A Reed Not Broken: January 2011

Thursday 27 January 2011

Bbrrrrrrrr....where's the cotton flannel?

Fresh from the manicure!

Like two little gophers scampering into their burrows, I shove my hands between the feather pillows encased in cotton flannel. I have just returned to my flannel sheets, duvet and wool blanket from my nocturnal trip to the toilet. This trip is made on automatic pilot, and I might still be closer to sleep than wakefulness if it weren’t for the cold water that has chilled my fingers to the bone. Now all I want is to get them warm again.
It’s bad enough that I’ve had to depart the snuggling warmth of my bed to attend to the needs of bodily functions. But sleep and dreams won’t be found until my hands are warm again.

     To save increasing the gas bill (which fuels the boiler) and conserve water, we don’t turn on the hot water tap just for a 30 second hand washing and rinse. Yet, I can’t help but wonder where the water company pipes the water from—Scandinavian glacier melt? Feeling the water on my hands and pouring through my fingers makes even my toes feel cold!
       Since we practice budget saving practices, I no longer afford the sanitising gel I used to buy for the mid-night trips. But how nice it would be to buy a gallon of the stuff! Just think—no clinking of crushed ice as it charges out of the tap with the water! Simply give two quick pumps which provide lovely, sanitizing gel that needs no drying on the still-damp towel.
       My Midnight Man—aka Husband—often stays up late studying numbers and such. Occasionally he will turn off his computer and rendezvous with me on my return to bed. He seems to delight in putting his cold hands on my bare back and hearing my protesting squeal—not good when I simply want to return to Slumberland. When I try to return the favour, placing my fingers, tingling with cold, on his warm tummy, he almost purrs, seemingly relishing the coolness against his warm skin. UGH! How unfair! Even so, I won’t complain about his lovely, warm-as-toast skin that quickly dispels the coldness from my hands.

The amazing thing about the human body is that it is created to respond to stimuli of all kinds. So, although my hands hate the shocking cold water I expose them to, the nerves send a message to the brain registering temperature change. The brain automatically tells the blood vessels to open wider and increase blood flow—which brings with it warmth. It never takes long for the fingers to register the delight of increased temperature s and I relax in the softness of the flannel and drift off to the entertaining world of my dreams.

Serving Jesus, Author of our Faith

Wednesday 26 January 2011

Many children not my own

I sat quietly reading. As a barber waiting in my shop for customers, I was just hanging out with God. Though I’d fallen in love with Jesus as a teenager, I’d never read all the way through the Bible. I was hungry to learn how to hear God’s voice, to know for myself the promises of God. As a sole proprietor, the time I sat waiting for customers was mine to spend as I wished. An Amplified Bible was my version of choice and on that sunny afternoon in my Indiana hometown I’d discovered the book of Isaiah. The books of Daniel, Ezekiel and Jeremiah were all a bit surreal to me. Though a prophet, Isaiah spoke on a more practical level to me. As I read chapter after chapter, I marvelled that certain verses created a ringing within my spirit; My Heavenly Father was whispering to me—these verses were specifically meant for me.

Being about 24 or 25 I was praying for a husband, believing that God would give me the desires of my heart. I never intended to remain single through my child-bearing years. On that afternoon as I came to Isaiah 54 God spoke—but it wasn’t a message I wanted to hear, understand or accept.

“Sing, O barren one, you who did not bear; break forth into singing and cry aloud, you who did not travail with child! For the [spiritual] children of the desolate one will be more than the children of the married wife, says the Lord. (2) Enlarge the place of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; spare not; lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes, (3) for you will spread abroad to the right hand and to the left; and your offspring will possess the nations and make the desolate cities to be inhabited.” Isaiah 54

As I sat there reading a command (Sing, O Barren one) and a promise (spiritual children will be more than that of the married wife) I remember the Holy Spirit whispered into my heart: “You will be the mother to many children who are not your own.” Still young, I thought surely God meant that I would get married, have my own children AND also have lots of spiritual children. But here I sit almost 30 years later, and I see that God was preparing me then for what would be reality in my life.

It wasn’t that I didn’t try to make matters different. At the age of 28 I got engaged. He needed “fixing.” My mother and half my church family saw the danger of the man who lacked true Christian commitment and had a problem with anger. No one said anything to me: they all prayed. The Lord clearly showed me that I needed to “disengage” from this troubled man.

“(24) Make no friendships with a man given to anger, and with a wrathful man do no associate. (25) Lest you learn his ways and get yourself into a snare.” Proverbs 22

After we parted company, I realised my motives for wanting to marry him were not about being with him, so much as I wanted to get married and have children. I was to learn in subsequent years that this man became an abusive husband and father.

In 1988 I went to England to attend a Discipleship Training School at Holmsted Manor in West Sussex, England. http://www.ywamholmsted.org/ Part of YWAM’s policy for the Discipleship Training Schools is “No Dating” during the three – to – six months of the programme. This was a time to focus on getting to know God and allowing Him to address issues of that heart that needed “spiritual surgery.” It provided time for me to begin the healing process of the broken relationship.

