Grateful For Every Good Gift

This is how shiny Susy greets me every time she sees me. I am in charge of Susy and hanging out with my fun nephew Anthony for the next week while his folks are gallivanting in exotic places. Suzy decided she wanted to sleep with me last night, but couldn't quite hop up on the high bed. Against my better judgment I helped her up. She rewarded me with a few well placed slurps across my face and then lay her head on my chest. She is incessant, but endearing.

She loves Anthony too. Anthony doesn't really connect with most animals but he tells me he loves Susy. He even likes it when she licks his face. 

Susy wil not permit anyone not to love her. In this household, what Susy wants, Susy gets.  If denied, she will lick you into submission.

After getting about four gallons of dog spit all over me, I dropped Anthony at his job and took off on my bicycle. The bicycle is a loaner from my brother's neighbor and a REALLY nice bike. I felt like I could've biked all day...and it would take that long to dry off all the Susy slobber.

The scenery in this gorgeous area where I grew up is breath-taking. Mountains surround the valley, and the Susquehanna river meanders alongside the historic town where my brother lives. I biked for twenty miles along the river. I wondered if I had appreciated the beauty when I was growing up here. I don't think I quite did. I always thought it was pretty, but now, it was gorgeous. Was it always gorgeous, and it had just become so familiar that I lost sight of just how gorgeous it was? What other wonders of my life had become so familiar that I had become immune to the beauty? Those closest to me? Even maybe God? I prayed as I biked that God would reawaken any lackluster response to the delights of my life that perhaps I no longer noticed because they were so ever present.

I passed Jackson's Pumpkin farm which was one of my favorite places to visit in the fall. They always make amazing figures out of pumpkins and autumn sheaths of corn and hay bales. It was always magical visiting Jackson's farm. Many happy memories of going there to pick out pumpkins clattered about in my head. 

As I biked back homeward, watching the river sparkling in the sun that was peeking from behind clouds, I saw a pair of bald eagles! I crossed the street and stood on the river bank watching the bald eagles gliding above the water. After ten minutes, they disappeared behind the mountain. What a blessing!

They were too far away for any picture to show up, but this is where I stood watching them. When I returned home, guess who covered me with fresh slobber? I won't take it for granted. I know when I fly home next week, I will miss her exuberant love.

Psalm 118:24 

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Colossians 3:17 

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Psalm 136:1 

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.

Ephesians 1:16 

I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers,

James 1:17 

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.

Thankful!

Thankful! My sister just found out her pancreatic cyst is fully drained on its own! Her pancreas is healthy and they do not expect any recurrence of the dangerous pancreatic attacks that had her in the hospital for almost a month off and on.
Thankful! My wonderful good friend Andi who has had a string of men unworthy of her just got engaged last night to one of the nicest people on earth.
Thankful! My son and new wife chose to spend Thanksgiving with us and took hours from studying law school finals to advise and design a new more professional cover for my book.
Thankful! I figured out all by myself how to pair my bluetooth keyboard with my replacement phone after nearly 5 hours of bashing my head against the wall.
Thankful! I am surrounded by God, husband, family, and friends who support and encourage and love me despite what a wretched person I can be.
Thankful! For the beauty of the sunset, the grandeur of creation, the affinity with all God's creatures (except of course snakes...but let's not get carried away)
Thankful! For a country where we are free to worship whomever we choose in any way we choose, educate our children at home if we so desire, live in peace and prosperity, and govern our own affairs with minimal intervention (for now...) .
Thankful for eyes that see, ears that hear, mouth that speaks, legs that walk, hands that reach out and can still grasp dreams or clasp in prayer.
Thankful for the atoning sacrifice of Jesus that saves me from the prison of my sin, and assures me that no matter how thankless my days ahead may feel, in the end, I will see God.
Happy Thanksgiving!

Isaiah 52:
⁹ Burst into songs of joy together,
   you ruins of Jerusalem,
for the LORD has comforted his people,
   he has redeemed Jerusalem.
¹⁰ The LORD will lay bare his holy arm
   in the sight of all the nations,
and all the ends of the earth will see
   the salvation of our God.

