What's it all about? Reality check

A friend of mine just came back from a mission trip to Swaziland. She took her two teenagers with her. The 5 other little ones stayed home with Dad. And yes, he is brave, and capable. She's having a hard time being "back". I'm not sure if we can come back, when we have had a taste of real life. Americans in general are a very giving people, but we give out of our excess. We don't know anything about hunger. Even those on the dole are well fed. Most of us wrestle with obesity, so how can we know anything of want or need?
God sent me to Colombia, in South America. The place with the guerrillas and kidnappers, the place where they make and sell illegal drugs. You see a lot of military men and machine guns. I'm usually quite cowardly, but I've never been more at ease or felt more at home.
From my first breathtaking view of the luscious green mountains, from the first sounds of singing and merrymaking in the night, from the first blast of sweaty heat; I couldn't stop smiling. My heart was soaring; how I desired to understand their language. It was singing and pretty. The children were so lovely with big soft brown eyes. Here no one looks you in the face, people are in a hurry talking on their cell phones doing business making money, spending money, borrowing money, worrying about money. MONEY.
In Colombia, in Swaziland, in India, there is little money. In just about any third world country the priority of the day is not to starve to death. So why is it, that these people will look you in the eye? These people will share a deep love quickly, these people are receptive and hungry for the good news of Jesus Christ.
I had an incredible trip. It was my first time to travel out of the US. Don't get me wrong I am grateful to be a citizen of this country. We are a blessed people.
My week in the barrio was extraordinary. I had witnessed a miracle and seen 600 people believe in Jesus. We had story after story of how God's holy spirit was moving in power here.
We had one more day a day scheduled to have fun. We had purchased a ride in a motor boat out to the Cartegna Bay to snorkel. It was breathtaking. It looked so much like the ocean in Monterey Bay, only clearer more aqua. I felt so at home. My face was nearly sore from this grin that wouldn't quit. We had very cute guides, the epitome of young South American sex appeal. When we got out to the place where we would snorkel I was horrified to discover that I was required to hurl my mass of blubber out of the boat with the fins and goggles on. Oh the humility of it. White dimpled flesh glaring in the bright Caribbean sunlight, awkwardly groping the side of the boat and squeaking down the side of it like an old rubber squeegee I landed like a brick s--t house in the water. My oh so attractive suntanned guide with black curly hair and teeth white enough for a bleach commercial ignored the whole awful moment and was a gracious gentleman. He offered me a rope and a floaty ring as I was now gasping and drinking too much water, bobbing up and down like some freak of nature. I got a grip. He talked to me in his soothing South American way to relax and enjoy the water. He showed me how to work the snorkel and there was no problem with floating. I'm so stinkin buoyant that if I wanted to scuba dive they would have to put weights on me, disgraceful. My days of beauty and a nice figure are gone.Forgetting that, I did relax and I loved it. I was in the Caribbean sea and looking at a real coral reef!I told my guide, " this is one of the coolest things that's ever happened to me"! He replied very graciously, "Good, I have been a part of one of the best days of your life".
In America we would think he was scmoozing, trying to get a big tip. But he was genuinely happy. Right then I decided to give him a gift. I would tell him the story of Jesus. I didn't have an interpreter anymore, but we had 2 Colombian friends with us. I asked one of them to explain to him the salvation story with the evangecube we used. My guide wanted this gift. As we rode in the boat back to the mainland I shared everything I could think of to help him as a new Christian to grow. He listened intently to every word. Finally he asked a question, "This is good, what you say all these things you have shared with me, but why didn't you tell me this when you FIRST got in my boat"? Zing, pierce,....why indeed? News this good should be shared immediately with everyone should it not? I mean having forgiveness of sins and eternal life is the best thing we have ever heard isn't it?

