This was quite possibly one of the biggest lessons I’ve ever learned in my life. I only learned it after years of hurting myself and my son by holding onto betrayal and believing I was somehow owed some sort of apology. I had a husband who fell in love with my best friend and neglected to deal with it until we had a son and had purchased a new home. I gave them both the benefit of the doubt, even when my own mother suspected them, continuing for some time believing they could never possibly do that to me.

I was wrong. They could and they did. When I finally found out it became a soul crushing betrayal by two people I thought cared deeply about me. It was difficult for me to recover and continue in relationship with them, yet I had to because we shared a 1 year old son when he left. She left her husband a year later and they were married for over 25 years before she died much too young of cancer. We continued with a polite but empty communication style for years, often snagging when my son spent vacation time there.

Fortunately, long before we lost her, while our son was still in college, I had an amazing conversation with God that changed everything. I was crying out to him that they were causing great emotional harm to my son and therefore to me. Everything seemed a horrible triangle, with my ex blaming me to her and her to me, for anything that had to do with the financial support of our son. It was always difficult to get to the truth of anything. In the very old days I might have trusted my friend over a cheating ex husband. But this was the friend he had cheated with. An absurd mess that I didn’t want my son in the middle of, ever. He loved all of us, and did not want to choose sides. Nor should he have to. We were supposed to be the grown ups. I cried my heart out to God and asked Him to please intercede on our behalf. What I heard back in the silence was ” are you willing to forgive them?”

No. That was easy. I was not. Yet, as I sat with the pain of my son caught in the middle, I tried to find some way around that question. I didn’t do it, why should I have to forgive them? Silence. At this point my mind started to query whether I had ever done anything for which I should ask someone’s forgiveness. Of course there was less than total clarity on that issue. In my mind, I could find at least some questionable behaviors of my own, even within my marriage. There were certainly many other relationships I had been in where I might not have behaved well, or as well as I could have, all the time. Yet I did not remember any specific apologies on my part. The thing I wrestled with most was the agony caused yo my son, when he had done absolutely nothing wrong and got caught in the middle of our adult drama.

I reframed the question I felt God had asked me, rolling it around in my head. While my response didn’t change, I did realize that an act of God might be absolutely necessary for the results I had requested. I then told him “I am not willing, but I am willing to be willing”. I thought that was a way of somehow distancing myself from the consequences of my reluctance to obey. Wrong. What I had forgotten was the fact that God changes hearts, and I had effectively just given Him permission to change mine.

It wasn’t a minute later that I realized I had nothing but love for my ex husband and my friend, who had now been his wife for many more years than I had been. What? Wait a minute here. What? Where did all my justified anger go? What about all the…(^$%*&($#@!) things I no longer remembered that hurt me? They were replaced with why shouldn’t a child enjoy the love of two moms, both his Mom and his step Mom, when that love was offered to him so genuinely? Why would any person want to come between that? And so it went from there, for at least five more years.

If there is any story I have shared more in Christian circles and prayer groups, I cannot remember it. Even when it is hardest to change our stubborn minds and hearts, I always offer this advice: Tell God you are not willing to change, but you are willing to be willing to change. He will do all the rest because all He needs is our permission and He goes right to work! I never knew what hit me, but hit me it did. And I was the one who experienced a loss of our deep friendship when she passed away so young and who understood my son’s heartbreak. It is I who missed her bright illumination at future family gatherings with the grandchildren she never got to meet or love “to the moon and back!”. God restored a deep, respectful relationship between us that, while not exactly the same as it had been before, was magnificent, even more precious because of the cracks that had been so delicately filled within it.

I got a sweet thank you note from one of my nieces yesterday and included in her response to my joy following the birth of her daughter was an admission similar to many others I’ve received from my nieces and nephews (and sons!) as they welcomed their first child into the world. That first week or two and often again, even much later, were moments where they became fully aware that having a child on your own, lacking a supportive spouse, nearby family and financial stability, was suddenly a daunting revelation to them. Add into it being a single parent already having an amazing five year old in tow with a 7 day a week storefront to run, complete with ten employees to schedule, supervise and pay, and you have an even better glimpse into my life 43 years ago. I don’t really remember that much of it, yet moments like this when I can pause and think back, are somewhat mind boggling to me too, for sure!