How could anyone not believe....

Amy didn’t want friends to call, or email, or text. She wanted a weekend to just rest, try to calm her overactive pancreas, and rein in her depression. Two severe bouts of pancreatitis had transpired in less than three years. One major and several small bouts had occurred over the past year, leaving the doctors befuddled and Amy frightened, and weary. There did not appear to be an obvious cause. Yet, the horrifying effects of the last two severe bouts had landed her for over a week each time in the hospital, with no food or water allowed, to try to let the flaring pancreas heal. She almost died, and was brought back by a powerful chemical stimulant.

             Then the devastating news. Two thirds of her pancreas was dead or dying. I was with her when the doctor did further tests and confirmed his initial impression.

            “Two thirds of it is dead, essentially?” she asked him.

            “Yes,” he said.

            A person cannot live without a pancreas. There is no artificial pancreas, and no substitute for a pancreas. Without a pancreas, you die. It was clear that the past two severe episodes had each destroyed a third of Amy’s pancreas. The unspoken fear was one more episode would be the last one she could endure.

            Amy enrolled in a research study, in the hopes that other rare patients of pancreatitis of unknown origin might be helped. The study gathered information about this unique population, of which Amy was an unwilling member. If enough puzzle pieces fell in place, perhaps one day, a cause would be found.

            Amy had another few minor bouts of pancreatitis and the doctor decided to do a test where they would examine the pancreas by inserting a tube down her throat. The procedure was not without risk, which is why they had waited. The test itself could set off pancreatitis. But Amy had run out of options.

            I spent almost as many sleepless nights as Amy, praying to God. Amy is an enormously special person. I know everyone’s sister is enormously special, but I couldn’t think of any sister but my dear one in such need. When Amy was growing up, she was a pain in the rear. She carried grudges, she complained, she argued, and she was discontented. She drove my family nuts…but she was my beloved little sister. And when she had nightmares, and came into my room frightened, I always let her crawl into bed with me. I loved Amy, despite all her faults.

            And then she grew up. She became an interpreter for the deaf. She sent all the nieces and nephews gifts whenever she saw something they might like. She traveled to see all of us several times a year, despite having little money to do so. Family was all important, much more important than money. She cried whenever she left to return to her home. She never tired of helping friends in need, showering them with time, money, her impossibly creative crafts. In the past year, she took up water color painting and excelled in it. She sent all of us hand painted cards. Amy became in her husband’s words- “The finest person I know.” I agreed.  No one could have predicted that outcome based on her childhood.

            So I prayed in a way I had never prayed before. I asked God for a specific miracle. I prayed constantly and fervently, night after night.

            “I know this is often not the way you work,” I told God, “But I don’t think I can do without Amy…the world cannot do without Amy. I pray, dear Father, that you will restore her pancreas. All of it. Return life to the two thirds of it that are dead. And may you be given all the glory.” I knew this was a prayer that is not often answered, not in the way the distraught petitioner hopes.

            The procedure found the first semblance of an answer. Amy had a congenital defect of the pancreas.  In Pancreas Divisum, the duct that empties the waste from the pancreas fails to join in utero, as it should, and is divided into two ducts. In some unfortunate cases, the narrower ducts become blocked, backflow, and often cysts form, as well as the life threatening and excruciating pain of pancreatitis. All those awful things had happened to Amy. Doctors don't all agree that this defect causes pancreatitis, since many people have it with no symptoms whatsoever. 
           During the procedure to fix the defect, the doctor placed a stent in the narrow duct and repaired a hole in the pancreas. He left Amy's large cyst alone, as cyst drainage can introduce infection, another dangerous procedure. He hoped the cyst would drain on its own.

            Amy thought her troubles were over. The doctor said that in most cases, prognosis was good with the surgery he had performed. Yet after the surgery, Amy never returned to feeling normal, and continued to have small bouts of pancreatitis. She fasted often to decrease the strain on her pancreas, and grew despondent. We all knew she was one bad attack away from very severe consequences.

