computer. They unloaded all my books and within two hours after arriving, my office was all functional. Only they just shoved the books in the shelves more or less by size, oblivious to my personal  requirement to actually know where a book is. I would have set them up by sub-topics within topics, such as: Israel: Biblical history; modern history; language; heroes; literature, etc. But I never rearranged them. So each time I need a book, which I frequently do for research purposes, I have to search for it.  This time I'm going to pack them in categories so when Project Manager Zander has the kids set my office up again, I'll be able to locate what I need easily.

     In the process of dissesembling parts of the office, I came upon a folder of my son's letters that he wrote to me in the days before email. Real letters, with handwriting that would often tell what mood he was in (dreamy and slow, or fast & tense). They were from his Boston University days, from when he moved to Martha's Vineyard for a season, then a brief stint in L.A. until he landed in San Francisco and decided to make it his home. Little by little the letters dwindled off as I recall email taking over. I sat last night for a few hours with a cup of tea, (and okay, yes, a bowl of ice cream too, Mocha Fudge!!) while reading through years of my son's life, 'feeling' with him, remembering, seeing how he was then the person he is now - always the philosopher at heart, a musician, and a people studier.  I'll be sure he gets the letters so he can see that about himself.

     Now that I've decided to tackle packing the books, the biggest challenge is to resist the impulse to stop and read just a paragraph or two. I don't dare sit down with even one, or hours will go by and my ADD distractibility will have won again. OK, Lonnie. Enough writing. Get up and do something productive.

Belonging -- Moving Journal #7

I never realized how much ownership I have of where I live until now that I am about to leave it behind. As I anticipate moving within the next month, I realize I think of the local Publix supermarket as my Publix and the neighborhood drugstore as my drugstore. I picked up a bread at the local Panera’s recently and left feeling that it might have been the last time I bought a challah (braided Sabbath bread) from my Panera’s. And what about the “Curves” workout center? I love my Curves, though I can’t say I actually get there all the time. Still, I feel I belong there. I also have a special feeling for the library near by having spent delightful hours just browsing through other people’s thoughts and ideas. I guess I’ll have to find a new veterinarian closer to my new home to take Lizzie to for her shots or when her tummy isn’t feeling well. And what about where I get my hair cut. Jessica and I have chatted over many a hair cut for a few years. I’m feeling a sense of loss, leaving all this familiarity behind.

Most of all, I’m missing my Mom. Her room is now entirely empty except for one rocking chair that was my Dad’s and the boxes I am now beginning to fill with the kitchen stuff I’ve started to pack. How is it that a person’s belongings, their stuff, lasts longer than they do? I know Mom is in glory with the Lord and my father. She’s enveloped in the joy of the presence of Jesus. So I have no grieving for her plight. It’s just that I miss sharing with her all the newness going on. This is the first time in all my days that I don’t have Mom to share and talk over what new thing is going on in my life. She was always my mother, but when we moved to Florida together on January 1st, 2004, she became my best friend as well. Perhaps this is one of the reasons it’ll be good to move. No more empty spaces that Mom used to fill in our home.

It’s funny about places and how the places change us. When I moved to where I live now, I knew none of the people that are now a part of my days and weeks. Now I think of them as mine, not that anyone at Panera, or the drug store, or Publix even knows my name. Trying to make the emotional transition, I went to the new Publix near where my daughter Ellen lives, which means where I will soon be living as well. I bought a few things and when I went to check out, the cashier looked like her face was glowing. She just radiated joy. There’s generally only one reason someone looks that radiant. I said something to her like, “You look like a blessed person.” She lit up even more if that’s possible. “I am,” she said and began to talk about Jesus and how He’s the reason for her joy. I Amen’d what she had to say, letting her know I’m a believer too. Then I told her, “I’m going to be moving into the area and I came to just check out the new Publix. It’s nice to meet a sister in the Lord here.” An older gentleman was bagging the food as we talked. Turning toward him she said, “This is Sam. He’s a brother in the Lord too.” He smiled a broad cheerful smile and said, “Welcome to our family.”

“We are a family here,” she said, “and we’re glad to welcome you to it.” I’m not sure if she meant the Pubix family or the fellowship of the two of them, as she told had me there are other believers working there as well. So while it’s not my Publix yet, it’s a good beginning toward feeling like I’m about to become part of the new neighborhood. Wherever the people of God are, you’re never an outsider or a newcomer for long.

Comparisons - Moving Journal #6

I've been to the library four times in the past two weeks for books on decorationg ideas. My father always used to tell me to make comparisons before making decisions. Even decorating decisions can be important if you're someone who's afffected by surroundings, color, feng shui, etc. I didn't know I was feng shui sensitive until I read it in one of the decorating books. Live and learn.
I've been dreaming furniture arrangements, walking through the rooms in my mind, trying to figure out where my furniture would fit into the apartment I've committed to live in, even though I haven't signed a lease.  Yesterday I went over to help Ginger pack some more for her move out next Friday, though admittedly it was with an alterior motive of trying to figure out where to put my own stuff there. When I left, I was still feeling like this was not really happening to me, and I again said, "Lord, if this isn't where You want me, please let me know."

Today a friend of mine came over to bring me a load of packing boxes she picked up for me at the Dollar store. She didn't even have to pay a dollar for them. She fished them out of their dumpster. "Y'know," she said, as we talked, "I'm not sure Ginger's apartment is where you're supposed to be." I told her I'd asked the Lord to let me know if it wasn't. "Let's go look at those new apartments near your daughter's," she said. "For some reason, I just think we should go look there." Perhaps this was the Lord's leading. I better go and look. So we did.

The posh apartment complex was spiffy new and yuppy equiped with all you could want. Decorator magazine picture-perfect, for sure. Well laid out and filled with light. But the new synthetic carpeting made my nose itch, and as elegant as it was, to me it seemed sterile. It had no stories to tell, no history to soften it. No character, especially not what my one-time 200 year old Pennslvania farm house had. Nah, not for me.

When we left the new complex which wasn't as near to my daughter's as Ginger's apartment is, we drove to my daughter's to say hello. Two of my teenage grandchildren were home and were so glad to see me, happy to have me stop by. They were both sick so I didn't want to get close to them. I just got an email from Jordan as I was writing this saying he wanted to hug me but being sick, knew he shouldn't. Ah, yes! Living in such close proximity to them would certainly provide the blessing of seeing the kids more often than I do now. There's a reason to live practically next door right there.

What this afternoon did for me was confirm for me that Ginger's soon-to-be-mine apartment was where I should be. Imperfect as it is, even if Richard the landlord doesn't replace the faucets, Ginger says they work fine. I believe it's where God want's me. That's enough for me. I'm at peace with it now.

Helping Ginger Pack - Moving Journal #5



Need new faucets?

Our ladies Bible study group went over to Ginger's to help her pack. It gave me another opportunity to look around the apartment and to see what I had gotten myself into. As the condos are not new, while I generally like homes that have a patina and some personality, some lived in quality, like it could tell you stories of what life has gone on in there over the years, (my favorite home was a 200 year old farmhouse in Pennsulvania I lived in for a number of years), now I was seeing wear and tear that was less then idyllic. Suddenly it seems like this is happening to someone else and I can't even begin to picture myself living there.

I had envisioned putting my writing desk under a window I could open to let the lovely curtains I planned to make flutter in the breeze while the smell of Spring and early summer came wafting through. But I discovered that behind Ginger's window-camouflaging drapes the window looked out on a parking lot and there sat a row of cars six feet away staring right at me through said window like they were saying, "We were here first." So much for that idyllic idea. Now I know the reason for Ginger's heavy drapes over the window.

While the other rooms were a good size, would the dining room would have room for my two wonderful cane bottom chairs that had belonged to my Dad and Mom which presently flank my antique-pitcher-collection-laden 1750's reproduction hutch? And would I ever have space to open the leaves of my table for dinner for more than six? What about my piano? Can you play a piano when you live in an apartment complex without having the neighbors complain even though I play lovely music that I'm sure they would like. Then there's the fixtures in the bathrooms. The worn faucets need to be replaced - badly. I tried to picture Richard, my new landlord, coming over with a wrench and a new set of faucets in hand. But I've never even met Richard. We've only had a phone conversation or two to agree on me living there at Ginger's recommendation. Would he be willing to come and install new ones?

Lord, are You sure this is where you want me? If it's not, please let me know pronto before I meet Richard next week.

Trading Spaces - Moving Journal #4

Amazing how God weaves things together. I was beginning to feel discouraged that any of the condo rental apartments I was looking at would be suitable for me to move to as the ones that were available required using community laundry facilities (way too much shlepping) and were not on the group floor (I'm an earth lover.) I had a condo once with a balcony on the fourth floor. I called it my tree house. For dog walking purposes, however, first floors are best and I wanted a patio. Ginger's apartment seemed like what I was looking for, but alas, Ginger lived in it.

Then I heard of a job opportunity with a ministry I work with that would be perfect for Ginger, I thought. Only it would require that she relocate. (Honest, I wasn't trying to get her out of her apartment, it just happened.) Short story, she loved the idea, interviewed for it and got the job. This ministry is the desire of her heart! She was willing to move up there, don't you know. So the trade is I tell her about the job and she tells her landlord about me. Result: She moves out and I move in! Ta dah!!

This all happened within a week or so of when I felt God was telling me to move near my daughter (see Moving Journal #1 below). The condo community is on the water, though unfortunately my unit isn't. But while walking Lizzie we can walk by the water's edge which, being in Florida, includes the most incredible skies and cloud formations. It's located on an inlet of the St. John's River, the only river in the world, incidentally, besides the Nile that flows south to north. From there I can see the dock by my daughter's house which is also on the inlet. My grandkids had the idea that they could get me a kayack or a canoe and I could paddle over. Cute, but I don't think so.

Ginger's Apartment (Moving Journal #3)

Ginger is my friend who lives in the condos near my daughter where I am considering moving. It is, as I mentioned in my previous two blogs about my upcoming move, close to my daughter Ellen's home where I would be within walking distance of her and her family which consists of El, her husband, four children, two dogs and a cat named Theodore to whom I am incredibly allergic. Theo and I do not have much of a relationship.

I'm staying in faith that God is leading me, while watching for signs of His leading (as in "faith signs" - see photo above). I went to look at Ginger's apartment just to get the feel of it. Nice layout, lots of room and a washer/dryer which the other I looked at didn't have. It so happens that the condo across the hall is vacant as the woman who owns it went to live with her children. An attempt is going to be made to contact her to see if she wants to rent it. Then Ginger and I would be next door neighbors.

It's funny how some places just feel right and others don't. Each apartment has walls and floors, window, etc. There is always a visual sense of light or lack of it. Some places feel more comfortable than others. But it's the people who give it the sense of presence, of ambiance, or lack of it. You can feel if they're happy or not in a person's home, don't you think? And it's the 'stuff' that people have that gives a place personality as if the home is an extension of one's personhood. some are stiff and cold, others are welcoming. Ginger's home is warm and gives evidence of her love for the Lord. Even if Ginger wasn't there, you could tell that about her by her "stuff."

The building in not new. I don't mind. I tell myself, if I were, say, living in Jerusalem, I would have no trouble thinking a forty year old building was just fine, new even compared to some which are as old as New Testament history that took place there. So long as the plumbing and the heat work. In Jerusalem houses often do not have heat, so this is a plus. (I have a scar on my leg from when I tripped over a space heater in Jerusalem once trying to keep warm.) I'm not in Jerusalem, of course, though it would be my first choice if all things were equal. However, it is in North Florida that I am in search of a new home. We'll see what comes of trying to contact the absent lady next door to Ginger.

The Theology of Moving (Moving Journal #2)

Moving forward on the forthcoming move (see previous blog), I went to see one of the options of the condos near my daughter. If you can tell something about a person by the wallpaper they pick out, then the woman who owned this apartment before the present tenants moved in five years ago, was a frustrated set designer for a 1929 flapper movie. Wild stuff, not to mention that the paper was close to being that old and still somehow clinging to the walls.

It was a smaller layout and... well, I found out I'm a snob. This was clearly beneath my dignity and aesthetic sensabilities. Lord, You couldn't possibly be asking me to live here. Could You? I was suddenly faced with a theological question: Is this a lesson on going to the Cross and denying myself and being satisfied with what I don't want but He's giving me? Or should I be praying in faith for God to give me something that would be a blessing to me that I would love and enjoy? I opted for the second, keeping open with Him that I really want His will. This, as it turns out, is as much of an issue of learning about God as it is about finding a new home.

The other day I spent a rather cerebral day reading and thinking, and talking with God about what I was thinking about since it was mostly about Him. It seems to me that, for those with eyes to see it (see John 3:3), history is largely God's revelation of Himself which take place in the situations of man. Each opportunity is an opportunity to learn more of God and to have Him reveal Himself to you, if you are looking to Him to do so. My move has become that kind of quest. So I'm on the alert for new God-sightings, to see where He turns up in this search for a new home. Stay tuned.

MOVING - Moving Journal #1

I have to move. I had just thanked the Lord that there was nothing I didn't like about living where I do when two days later, on Christmas day I returned from a wonderful family time to find taped to my door a notice. It said, without any holiday greeting whatsoever, mind you, that it is time to renew my lease and oh, by the way, there's a considerable increase in the rent.