I'm home again. I too struggled with coming back. I cried when our Galapa Boppa drove away from Via Estadio for the last time. When the people and the children cried out to us, "When will you come back to us?" We had not even been through the entire neighborhood. The work is so big the workers so few, the people so hungry for God, so full of love, so eager to receive hope. It's hard to come back home, I wait to return. I wait for another call to go another place. For God to move to chose to use the weak and foolish things, to be so honored as to serve Him. It is a joy to be chosen. God make a way, and comfort those afflicted with desire to go. Prepare their way in unity. Stamp eternity in our eyes, that we would see.

Best of all watch this one

rock on!

Old Nurses and Old Dogs

The first day of the week, most people are back to work. I'm weaning off of muscle relaxers wondering how long a back can stay in knots? It feels like a pile of rocks is under my skin. Have you ever noticed what kind of shape old nurses are in? In general they are a worn out mess, bad backs, decrepit knees, aching feet, not to mention what years of stress does to them mentally. I cringe whenever I hear someone say, " I want to be a nurse and make the big money". For Pete's sake, if you want big money go into marketing. Nursing is a calling not a job. They can't pay enough to have you work nights, weekends, holidays, and under every type of lousy situation. "Sorry we are short you'll just have to make do", is the mantra of management. Translated for the non medical people that means your patient assignment is too large to give good care, you'll be lucky to pass all the meds. Their probably aren't enough aides to go around so your shift is going to be full of total care patients and heavy lifts. God forbid someone actually be really sick and need extra help; what are they thinkin that this is a hospital? We've actually gone back to the days when people were afraid to go to the hospital because you got sick and died there. The super infections are here along with a whole host of folks who think they don't have enough time to wash their hands. If you are a a hand washer you notice the folks who pull off their gloves and move on, nary a sink between them. The media is talking about MRSA Methicillian resistant staff aureous. It's been around for about 25 years that I know of maybe even longer. That's nothing new. The new bug is VRE vancomycin resistant enterococcus, now that devil is really bad it's usually fatal. People seem to live with it if it's just in their urine, but if you have it in anything else you better go shopping for a 6x6 piece of property.
If I can digress for a minute, my husbands daughter bought a burial plot next to ours when we first moved here. Would you believe we purchased them for $100 each? His mother has a headstone and everything in a pretty little church yard north of here in a small town. What a deal. What was funny is that after she bought it, she called her mom and told her she was a landowner, she bought a piece of property. Well I laughed.
Back to dogs. What is it about dogs that get so close to us? After Rasmus died my friend kept pestering me to read a book named, "A Dog Named Merle". I didn't want to read it. I knew that if it was about a real dog that the story wasn't written while he was alive. Nobody writes a dog biography while their dog is living! John Steinbeck wrote about Charlie. There are all kinds of dog biography's, all of them post mortem. I just didn't think I could stand to read about someone else's dogs death. It almost killed me to put my dog down. I knew it was the right thing to do. Any more time and he would start to really suffer.
He was still in pretty good shape, he ate and drank and enjoyed his walks. We have a pretty lake nearby and we walk around it. I would let him off his leash there and watch him. He was so beautiful when he ran. He looked like a little horse with his proud head and prancing gait. He could run like the wind and he didn't know he was an old dog now with gray hair in his beard. He had a malignant melanoma in his eye, palpable tumors on his head and in his mouth. He had a history of seizures. We hadn't done a lot of tests but there was a good possibility that he had mets all over. This was a very aggressive cancer one of the worst kinds a dog could have.
As I stood in front of the emergency vet on that dark night, saying all this; he nodded and said, "your right". The day we took him in, his tumor had doubled in size and started to bleed. He kept rubbing against me trying to get it out of his eye. It was horrible, my beautiful, beautiful dog.
I live to be right. I love to be right. I usually don't say anything unless I am sure I am right. But this time I desperately wanted to be wrong. We had to wait for a long time to see the vet. Rasmus knew, he stood at the door in full attention saying "take me home let's get out of here". When I voiced the hell of it to my husband he just started to cry.
Rasmus wasn't ready to call it quits, he wasn't a quitter. They picked him up and set him on the table. The vet put a tie around his mouth. We were weeping. "He won't bite you"' I said. "It's just in case it hurts a little when I stick him". My husband began to sob loudly, we clung to each other weeping with a depth of grief saved for those you love the most. Believe it or not I wondered what every one there thought, but it didn't make any difference. Rasmus simply bowed his head gracefully and he died, immediately. There was no taking it back, it was final and he was gone. I couldn't even really accept what I had just witnessed. MY DOG!! How can a human grieve for a dog like that? I thought I would die. Where was a hole to throw myself in? My whole being felt the loss, wherever I went he was there by my side. That he had become Jimmy's dog didn't matter, he shared his love with anyone who loved him. Everyone who came to our home for a visit came to see him right? At least that seemed to be what he thought. As we packed our beloved friend home in a black garbage bag, the world seemed to have gone totally dark. It was night and it seemed very appropriate that the sun didn't shine. We left him in the van that night to grief stricken for anything else and went up and cried ourselves into a fitful not restful sleep.
Jimmy buried him in our flower bed under the oak tree. The dirt was so hard he had to use a pick ax to make the hole. We buried him and didn't say anything, neither of us could talk. It seemed like such a nonchalant ending. To just dig a hole and put him it. We couldn't do more our grief was too great. We planted a rose bush over him and went in the house. We had this friend for 10 and 1/2 years and our home felt empty. I cried for weeks.
I finally checked the Merle book out from the library. It had a lot about evolution that I skipped over. It takes more faith to believe all of that accidental, order out of chaos stuff than I can muster, so I skipped those parts. The unfolding relationship between this man and his dog was healing my heart. I fell in love with his dog. Even better he was claiming the intelligence and emotional connectedness on a higher level than is generally accepted, and I was in his Amen corner. I knew my dog understood everything we said. I knew he even knew why we were at the vet in the middle of the night with his bleeding eye. I knew, he knew we were crying for him. and with all the dignity in him he simply bowed to it with graceful acceptance and trust.
When I was reading about Merle's death I was bawling again. I couldn't even talk. Jimmy and the girls would walk by my chair and ask me why I was crying. All I could do was point to the cover of the book and blow my nose.
I could hardly stand it. That dog was one of those cool dogs like Rin Tin Tin, or Lassie, or Ramsus. I knew I couldn't go on without a dog. I guess I am just one of those people who needs an animal at their hip. At least it's easier than kids. Some women need kids, and to always have a new baby in the house, they have energy. I like to share the love with someone who lies at my feet and groans a little now and then, laid back. Get a back rub and relax, go for a walk, listen to my day without interruption, you know a dog.
I started surfing the Internet looking at puppy pictures and the begging began. My husband didn't want another dog. He didn't want Rasmus either but they were best friends. Finally I said I'd give up and Jimmy said he'd do his best to get along with a new poodle. I gave him a chance to change breeds, nothing doing. The girls don't seem to have the sensitivity to animal dander they used to have, as evidenced by 3 cats in the house. Piglet has a pooch with long hair that sleeps in her bed. We could get a golden retriever if we wanted to. Jim wanted another black male, I couldn't do that. That's how Lulu came to live with us, her name should be Miss Piddles with the way she pees but she'll eventually get it. I know how it's going to go. For the first 5 or 6 years she'll be mine. I will train her and clean up after her, and talk to her so she learns English. When she is a wonderful adult full of poise and intelligence, my husband will steal her. She'll change to his side of the bed. Been there and done that. I won't mind a bit, I understand.