After I returned home in 1988, I eventually took a job and got “stuck-in” with my home church. And I renewed a friendship with a young man—who was five years younger than myself. He is a Christian, and we had a good friendship. After about five months of spending time as friends, we examined our feelings and approached the “What If” question. We went to counselling to see if we were compatible. Eventually we got engaged—and I was 34—wanting to have children and thinking we could make things work. Reality was we had different views on money, life callings and ministry, children, what each of us considered appropriate entertainment and even pets. All of these major issues separated us.

During the years of my 30’s I struggled a lot with being single and childless. I wanted to experience a life growing inside of me, to know the feel of a baby nestled and nursing at my breast. There were times when I’d go home to Mom, pouring out my heartache with hot tears rolling down my cheeks. Yet, Isaiah 54 would ring through my spirit: “Sing O Barren one....Many will be your spiritual children.”

In 1994 God surprised me—I learned about the School of Writing through YWAM’s University of the Nations. He opened the doors after speaking to me late at night in November, 1993. “I didn’t call you to be a missionary. I called you to be a writer.” Three and a half months went by quickly and I applied to join the staff of the writing school. I was accepted after completing an internship in 1995.

It was the beginning of the fulfilment of God’s promise—mothering many children who were not my own. From 1995 through 1999 I served Jesus through Youth With A Mission. Thanks to Facebook and e-mail many of the students who became “My Children” are still in contact with me. It was while I served in YWAM that I got my first Mother’s Day Card.

When I went back to university in 2000 (at the age of 42), I lived in the dorms with the 18 to 24 year olds. They accepted me. It probably helped that I didn’t try to mother them, but was just there for them. It was fulfilling to be around these young people.

In 2001 the “Surprise of My Life” made himself known—through www.crossdaily.com. Through marrying Midnight Man, I have been blessed with a stepson, three step-daughters, plus their spouses/fiancés and 14 grandchildren. God has truly blessed me as all of my step children are kind, generous and loving towards me.

And through Hillsong Church London, I’ve been blessed with “Spiritual Daughters”.

So, although my womb has borne no children, I am not barren. My life is fruitful. And I have seen God keeping His promises.
Serving Jesus, Author of our faith.

Thursday 13 January 2011

The last of the left-overs...

Another box to the recycle—the one that held two layers of Christmas Chocolates—we finished the last ones. Enjoyable while they lasted. We have a couple boxes of deep-filled mince pies remaining from our celebration month. We are close to finishing the rest of the left-over Holiday season food. I have less to finish—as John found three bottles of wine the other day. I’m a teetotaller, and like it that way. January equals facing the consequences of choices made during the feasting season—eating all those foods we usually don’t have access to, or otherwise choose to avoid. But this blog is not about changing eating habits...aren’t you glad?

The topic is the left-over stories from our Christmas season. This is the last instalment of “The Grandsons M & K Week Adventure.” Now, you may ask, what could I possibly have to say about that this in the 2^nd week in January? Simple—gingerbread. Had the boys been coming for a day or two, the project of preference would have been rolled out sugar cookies. But since we were extending the length of stay, I gave the situation a bit more consideration.

It was from a childhood interest in Germany and German traditions that the tradition of gingerbread houses rose to the surface in my brain. This seemed like a bigger project that would require longer. With this in mind, I went to Google and typed in Gingerbread houses. This led me to: http://www.gingerbread-house-heaven.com/ This website is a great resource with all kinds of recipes, instructions, templates, photos, videos and competitions.

It turned out that the Gingerbread House project was a three-day affair for us. One day for making the dough; one day for baking the houses, and one day to construct and decorate them. Although chilling the dough for an hour would have sufficed, most instructions I read said it was better to keep in refrigerated overnight. And it broke up the activity so their anticipation was higher.

I also baked three more houses—one for Midnight Man’s three daughters and their families. The houses were my gift to the families—as it was the most economic approach for us time wise and financially. After all, something made by hand is an expression of love.

My first attempt at royal icing failed and the houses were not sticking together. So, sending the boys out to burn off some energy, I retreated to my computer to research the process of making icing into a glue-like consistency. Well, I simply hadn’t let my Kitchen Aid mixer run long enough. It required 15 minutes. Victory! So I not only learned about Royal Icing (recipe on the website listed above), but I also learned how to make icing piping bag from grease-proof paper. http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/videos/1056/making-a-piping-bag Needing to supply the boys and myself for the project, I became more than proficient at making royal icing, making and filling piping bags.

Once the icing was the right consistency, the lounge looked like a miniature construction site as we used up all the candy we’d bought to decorate the houses. Even Midnight Man was volunteered military style* to be part of the project. He was assigned the job of making carrier boxes for the houses.

*Military Style Volunteer: Commanding Officer—“I need a volunteer. And YOU are it. Now get busy.”

Now the boys are ready for next year. And my other grandchildren want a turn too. Hmmm...maybe I’ll need to camp at their house next year! I hope you enjoy the photos!

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith.