An Adage Broken!

Have you heard the adage that says "you can never go home?" Me too, however I believe I've proved that old saying wrong.

For several years in the late forties, home for me was just outside of Worden, Mt., east of Billings...population...small. I was five and my sister two when our parents divorced, and we left Washington to begin a new life near my mother's family.

I was broken hearted, full of grief and anger; yet soon Montana's magic began to work on me from the inside out. A city kid until then, the country became my personal playground, where the Lord intervened with a four-legged adventure named Brownie. She was old, gentle and exactly what a red-headed-tom-girl needed for escape. On her back, I was the sum total of my dreams...trick-rider, cowgirl roper, or a child who could ride into a place of comfort whenever she wanted. The healing began.

Going into town was a weekly adventure I loved as much as farm life. Memories of tart strawberry ice-cream melting on my tongue and the dusty, acrid smell of the feed store, still float through my mind.

Another vivid recollection is a white stucco building in the middle of town...the movie theater.Bambi was the first movie I ever saw in that place of great imagination. How vibrant yet is the remembrance of intimate anticipation., waiting in the dark until the Lion roared and the music began with a dramatic crescendo. Snuggled in Grandma's lap, we shared Black Jack gum, popcorn, and sometimes a Canadian mint or two.

I still missed my dad, but the attention of family, new adventures, and the discovery of the big screen created an environment of protection and comfort. My parents eventually reconciled, and we returned to the Pacific NW, the way we'd come....by train. I cried the long way back , hoping my grandparents would ship the big brown horse when I got home.

Over the years we had several family reunions in Montana, my last visit being as a teenager. But, life goes on, and so did I, with a piece of Big Sky Country remaining with me always.

My husband and I love to "landsail," that's getting in the car for places unknown for exploration,photography and nature observations. Since he's the photographer, and had never been to Montana, the lure of unexplored vistas put us on the road one brilliant October.

We each had a wish list of places to visit. Worden was on mine for obvious reasons. Would it be the faded memory photo of my childhood? Is is possible to hold onto a piece of innocent time and not be disappointed when allowed to return?

We picked the perfect week for our sentimental journey, having wonderful sun-filled days, and crisp autumn mornings the entire way to Billings. We passed through the Bitterroots, stayed in Red Lodge where we had to scrape clinging frost off the windshield before leaving. The deeper we went into the state, the more my memories stirred.

The day we left for Worden, I prepared myself for disappointment. Knowing how much change could take place in decades of "progress," I wanted to be ready. Nothing looked familiar as we followed the map and road signs. I was silent while picture memories passed through my mind like the highway's mileposts.

When I spotted our turn off, my heart skipped. We were now on the old road from Billings.Searching for Worden's main street, I wondered if I'd recognize it, or even find it after all the encroachment of time and development.

We drove a short distance, and I spotted some buildings on our right. "Stop, this is it," I told my husband. "It's right here. The main street is right here."

We pulled in front of an all brick, vacant building. Peering in the window, I could see worn, hard wood flooring, and evidence of various vacated businesses scattered around. Something stirred' I was certain I remembered standing on those old floors. Was I only imagining the sounds and images that came to mind? This had been the bank! I closed my eyes and I was five, filled with delight. Delight, and something more. I choked back tears to do more ex;oration.

Directly across the street, a hardware business stood where the feed store once thrived, modern metal a substitute for old, fragrant wood. A couple of doors down, another structure begged to be recognized. The movie theater. Only now, it was the American Legion Hall, doors locked and blind pulled. Tempted to look around back for a discarded popcorn machine, or perhaps and abandoned velvet seat, I reasoned against it, wanting my imagination to remain intact with the past's youthful content.

As I continued the explorations, the memory of delight remained and I realized what the "something more" was. Security. That's what this place brought to mind. In the middle of a chaotic decision beyond my childhood control, this little town had been a place of refuge.What had started as a miserable chapter in my life, ended with something good and nurturing.

I'm so very grateful that I had the opportunity to turn back the pages of m life and not be disappointed. As a matter of fact, I've been back often...if only in my mind.

Here, then gone!

A few Sundays ago, a friend came to church, served in children's ministry, participated in worship, then went shopping before heading home. She never made it. While in a store, she collapsed and died en route to the hospital from a massive stroke. She didn't know when she got up that morning, she would be dead in a few short hours.

When I heard the news, my heart rejoiced for her heavenly homecoming, but I wondered about the last words she spoke. Would she have said something different if she knew those words would be her final ones?