            “Please Father,” I prayed, “I know you know best. But I beg you, please heal Amy completely…completely. Restore her pancreas to full function. All of it. All three thirds of it. It’s Amy we are talking about.”

            “How are you?” I wrote to her in an email.

            “Squiggly,” she answered, “And very tender where my pancreas is.”
            “Have you told the doctor?”
            “Sort of… they do more tests next week.”
            “Hound the doctor!” I begged.

            She hounded the doctor. He told her to wait for the tests.

            “Please Lord,” I prayed, “Make her pancreas whole. Bring it back, restore it to full function.”

I told Amy I was praying for complete healing, a pancreas fully alive and healthy. The week dragged on, but Amy said she was feeling normal finally, at least for that brief time.

            There was a message yesterday on my phone that Amy had called. I knew her test was this week, but I had forgotten the day. I called her back.

            “I am on my way from the doctor’s ,” she told me.

            “Oh! The tests were today! What did they find? Is the cyst draining?”
            “The cyst is draining. But listen to this. Remember the middle third of the pancreas that was, as the doctor put it, dead as a doornail?”
            “Yes.” How could I forget?

            “It is alive. And remember the back section that couldn’t communicate with the front section because the middle was dead, and the back third was dying?”
            “Yes!”
            “It is healing. They don’t know why, they don’t know how, but my pancreas is alive. All of it.”

            I jumped up out of my seat and Asherel raised an eyebrow as I danced around the room, waving my arms in the air. I shrieked and I think Amy might have a damaged ear drum after that resounding exclamation of pure and unbridled delight, praise, joy, gratitude….praise.

            “That is just what I prayed for!!!!!!”
            “I know, I told the doctor my sister would be happy to know that the miracle she had prayed for had been provided.”
            She had called me first. Not even her husband knew yet.

            “You didn’t call Jim!?” I asked.

            “No, if he was praying for a miracle, he never told me,” she said, “You told me. You are the only person I have called.”
            “Well I am sure he was praying. Call him now. This is maybe the most wonderful thing I have ever heard!”

            After dancing and hollering, while Asherel watched with a bemused look on her face, I could not stop smiling.  God knows how small my faith is, how tenuous my hope, how fragile my walk with Him. I don’t pray with assurance…I often pray with despair. Sometimes life seems so overwhelming that I don’t pray with words. I pray with groans, that slowly cascade into tears.  But how could I not believe?  How could anyone not believe?

Romans 8:25-27

New International Version (NIV)

²⁵ But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

 ²⁶ In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. ²⁷ And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.

           

A Flood of Music

The groundhog was drenched and huddled on a broken piece of lumber that was wedged in some sticks on the edge of the flood driven waterfall. The poor creature shivered, its soaked matted hair dripping. It clung to the small plank, with no escape. I watched this footage of the Owego Flood on a youtube video. Then the scene switched to nearby railroad tracks, which were as far as the flood waters rose. The groundhog stood somewhat dazed, but alive, on the tracks.
"We saved this little guy, " said the caption, on the video.

"How's the flood patrol?" I texted my brother, who was still ensconced in his flood zone home. It would still be a month before his family would be able to return, but he would not leave it to be robbed or violated any further than the flood itself had done.
"Great! We have heat, water, and electricity now!"
"Hooray!"
"And I got three Stakmore tables!"
"How many people did you have to kill?"
"None! I just sweet talked the nice lady at the Stakmore factory. Christmas came early to Owego!"
"Did you get enough chairs for them all?"
"No...  :( "
"Well, I suspect with residents returning your prime looting days are over."
"Yeh, probably. You know, truth be told, we made out like bandits on this flood."
"Yeh, if it weren't for that $100,000 deductible on your flood insurance...."
"Well, it's only money.  We can make more of that. You know it is the love of money that is the root of all evil...not just having money."
"So I've heard...I wouldn't know from personal experience."

I thought of the video John had sent me. His son, Greg and he had gone wandering the flood receding streets, where piles of belongings were strewn on every curb. Then he passed a piano. John stopped as Greg filmed. John began playing simple tunes on the water damaged piano, battered and ruined, dumped on the street of the flooded city. It didn't sound as awful as you might think. In fact, it was a victorious melody, of sorts. A car slowed, stopped, and honked, waving a fist. The video closed with John laughing, and waving at his new comrade, forged in the wake of disaster.

Those two images kept popping up in my head all day- the shivering groundhog clinging to a plank while water raged around him, and my brother playing the ruined piano. I wondered how the groundhog had been saved. The water was rushing violently around him, on the edge of a waterfall. I can't imagine he was saved without some risk to his savior. I think Salvation always involves danger, and suffering for the Savior. It must have seemed  like pretty grim chances of survival to the groundhog.  As soon as he dried out, lifted miraculously from the flood, he would have two choices. He could cry out in anger to the world that had so suddenly shifted beneath him and allowed a flood to carry him so far from his comfortable place...or he could play a metaphorical piano, lifting a melody of comfort and gratitude to a species not accustomed to music in a flood.

Psalm 6 : 1-9

 ¹ LORD, do not rebuke me in your anger
   or discipline me in your wrath.
² Have mercy on me, LORD, for I am faint;
   heal me, LORD, for my bones are in agony.
³ My soul is in deep anguish.
   How long, LORD, how long?
 ⁴ Turn, LORD, and deliver me;
   save me because of your unfailing love.
⁵ Among the dead no one proclaims your name.
   Who praises you from the grave?
 ⁶ I am worn out from my groaning.
   All night long I flood my bed with weeping
   and drench my couch with tears.
⁷ My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
   they fail because of all my foes.
 ⁸ Away from me, all you who do evil,
   for the LORD has heard my weeping.
⁹ The LORD has heard my cry for mercy;
   the LORD accepts my prayer.

Not without honor

I love it when it cools down enough that I can do errands using my bicycle. This has been a beastly hot summer, and not at all pleasant biking weather. But this past week, the temperature has stayed below 90, low humidity, and I got my hair cut to a short pixie, all events conspiring to let me run some errands on my bike.

I had to mail a package first, and then head to the drugstore for some suntan lotion for our upcoming last hurrah of summer beach trip. And then, I was done with my errands. The relative coolness of the air beckoned, and as often happens, instead of turning homeward, my bike took over and ferried me off to the Greenway.

"Where are we going?" I asked my bike, "I really need to get back to promoting my book and quizzing Asherel on her school work."
"There will be time for that," my bike said, "Do you realize you barely rode me at all this summer?"
"It was too hot, and it got awfully busy. I had to marry off a son, visit my folks, go to Texas to help my sister, publish my book, promote my book, and edit and publish Comer's book. And then I started working on editing my next book. By the way, I thought it was much better when I first wrote it...."
"That doesn't sound like vacation."
"It was a working vacation."
"Well forget work for the next hour. I am taking you someplace special."
"The Greenway? What makes it special? I've been here thousands of times."
"Have you seen the sunset a thousand times?"
"Probably."
"Is it still special?"
"Well....now that you mention it, yes."
"That's the kind of special I mean. The familiar seen with grateful eyes."
"I get where you are going with this, Star."
(I name all my bikes Star...it keeps life simple.)

The bike path was nearly empty. I rode happily, and saw nothing of particular note. It was peaceful, and quiet in the dappled forest surrounding my route. It occurred to me that it was just as lovely, in its own way, as the ocean bike paths I would be riding next week.

I have often wondered at Jesus saying that a prophet is unrecognized in his home town. There is something about being very familiar with people, places, and things that makes you no longer see them for what they really are. We take them for granted. They become invisible, uninspiring, unimportant.  I looked around at the beauty of the Greenway, and patted my bike's head. (For those of you who don't think of your bicycle as a horse, that would be the handlebars.)
"Thank you , Star," I said.

Matthew 13:56-58

⁵⁶ Aren’t all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all these things?” ⁵⁷ And they took offense at him.
   But Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor except in his own town and in his own home.”
 ⁵⁸ And he did not do many miracles there because of their lack of faith.