How did I do it? Well, that’s I guess that’s how it became the point at which I asked God into my life, having my actual ‘come to Jesus’ moment on Dec 9th, 1983. I knew I was truly outnumbered with two small sons under six and I was definitely going to need some help. It is definitely the anniversary I most remember and celebrate in my life, one my Mom always phoned me to mark as well. Not because it was so special on the actual date. It was a just a day that a single mom from my church had come to help clean my house, while I was home recovering after the birth of my second son. Her money was tight, but she always tithed ten percent of her time to the Lord and I was the grateful recipient of her love and service that particular day. Although I had regularly been attending our Presbyterian fellowship for the past three months, she didn’t take anything for granted so somewhere in our day she asked me if I had ever asked Jesus into my heart? I replied something along the lines of “not in so many words.” Having been raised Christian, baptized, confirmed and having always attended church, I didn’t know there was anything missing, at which point she said ‘Well, let’s make sure’, and then she gently led me, with my permission, in the sinner’s prayer. It was not an event followed by lightning bolts from the sky and yet, looking back now, it was definitely the most important moment in my life.

After that, all my decisions were no longer made alone but with the quiet guidance of the Holy Spirit, as the Lord took up residence in my heart. As with any move-in, there were things to be sorted out and cleaned up, some to throw away, some to move to a secondary position, some to add to the existing mores and celebrations that were already in place with my little family tribe. We made room for a newcomer, Jesus. And my life was never the same after that; by that I mean never as lonely, never without joy, never without provision or the hope of provision, for me and my boys. Life changing.

I guess this website is the story of some of those times as my memory is jogged here and there, just a note or a quick story, to pay tribute to the all encompassing love that came to fill my heart that day, assuring me that I would never run out of that love, regardless of any other struggles and circumstances sure to come my way. Such complete fullness, impossible to describe, though I do try.

Psalm 27:5-7 NIV

A year ago I received a call from the lady who plans the annual Gala that supports the crisis pregnancy center in St Petersburg, Florida. She was getting people lined up to head committees for that year’s celebration and she was reminiscing over the year prior. I had moved to town only one year before and had known no one involved in the pregnancy center ministries there. I had found a church family and about that same time one of the pastors announced she was forming a team to look into the possibilities of our church helping to support that ministry and I stepped forward to assist that committee.

Within a few short weeks I had met the woman who ran the center and bonded with her immediately as if we had known each other for a lifetime. Actually I have learned over the years that that is exactly the feeling one has when God puts you in a place where you never thought to go on your own. With that in mind, I signed up to be on the decoration committee, feeling it would be an inobtrusive place to help wherever I could. We were zoom calling our meetings at that time and I attended each of those where they admitted they had yet to find a head for that committee. I knew no one but had met the Director one time, so I just listened to try and get up to speed on the needs of the center. The gala date was only three months away and they were feeling a bit desperate. I volunteered to take the lead and come up with some ideas and prices for the formal evening for 250-300 guests for dinner at the huge and not exactly cozy Coliseum. They had no theme and no color scheme. In retrospect, I have often found God has me step in when no leaders step forward and then He supplies both the ideas, skills and the people I will need to succeed. I call myself a place card holder because I never really take possession of a role, knowing the rightful person will be arriving sometime soon. I fill in the gap. It always happens that way and it is easy for me to also step to the side when it does. I am a sub, by gifting and by nature, it seems.