My Mom and I had moved to the south seven years ago from Philly. No point in buying something for both of us when she was 85. That was just the practicality of the situation. We found this lovely place which was just perfect for us. Mom happily remained with me till she was 92 and then relocated in the customary way to heaven to be with the Lord and my father. (See my previous blog about Mom.)

Two weeks later a friend moved in with me and we shared the rent which was enormously helpful since Mom's Social Security check ended when she did. However, within hours of the rent increase note on Christmas(did those people have nothing better to do that day?), my roommate informed me that now that she had her certification as a Medical Assistant and had landed a great job with a surgeon, she was going to get her own place. I could see where she'd want to. Everything here, except what is in her bedroom,is mine.

I was now left with the realization that I cannot continue to live in my lovely townhome near the pond (yes, that photo is my pond) with the duckies and herons,and the meadow with the wildflowers, and near my friend Sandy who loves to drive so when we go places together I don't have to. Suddenly I felt dislocated, unconnected, and a bit in shock.

There's only one thing to do when you feel like that - go to God and trust that He has a plan. You just have to find out what it is - that's the tricky part sometimes. I sat in my prayer-chair and asked God what He wanted me to do. I listened. Nothing. Well Lord, I said. I'm going to just read in my Bible where I was up to already. Would you please speak to me about all this. None of this flip open the Bible and point and expect that the verse you land on is His will. Risky business, as far as I'm concerned. As I picked up where I last stopped reading I read,"...lived with their relatives in Jerusalem opposite their other relatives" (1 Chron 8:32). It seemed as clear as day to me. I think God is telling me that I'm suppposed to live near my daughter Ellen and her family. It's not Jerusalem, but the principle is the same - live near your relatives. Ellen and the kids seemed to like the idea as well.

I called my friend Ginger who lives in an condo complex within walking distance of Ellen's home to ask if she knew of any condos for rent. She would check. A day later Ellen and I went to go look at one of several that were available. I gave it only a brief look as it wouldn't be the unit I would take, but it could work. The others are on the first floor which I would prefer. So arrangements were made for me to look at the other units.

In the mean time, even though my faith is firmly in God's caretaking of me, I am going through somewhat of a greiving over loosing my lovely townhome near the pond.... oh you know. It is possible to have faith in God and still feel a bit sad over a loss at the same time.

I don't know who will read this, or even care about me moving, but I'm going to share this anyway - my way of processing through it. Writers, which I am, process by writing. Maybe others will be moving who will be glad to know someone else is sharing their experience.

Looking Back, Looking Foward

As I look down the corridors of history in my reading, I see where God’s people, both the true Christians and the faithful Jews, have been people of extraordinary character and integrity who remained locked in on God and His Word no matter what. These men and women were pillars of faith whose testimonies still strengthen us. Among them was my own great-grandfather. My Dad called him Zaida, which means Grandfather in Yiddish. He was an orthodox rabbi in Russia when the communist revolution was stirring. All clergymen were ordered to preach only the communist doctrine. But Zaida refused to stop preaching God’s Word to his flock. As a man of Torah, he was also committed to meeting the practical needs of his people, finding ways to collect food and clothing for them when poverty threatened because of persecution. Eventually, he and others were able to flee to America, a story in itself, to save their lives. Thank God there was a free America to flee to. May it always be the land of the free and the home of the brave. Amen.

I have a book Zaida wrote in which the elders of his congregation wrote a preface telling what I just told you. If he could speak to us today, he would tell us what he told his flock—God is faithful, His Word is true, He will protect and defend you as He keeps your mind and heart close to His own. Stay faithful because He is faithful.

It is just possible that we, of all the people who have ever lived on the earth, could be those whom God ordained before the foundation of the world to be His “end time people.” He chose us for such a time as this. To me, this means that He will enable those who are truly His to know Him as the Bride He is coming for, people whom He will anoint, empower and enable to be witnesses to His glory, holiness, love and truth. If we are to be a light in the darkness, we must walk in light - His light. It is never dark when you're with Him.

Today is a good day to put your faith in Yeshua (Jesus) who is the Light of the world. Just as the oil for the eternal lamp in the Temple was insufficient to keep it lit in the Hanukkah story, but God kept it lit till the eighth day when more oil would be available, in the same way, Yeshua will keep your light lit until the eighth day. Eight in the Bible always represents new beginnings. When Yeshua returns to the earth, it will indeed be a new beginning. In the mean time, He is preparing His people to be like those who were intent on purifying the temple after it had been defiled. The Holy Spirit will do a work of purification in each of our lives if we are willing. The only thing God really ever asked of HIs people is that we believe and trust in Him. If not now, when? If not you, who?