Sentimental Saturday

Lulu is my new dog. Her predecessor was Rasmus a black male standard poodle of incredible intelligence and agility. He really was a person in a dog suit disguise. I found out about poodles because of asthma. My granddaughter's were 3 and 4 years old and were getting sick frequently. We had 2 cats and an Australian Shepherd named Buddy. Buddy was a dark brown and gray brindle and he was the most OBEDIENT dog on our planet. Buddy walked next to me without a leash and he stopped in mid air from chasing a cat because I said so. That was one of those moments that surprised even me. You can imagine how sick I was when the doctor said, "OK look, let's start at the beginning, do you have any pets"? and then "they have to go". The tears and upset were awful. Both cats went to an elderly gentleman who had lost 2 cats to old age. When he called he said he wasn't going to have more pets because he was so heart broken, but when he saw my ad for a pair of beautiful brothers that intrigued him. When I told him why I had to find homes for them that cinched it, he came the same day. I gave Buddy to a nice family, they called me and told me what a jewel he was to them. I knew that Buddy was a perfect dog, and a sensitive companion. I really missed him. My husband would say, "you'd be perfect too if you were that ugly". He didn't appreciate his brindled coat. I thought he was beautiful.

After some time my desire for another dog was foremost in my mind and I began to do some research. There had to be some kind of pet we could have besides a fish. Birds were the worst choice for airway problems. I didn't want a snake. We had our experience with a rat, Liza Jane Ratigan, who begged for bananas and pancakes. When Liza died the girls asked Papa to say something at her little grave in our yard. Pa looked into their little teary eyes and said, " Here lies Liza Jane in life you were a good rat, and now that your dead your better". The girls said,"that was nice Papa". The innocence of the young.

A friend told me about hairless cats, they looked like something from a science fiction movie. Nope definitely not feeling it for a hairless cat. A pastor told us that chiwuawa's cured asthma. I don't like little yappers, their shrill bark goes right up my back like fingernails on a chalkboard. Then I stumbled upon standard poodles. They are a big dog. With a lamb haircut they really had appeal, and everything I read about them sounded like they were a perfect match for us. I don't even mind grooming but I confess that I would rather pay for that, it's a lot of work. A home school mom we knew had a friend with a litter of puppies and so it was that Rasmus entered our lives. I named him that because I wanted his name to have a bit of down home humor in it. I really didn't want a pansy dog with foo foo hair or some weird name like Pepe.

No offense intended if you know a pansy named Pepe. As it was we had plenty of teasing and fun about our big poo bear. From the very beginning Rasmus was special. I was sick when we first brought him home and he would lay beside me quietly. He didn't really run and play until I recovered. Those first days were an incredible time of bonding. I think he learned English then as he had an enormous vocabulary. We really didn't command this dog we just talked to him. Like the time he was looking for his ball and my husband told him it was under the van without any hand gestures; and he went and looked under the van and got his ball. We looked at each other wide eyed, "did you see that"? We were impressed, we knew he was smart, but that smart?

Rasmus was stuck to my hip for the first 6 years of his life and then an amazing thing happened. My husband stole him. The first time I woke up and he wasn't next to my side of the bed I thought he died. There he was next to J, looking sheepish like the traitor he was. I couldn't believe it. J hadn't wanted a dog, he was very aloof with him for a long time, and now they were bosom buddies? It wasn't fair. He was my dog. Come to find out my husband was spending a large amount of time petting him and talking to him every day. They were developing rituals and games while I was at work. Rasmus still loved me but he was becoming man's best friend.

to be continued.....

Signature Salad

My friends love my salads. They aren't cheap but they are lovely to look at and also wonderfully healthy. Thought I'd share one of everybody's favorites for your weekend.
Get your big salad bowl out, I don't know how to make anything small. I buy organic produce that is really fresh and good.

1 large box of organic baby greens with spinach

(or one box of each baby greens and spinach)

1 each of red, green, and yellow bell peppers chopped

1 Gala or Fuji apple chopped

1 ripe avacado chopped

1 cup chopped walnuts ( can toast them first if you want to)

1/2 to 1 cup of feta cheese (to taste)

cherry tomatoes.

fresh cilantro minced fine

layer it into your bowl sprinkling in this order it's really pretty, don't toss.

Dressing

Use a Good Seasons mixing bottle. Ignore their measuring lines. Fill the bottle to just above the water line with balsamic vinegar. add 1 tblsp honey.

1 tablsp water and finish the bottle to the very top

with extra virgin olive oil. Add your favorite herbs and some fresh minced garlic. Fresh Market ahs an Italian Provance blend that is really good.

mix and pour over each serving.

This salad will keep in the refigerator because it's basically dry. It makes a large quantity and is great for a party or potluck. I like to make it with Italian food and warm bread. ENJOY!

Boot Camp

Maybe I slipped off my cracker, or the cheese did, however you say it. The point is I might really be crazy. I am 52, overweight, out of shape, and I signed up for Marathon Makeover. Now I’m telling all of you that I did it, so I have to go threw with it and finish. This morning I was looking at the Chicago Marathon website, seeing those muscle bound athletes and reading their incredible racing times; the thought occurred to me that maybe I should’ve signed up for Whitfield, our local psychiatric hospital. I’ve never been athletic. I was the dork everybody picked last because they had to. You know the geek with the glasses out in right field. So why a marathon?
Last year I went to Colombia South America on a mission trip. It was an incredible life changing experience. Over 600 people said yes to Jesus in about 18 hours worth of work. So many want to know Christ that we had to limit the time we shared, in order to be able to follow up and truly “make disciples” after we left. Never before had the reality of the ripe fields for harvest been so, “in my face”. The people are beautiful and so open to the good news of Jesus Christ. Wherever we went a crowd would gather as we used our evangecubes and told the sweet story of salvation. What impressed me was the sincerity of the people. When I asked them if they were sure they would go to heaven when they died, many said, “No, I’m going to hell”. Amazing, many Americans no longer even believe in heaven or hell. These people with little opportunity to know the truth are convinced of its existence. They know they are lost. Blessed are the feet of them that bring good news.
Which brings me back to the marathon, it’s very hot in Colombia. We sweated for the entire 10 days. I finally got dry when I came home. Drinking enough water is no problem at all because you are constantly thirsty. The hardest part of the trip for me was having physical stamina. My hearts desire and the body I live in were in conflict. It didn’t help that I immediately got a respiratory infection and asthma. I realized that I had entered into battle without preparing. Boot camp! Soldiers go to boot camp. But Lord, soldiers are usually young kids that can take boot camp. A long time ago I told the Lord I would be a fool for him, or anything else. I gave Him my life. The marathon represents endurance to me, it’s the boot camp I need to go on mission. I want to go back. I want to go other places to and share the good news that rescued me.
My verse for this year is, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”. This is almost as far fetched as Abraham becoming a father at 100 years of age. We do believe in the God who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, that God can get granny to the finish line. What monumental challenge are you facing today? Focus on the one whose arm is not too short to save, and say a prayer for me. Whitfield sounds more realistic than 26.2 miles.

Christopher Robin and Pooh Corner

All of my life I seem to be the last to know. Like can you make a favorites list of blog sites? And how do you put music on your blog and all the cute gizmos and gadgets that people have? Ya'll are too cool. I'd like to get this groovy granny up to speed.
Usually I am too busy for this but my back is hurt. So I'm not rushing around doing all that significant, insignificant stuff of daily life. It is amazing how all this stuff that is so urgent one day is stuff I can't remember the next. We had a "counselling" session today with my grand daughters. I told them I'm going to start writing all the crazy antics of this family down and they started screaming. Have I stumbled upon the secret weapon? Nahhh I don't need a weapon but it was pretty funny how fast they hit the panic button. We really do have a pretty funny family.
I would be the Eeyore in the crowd, "nobody loves me". Nobody cares that the dust is so thick on the coffee table you can write in it. I wrote "dust me", and waited, nothing happened. The next day I pulled out the windex and cleaned the table. Dirt is invisible to my family. I am the only one who can even see it. It's an Eeyore thing. I lost my clean house and can't find it, don't know where it went, can't get it back. The kids are Tigger and Piglet. My little bitty Piglet makes the biggest messes, she's not happy when her pigsty gets tidied up. She loves piles. Piles of clothes, shoes, stuff, just put it in a heap. Tigger loves hugs, she can knock you right over with affection, bouncing along. and then there is good old Christopher Robin with a common sense level approach to life. That would be who Eeyore was lucky to marry. Eeyore basically has a negative view of most things, looking down, seeing the dirt and muck. But Eeyore secretly wants to look up and ignore all those little irritations and float away on a balloon into the sunnier part of the story. How fun would it be to fly?
After all when I'm dead and buried what will they say about me? She sure had a dirty toilet, and the furniture in her house was a cat hair collection. I hope not. I hope I leave behind something of lasting value, some act of kindness, or some demonstration of positive action that my girls would admire and maybe even emulate. You know the caught stuff, not the taught stuff. When we set an example and they notice it. Maybe one day I'll learn to spell. Maybe I'll learn how to create a dazzling blog. Maybe I'll get my priorities in order of importance to such an extent that what others think won't matter so much, and the way this house looks won't be a personal reflection of me. Maybe what really matters in the eternal perspective of things will take hold of my personality,.... and I'll find my tail, and it'll be my birthday and everyone will remember. Well, maybe not, but it won't matter anymore, because I will be looking up.

Coffee Contest

A stange thing happened today, I actually won something. I don't win contests, but I was definitely qualified to enter this one. A friend of mine wanted "poo stories". I'm not to sure if they were funny or not but they certainly were about poop. Nurses spend the majority of their lives dealing with such bodily functions; the absence or excess of such things.
Humour isn't the easiest thing to accomplish with writing, especially if your trying, it's easy to sound contrived. My humour has to be spontaneous. You know what I mean?
A friend of mine recently sent me a beach photo of a mutual friend of ours in her 2 piece bathing suit, with her 18 year old daughter, muscle bound son and middle aged husband with hair like Einstein. What was wrong with the picture was that she looked like her daughter with these great tan legs and a 6 pack! Give me a break. My friend was talking about how nice it would be to live on the beach, and I got a mental picture. My husband has just few hairs on the top of his head. When the girls were little they drew pictures of 5 of them all pointing straight up. My mental picture drew the 5 hairs, then next to him were the girls, that part was ok. Then it came to me, unh unh, no 2 piece, how about a knee length moomoo those flowery Hawaiian things fat ladies love. Nope, not moving to the beach definitely not feelin it.
It's really sick that some people can be middle aged and actually look like a bowflex commercial in real life. They are just plain born with great genes period. In my family their is a whole lot of beef, or pork, or whatever you want to call it. I was looking at the website for the Chicago marathon today, the one I am supposed to sign up for and run in. Maybe it was a momment of insanity, or oldtimers, whatever possessed me to do this? My goal is quite simple, just to finish alive and hopefully the same day that it starts. At least I won't be wearing a moomoo.

Mondays

I slept in this morning. Weekends are supposed to be restful but I find they usually are so busy that I'm tired on Monday. Today I need to create a test for the girls American government class, exercise, walk the dog and prepare all the rest of our home school lessons for this week. There is still a small pile of pants to hem on top of my sewing machine, that's on the kitchen floor collecting dust. The Tai Bo DVD is sitting on the DVD player shouting, "play me" jump around and sweat buckets. Instead I am sitting in the recliner sipping delicious french roast coffee, and figuring out this blog thing.
My husband just called to tell me he loves me. Right. "what do you want me to do?" is my reply ha ha. The girls do the same thing. Make me laugh, tell me you love me and I'll shine your shoes, seems way to easy. That's the way grandmas are.

Marathon Makeover

I like big challenges. Sometimes I scare myself with the goals I say yes too. My granddaughter and I are training with Marathon Makeover. We are couch potatoes, officially. The two of us love to lay on the couch with a big bowl of ice cream and watch a good movie. It has been almost 25 years since I was in shape. Remember Jane Fonda aerobics and leg warmers? I worked really hard and got into terrific shape, and then let it go, big time.
Last year I had a life changing experience. I went with a group of people to Colombia, South America and I fell in love with those people. I realized as I struggled with the discrepancy of what my heart wanted and what my body could actually do; that being a couch potato has a price. Being in shape also has the reward of freedom, the freedom to be strong.
How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. How do you run a marathon? You start by walking one mile. I can do that.