The plans and team came together and all was provided that was needed. I was even able to use some of my ‘decorator’ talents to save the center a lot of money on the presentation. It was a gorgeous and warm welcoming evening. My abilities to do elegance on a shoestring allowed for a significant gain to their bottom line that evening. They had usually hired a decorator or event planner. When the financial officer looked back on it she called me to ask “Where did you come from?” as she couldn’t remember how I swept in and then, just as quickly, swept out of their midst ( I moved to Jacksonville two months after the Gala on the spur of the moment, to be in place for the birth of my newest grandson). In trying to replace me, she had tried to think through the whole scenario of how my being there had come about. We enjoyed a great conversation, as we retraced how God had supplied the very need they had laid at His feet in prayer, by a means they could not have foreseen (i.e. no one they knew!) and in His own perfect timing. We decided to pray together that He would do that once again and to trust that He would, as we already had proof that He had.

It is always fun to be reminded of things that He has done and the way He has provided for those who put their trust completely in Him. I came as an outsider. These women, many of them the same who started the center, had put together this Gala for twenty eight years. The revelation to us both on that call was that even though I was an ‘outsider’ to the center, I was an insider to the faith that ran it. They knew me because we both knew the One who sent me, and we recognized, from our long but separate journeys with Him, that our hearts were indeed already family. They trusted me implicitly, because they trusted Him completely. How often I have witnessed that in my lifetime and it is so beautiful. No egos to put aside. Grace.

Recently my grandchild was rehearsing for a part in a play and was resistant to feedback from her parents during that time. After losing star billing to someone else, there was great consternation. Her main query was “why didn’t you tell me?” implying that if they knew what she could have improved, why didn’t they share it with her before it was too late? The response of course was, “We did try, but you didn’t want to hear it.”
I often wonder right now, as I am often on the opposite side of many hot political as well as recent medical options with close family and friends, if I will one day hear similar words from someone I love.
I often check my thoughts at the beginning of any conversation, because they may well be quickly rejected out of hand with ‘that’s not happening here’, or ‘not in our community’, ‘its perfectly safe’ and ‘your news and information sources are all wrong’. Are they though? Do we truly have all the critical facts we need to make important decisions for our children, and have we always been told the whole truth? And who do we trust as our sources for truth? Will any of these family members or friends some day say that same thing to me? Or me to them? Some of us will undoubtedly be proven wrong by history, but who? And what might the cost of that omission be? The cost of saying anything right now seems terribly high in many of my closest relationships. It is a dilemma that many families are experiencing across the globe. No good or easy answer, and none without risk, I am afraid. Yet silence may have a price of its own as well I fear.

I wonder if God is often feeling the same way with us. “Why didn’t you tell me?” we plead, after taking some wrong turn in our lives. “I did, but you didn’t want to hear me.” And isn’t that the real truth?

Reflecting on the children’s game of Simon Says, it seems as though the Holy Spirit was the one whispering the ‘not Simon‘ directives in my ear. I often seem to have taken the path that no one else heard, as it was likely not meant for them, nor were they nearly as apt to follow it if they had heard. I mean, who does that? Hears voices? And they would probably have been quite angry at themselves for not following the crowd (and thereby also having been put out of the game), by righteously heeding only Simon’s instructions. I guess I took the path less traveled, as it were; the one that was whispered into only my own listening ear. “Go to Ithaca” said The Voice, clearly (although when I repeated these instructions later on the phone to a dear friend he replied “does God lisp”? Funny.)

I was home with a very new baby and a six year old at that time. I had a mortgage on the home I had received as the result of my recent divorce. I was the sole proprietor of an ‘open seven days a week’ gift shop in a sweet suburban town in New Jersey. It was a store I had started from scratch with a friend only seven years prior, which now boasted a handful of terrific, loyal employees. I had great friends and tons of wonderful, supportive customers. I had a vibrant church community. Why would I sell everything and go to a place I had never been, where I knew virtually no one? Remember in those days, forty years ago, there were no “virtual” ways to know people; no Facebook, no next door apps etc. It was either a huge leap of faith, or just plain crazy on my part, come to think about it. Yet it remains one of the clearest commands I can remember hearing in my lifetime. So I sold my house and my store and moved me and my boys upstate to Ithaca, N.Y (actually to the adjacent town), never to look back. And my adventures with God had only just begun.

Another year and a half gone by! Where does all the time go? A new grandson in this case. Born end of March 2023, but by last August I was caring for him three to four days a week while Mom and Dad worked. I am loving living so close by! He is the best companion and it is the most worthwhile use of my days; it wont last forever so I am just enjoying every minute.
My other son had to again retrieve this lost part of my recorded thoughts and it took him quite awhile but I am so blessed that he did. I told him it wouldn’t be worth the money or the trouble he went to, but it truly was. Rarely have I captured the thoughts and notes of my life on paper so this is kind of a look into the way my mind works…scary thought in and of itself!
The older I get the more I tend to question my memories, so it is good to be able to look back a bit and note the dates I finally wrote them down. I always mean to write more, but time goes much too fast and I forget. So just begin again, as they say. I guess writing is a bit like dieting! Not much good at that either.

Four words that my son said were my most used exclamations on our five day trek across the country twelve years ago. We were in a small sedan complete with me, my then 28 yr old son and my trusty rescued dog, Gypsy. Oh, and every bit of clothing and memorabilia I could fit in the trunk along with a sewing machine, just in case I needed curtains or something to make my new home quickly homier.

It seemed that my response to anything unexpected was one or a combination of these expressions. I feel as though they accompanied a certain period of my life; one full of the unknown, of changes, both in scenery and in relationships. It was a time of experimentation with the boundaries of the self I had pretty much ignored during the raising of my two boys. There is only so much time available, and mine was already spoken for between their needs and those of making a living. This was not my retirement exactly, but as close to it as I might ever get. It meant still working, but only enough to cover my rent, as social security and Medicare had kicked in, taking with them the huge burden of so many years with no personal health care off of my shoulders. I was able to attend to the repair of my body and doing some needed maintenance that had often been postponed. I started a decades long update on my teeth, as I found my smile was my most treasured attribute and a loss I did not want to accept if there was a choice. And now there was.

I am often reminded how very fortunate I have been to navigate this life time with always enough opportunities to take care of my basic life needs, and I am ever conscious of those who do not have access to them. I am distressed by the constant promotion of dependence on government, rather than the human family and community surrounding them, to comfort and provide incentives to address those needs. God never intended an absentee and faceless, often heartless, entity to do what other humans could do so much more efficiently and kindly, with an accompanying love and appreciation for the soul, not just the body, of the individual… not just the case number.

And so I try to remember what those four words meant as I used them during that time. Perhaps I was only talking to the ‘inside’ me, the one giving herself permission to fail, to stumble, to pause or to grab on to a lifeline as needed, as her rocky life journey evolved. I rarely, if ever, use them anymore, but they were certainly wonderful handrails when I needed them.

When I wrote my last post, Tardy, it was with the complete intention to begin writing again. Here I am six years later just typing back in. Where did all that time go? Really the better part of a decade of my life. Hmmm. We shall see if the upcoming blogs are the result of some wisdom or clarity somehow obtained through osmosis during such a long absence. Was that time put to good use just living or reflecting upon the deeper meanings of my life? There certainly have been many changes, additions and losses during that time, so perhaps they will all get caught up in the tapestry I hope to continue to weave. We shall see. Time will tell…or maybe not. I might have just leapt over those chapters and they may not resurface to be examined by my further down the road brain and emotions. I am willing to take a chance to see them only in the rear view mirror, rather than try and create them from memory the way they might have been at the time. So here we go: forward!

I do have my oldest son to thank for getting all the back end work done to make this available to me again, as servers had changed and so had all the admin stuff (codes and connections to domains) needed to allow me to get back into and use my site. His hours in chats have made this possible and I am very grateful, because the familiar layout is very comforting to me. It fits me better than my old wardrobe, and it’s gypsy-like motif and the happy colors still make me smile.