Another reason for praise

"Would you like to donate to Help?",asked the cashier as she totalled the groceries.
"What's That?", I asked.
"It Gives money to the hungry ",she answered.
The grocery bagger perked up.
"I'm Hungry, " he chirped.
"Money For the poor! "emphasized the cashier.
"I'm Poor! " he countered.
She glared at him, "Money for the poor and hungry who don't have jobs and can't work!"
"Oh," he said finally defeated.

As we drove with my dear parents through the lovely countryside of upstate NY, my dad told me once the governor of NY, Rockefeller had driven similar roads and been amazed by all the mobile homes dotting his land.
"Go Find out why all these people are living in trailers," he told his underlings.
So his researchers went out, collected data and returned to filthy rich mogul, Rockerfeller.
"They Are too poor to buy a house, " they told him.

As we were playing Scrabble that evening, my dad was disturbed that Asherel didn't eat most of her dinner.
"I Hate to see food wasted," he said, and I was sure he was going to make some typical joke. Bit instead, he told us he had lived through the depression. It had been drummed in his head to eat every bite on his plate. It might be a long time before there was more.

I thought about being poor. We never have been. Or if we were, my folks kept it from being a source of anxiety. It struck me how fortunate I have been, what a charmed life I have led. But it wasn't just luck. My dad also spoke of the 3 jobs he worked when we were young. I hadn't known or remembered he worked three jobs to support us!

Sometimes I forget the most basic reasons to awaken praising God for the life I have been given...like thanking my dad that I never grew up worried that the crumb on my plate might be my last.

"I Could be poor and hungry without a job ", whined the grocery bagger.
"But You are not! " said the cashier.

Proverbs 22:1-2 NIV

A good name is more desirable than great riches;
to be esteemed is better than silver or gold. Rich and poor have this in common:
The Lord is the Maker of them all.

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Unmerited Blame...sort of

The problem with being guilty most of the time means people assume you are guilty all the time. Following this principle, I have unjustly maligned my dog. He did not technically "escape" from the backyard while we were out of town. I found out someone had left the gate open. He just walked out with an open invitation to sin.

Now it is true that the good dog, Honeybun, did not leave the back yard, despite the wide open gate. Honeybun, who had been rescued from starvation and homelessness was taking no chances on being booted from this haven she has found. Lucky doesn't know how good he has it. He is willing to chance our ire because the grass always looks greener to him when it is not the grass we have told him he is allowed to roll in.

Root causes of behavior are important to examine here, because there is a stark contrast in the behavior of our dogs, raised by the same inept family. One dog seems to have no desire to please us, is forever chewing things he shouldn't, barking when he shouldn't, climbing over or under fences he shouldn't, and tugging on leashes and dislocating arms when he shouldn't. The other dog wants nothing more than to make our lives as pleasant as possible and will do everything within the capacity of a dog without a credit card to bring that about.  I think the underlying difference is gratitude. Lucky has always had a happy, protected, plush life. Honeybun spent her first two years in apparent misery. At the very least those last few months before we found her were likely a living hell given the condition we found her in.

Lucky is an ingrate. Honeybun is thankful. Lucky doesn't see we are the source of his food, his bed, his chewy bones, and the soft couches we have finally given up protecting and let him sleep on. Honeybun always asks politely for every tidbit we offer, with moist gentle eyes, and then she says Thankyou by obeying our every wish.

I love Lucky, just like every mother continues to love a difficult child, but I cannot pretend there are not some deep seated character issues he really has never resolved.

But in this case, he was innocent, or at least more innocent than I had originally believed.

At times, I am a Lucky. I should be a Honeybun more. I forget to say Thankyou to the source of everything I possess. I forget to have an attitude of expectant gratitude for every breath of life I am granted. I grumble when my freedom is contained in any area, and I forget that the freedom I have is a gift. I worry about so many things when the source of all things has promised me that He will provide and all that I need, I already have when I have Him. So I love Lucky also because I understand. He does occasionally look at me sadly, like he knows he has blown it again.