I'm a writer, and I love words, but I've often used them negatively in anger, or frustration. What power we possess through our speech...power and opportunity...opportunity to bless or to curse.

Of course I want to be remembered for the words of blessing I've spoken, words full of grace and mercy. One of the first scripture verses I learned was from proverbs. " Whoever guards his mouth and tongue, keeps his soul from trouble." When I fill my heart with kindness, mercy and things of good report, my mouth reflects it. "Not what goes into the mouth, but what comes out of the mouth defiles a man."

When my final appointment with destiny comes, I hope my friends, family and my readers will remember my final words with a smile or two. Until then, I will be practicing.

Longings

In the dead of winter, with the Columbia River gorge winds blowing, my heart is longing for spring. I want clear skies, warm breezes and fresh flowers on my table. This is a seasonal longing.

I have another longing that runs through my heart like a deep, endless ocean. I am homesick, dreaming of a place without sickness, pain or suffering. This earthly dwelling place is exhausting with the trials of life and all the burdens we encounter as mortal humans while residing here.

When I read scripture, I find I'm not alone in such emotional turmoils. Paul said: "For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I live on in the flesh, this will mean fruit from my labor; yet what I shall choose, I cannot tell." He concluded by acknowledging the body of Christ needed him...they had work to do for the Lord. Phil. 1:21-26 Paul found joy in the serving regardless of his circumstances or his own heart longings, by submitting to God's plan and not his own.

I find great encouragement in this today, watching winter's rain pelt against my window pane. I have a renewed interest in being about my Father's business here on earth, and will continue to serve Him mortally with His eternal Hope.

Are you tired of waiting, friend? Tired of grappling with earthly troubles and burdens? Here's what God said to Jeremiah. "I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans for good and not for evil...to give you a future and a hope." Jer. 29:11

I'll be longing for Heaven until I take my last breath, but in the mean time, I'm willing to "wait upon the Lord," who renews my strength on a daily basis. How about you?

Wasted!

Yesterday was the fourth of July and today I've been thinking about all the money wasted on fireworks (they're legal in WA.) While I was wagging my finger at my neighbors (and others) I was struck with the reality of something I waste on a daily basis. 

To be sure, I try not to put too much pressure on the earth space I live in. I recycle, re-use all my bags, don't run water while I'm brushing my teeth, and try not to leave unrecognizable food in my fridge. No, the thing I waste is not water, bags or food...it's time. Every day, I  waste too much of it on things that frankly are petty. One of my problems is a failure to prioritize my day. Periodically I will get a momentum going and for a while I'm rolling forward like a trucker headed to LA. But then distraction raises its ugly head and I'm side tracked. 

I have no idea how many days, weeks or years the Lord will leave me here, but my heart's desire is to serve Him well in the mean time. I need to be more faithful to begin each day seeking His plan for my day. It's amazing how His plans work so much better than mine.

My oldest son, a father for the first time, shared with me that his work took on a whole new meaning since his daughter, Zoey was born. "It's all worthwhile now."
That got me  thinking about the Lord and what He did for me on the cross. He saw me, a sinner, and said, "Sharon is worth My sacrifice."  This brings me to tears with a grateful heart and words to sing in appreciation.

Amazing love, how can it be

That you my King should die for me!

Amazing love, I know it's true

That it's my joy, to honor You

In all I do, I honor you!

You are my King.

You are my King.

"I live, I ride I am!"

 Last night I had trouble sleeping and that Jeep commercial kept running through my head...I live, I ride, I am, I live, I ride, I am!" Catchy, but not in the middle of the night. I decided, in my non-sleepy-state, to change the slogan around a bit. "He died, I live, I am."

 It fits doesn't it? As a Christian I live by the truth of Christ dying for me. Because He died and rose again, I live. Therefore if I live by/in Christ, I am. 

 Now, if I only had a sleek new Jeep, I could put this on a bumper sticker. Oh well, Happy Easter!

A Ministry of Tears

"Weep with those who weep," the Bible says. I've been shedding a lot of tears lately, and not for myself. Life is extremely difficult for many people right now. A family we've known for years is battling childhood cancer for the third time with their nine year old, while another fights a different kind of cancer with a young wife and mother of four. We, the by-stander, are asked to pray, to come along side and "weep with those who weep." Because each one of our tears actually contains the love of God within the saltiness of their existence, we're invited to pour them out.

 Don't we all struggle with  what to say,  in response to tragic situations? I have. But, I've found it's not what we say, as much as what we do, in response to another's grief that counts. Therefore, I will not ever be embarrassed by my tears. Sometimes there are simply no words.