I cannot believe that my last post was in April of 2014. That is three and a half years ago! What happened to me?
I think I went into a lethargic funk and was basically comfortable. Just meandering through my life, doing my daily tasks, noticing amazing little things, but not spending any time to record my thoughts about them. Not that anyone is neccesarily reading this, but because my son once wrote in an Anne Lamott book he gave me for my birthday that her books were the closest thing he had found to the book I had yet to write. That book was Traveling Mercies, and his note on the front page was a supreme complement to me. Just the other day I was reminded by a friend from high school of Anne Lamott, and I pulled out Help. Thanks. Wow. and read it cover to cover while my internet was being invaded by spyware; so grateful for the total break in my knee jerk evening routine and a momentary return to things that actually matter!
And what do all writers have in common? They write. Daily. Whether they feel like it or not.
I keep saying how I lack discipline. Why do I keep saying that? I walk the dog morning, noon and night, whether I feel like it or not. I eat every day, usually three times a day. I show up for work every day I am scheduled, on time and dressed for the job. I may not take my vitamins on a daily or even weekly basis. But that isn’t everything. I remember to pray many times a day, and surely that counts for something. Or at least it is something to build on, especially if I start praying for the discipline to write every day. Perhaps having no TV for a day is a great start. At least it is a place I can reboot this blog and clear the cache of my brain and see what thoughts and ideas come into the newly cleared spaces.

My pastor wrote in his blog several weeks ago about his encounter with angels 25 years ago and it reminded me of a similar situation that happened at about the same time to me and my sons, then living in Florida.

We had recently moved from upstate New York to Jacksonville, and were fascinated by the beaches all around us. One sunny day in early November we drove  our Ford Aerostar van down to the beaches of St. Augustine, where we had heard they allow cars to drive on the sand, to check it out. The beach was totally deserted that day, even though it was beautiful; Floridians typically do have a season where they frequent the beach, and that had already passed.

This was my first time driving on the beach, there was no one to instruct me, and the boys were very excited that we had a roadway between the dunes and the water of about 300 yards so we hit the sand running……until we realized we were no longer moving forward. Our wheels were still spinning but we weren’t going anywhere, except deeper into the soft sand into which I had driven (funny, I thought I would be safer farther away from the waters edge, but the sand was actually easier to drive on the closer one got to the water, not the other way around). Our laughter and excitement quickly turned to fear, as we realized we were on a desolate beach with no idea how to get our heavy car out of the sand. And while the sky was beautiful, the sun was beginning to go down. We also were in a pre-cell-phone era and houses, stores and people were nowhere to be seen.

My sons were then aged ten and four. My older one, a type A firstborn, hopped out of the vehicle and began digging furiously behind the back wheels with his bare hands, determined to dig us out by himself. My youngest, a more laid back dude with much more patience, decided to go up on the nearby hill and play in the sand dunes. As he did, I could hear him talking to God. While his hands were forming sand castles, he was saying “Lord, my Mom needs your help right now. Her car is really stuck in the sand.” That was it, and he continued playing.

Not two minutes later there was a woman at the side of my car, motioning for me to get out. A man…her husband, I assumed, was behind the car, getting ready to push it. She climbed into my seat and within a matter of minutes the car was on hard packed sand again, and I was back in the driver’s seat, calling my sons to get back in the car. I turned to point out the couple who had helped me and they were nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t another car or person on the beach and I had no idea how they could have disappeared from sight so rapidly.

I haven’t asked the boys about this in any recent time and they may well not remember. As for me, I will always believe God sent angels to help me out of that predicament and that they appeared and disappeared without so much as a word. Except for the words and faith of one very small boy, who totally believed God would help out his Mom.

Although both those encounters took place 25 years ago, I am believing there are angel sightings every day, though sometimes we may discount them because we cannot prove it, even to others who may also have been there at the time. Faith, belief, and the eyes to see; let them see. This story also reminds me that I am safer on the hard sand, closer to God’s living water, than I am walking on the softer sand nearby. The softer sand is a really good place to stop, lie down and rest awhile, but if I want to be the hands and feet of Jesus, I will get much more traction on that well-packed, wetter sand… closest to Him.