"I just can't help it," he says with his ears drooping, head hanging.
"Sometimes it seems I can't either, " I answer.
"Oh woe is me!" he moans, "Is there no hope!? The very things I should not do, those are the things I do. And the very things I should do, those are the things I do not do."
"The apostle Paul had the same problem."
"He did?"
"Honestly we all do, Lucky, you just are a little outside the bell curve on this one."
"Then you won't send me to the Dog Pound?"
"No, you are forgiven. However, I'd prefer you demonstrate your love a little more tangibly by trying a little harder to do what I ask, don't miss-hear me on this one."
"I will try.... I promise..... "
"Lucky!!!! No! Don't eat that muffin wrapper! Stop! oh....Lucky......"

Romans 7:17-19

¹⁷ As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. ¹⁸ For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. ¹⁹ For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.

Mountains

Honeybun and I sat at the hotel room sliding glass door,watching the sun set behind the mountains before us. We had encountered no snow and no black ice and no wind to blow us off the mountain. Our trip had been uneventful. God seems to know when my spirit can bear no more.

Right before leaving, I had found out some very bad news about a dear friend. Hearing the horror of what she will need to endure made all my concerns so frivolous.

So I am sitting in front of the vista of mountains upon mountains and thinking of the agonizing journey before my friend. And praying. Sometimes that is the best you can do.

And be grateful of course. Be grateful for every beautiful sunset you are blessed to see, for every mountain you've been given the strength to climb, for every hard working husband who drags himself to work each day, for every distant son who surprises you and texts a brief hello, for every diligent college boy who calls with news of excellent grades, for every daughter who loves to train her dog to leap over jumps and skitter through tunnels on command, for every dog that lies at your feet snoring all night.

He who made the joyful easy things made the painful hard things too. How can we accept the one and not trust Him in the other? Meanwhile friends, it is very hard to do so, and I am praying.

Psalm 3:4 NIV

I call out to the Lord,
and he answers me from his holy mountain.

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I Should Have Been Jumping for Joy.....

The bursitis in my elbow and tendonitis seems to be resolving. It still hurts to lift, but there is no constant pain anymore and I can wipe down the countertop without writhing in distress like a slug with salt poured on it.

Just in time for a new injury!

We were walking the dogs yesterday, which is ironically, the likely cause of the initial elbow injury, when Lucky decided he wanted to play tug of war with the leash. As he dashed away, he crashed into my little toe and turned it in a direction it should not and was never intended, and indeed DID not want to go. The result was like a watercolor painting of blues and purples, a masterpiece bruising as the broken little toe swelled. Fortunately it is on the foot that is not missing a toe nail, so now I have symmetrical grossness in my feet, just in time for sandal season.

When I told Asherel I thought I just broke my toe, she sneered. I am a hypochondriac, but that is partially because I really do constantly injure myself or get felled with illness. However, I do not suffer in silence, and that leads to marked disregard of true injury by my loved ones, who are sick of my whining. But this time, I really did do a very bad thing to my toe.

WebMd seems to indicate that most of the time, docs will do nothing for a broken toe, though it hurts like the dickens. (by the way, have you ever wondered what dickens are and why they cause so much pain? I looked it up and dickens means devil.... and I guarantee you that as much as this toe hurts.... it doesn't hurt that bad.)

Anyway, as I limped home, I realized that most of the time, I give my little toe absolutely zero attention. I do trim the nail from time to time. On occasion I look at it and realize that little toes are like little round blobs and honestly not very attractive. I walk all over it, and would likely not be able to walk or run as well without it, yet I never thank it or praise God for my little toe. But let it mutiny and decide to get broken and bruised and swollen and I certainly curse it. Suddenly this overlooked, inconsequential, inconspicuous teeny appendage is the most important thing in the world and is responsible for great angst, pain, and worry.

It is with some degree of shame that I realize that every morning when I arise, I should have been leaping for joy and praising my Creator for the blessing of an unbroken, whole, and working little toe. Why is it that I never seem to understand my blessings until I have lost them?

Ephesians 1: 3-4
³Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. ⁴For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.