Phobia

I'd like to share something few people know about me. I realize that I am opening myself up to a whole new level of vulnerability here, so I hope you'll be gentle.

Many people are afraid of creepy crawly things like spiders or mice. Some folks get all clammy with the thought of being up high off the ground, while others don't even like to go outside of their home. Phobia is a pretty funny sounding word. It means an irrational and very powerful fear and dislike of something.

For me personally, this definition has nothing to do with beady eyes or slithering scales. Instead of being terrified by something that could actually do me some harm, I find myself deathly afraid of . . . you ready for this? I am terrified of snails.

I'll wait a few seconds while you chuckle it up. Don't worry, I'm used to it. For as long as I can remember, my family has laughed at me about this. Anytime I mention this quirky part of myself to new person, they feel this annoying need to clarify things.

"A snail?" One will question. "What could a snail do to you . . . chase you around?"

I know, it doesn't make any sense at all. But I get terribly panicked when these slimy critters are anywhere around. When I was growing up, I used to carry a flashlight with me when it was dark and rainy, so that I wouldn't step on one. (It would have been the death of me for sure.) My sister (and I'm sure some other mean kids) used to chase me around with them - which is probably what caused the phobia in the first place.

Here is a great story for anyone wanting to laugh some more. Okay, remember now, I am terrified of those shell covered snot pockets. It was the middle of my seventh grade year. This particular balmy afternoon, we had just finished lunch and fourth period was where I would be headed next. I plopped myself down onto my chair in science class, just waiting for the afternoon's entertainment. Mrs. Smith walked into the classroom carrying two large buckets.

Wonder what's inside, I thought. Frogs, plants maybe . . . but no such luck.

Mrs. Smith began walking up and down the classroom - passing out snails. I kid you not. We were given a partner (a human one mind you), and a small sheet of glass with which to play with our new friends.

I was surrounded. I couldn't move, I couldn't breath. I knew, that I couldn't let anybody know that I was afraid. A classroom full of twelve year old boys knowing that I was afraid of snails would have landed me a lap full of those disgusting creatures.

I don't remember who my partner was that day. I don't recall what I was wearing, or what I had for lunch minutes before. But I can tell you that I will never ever forget my encounter with that snail. We set it on the glass, and looked underneath to watch the movement of the foot. Yuck. Then we fed it some grass or something, and we watched it eat. Double yuck. We poked at it's eye to watch it go back in . . . yuck again. That afternoon, ignoring every bead of sweat of my forehead - I became one with the snail.

I can't say that it cured me of the phobia, because I still panic when I see one - even today. But there was something remarkable about staying seated that day, knowing that there were dozens of them all around me. There were small ones, big ones, dark and light ones. Some were really slimy while others were just a tad bit moist. I cringe at the thought, even now.

All of my flashlight carrying days, I have never met another person who is afraid of snails. I just can't get that one figured out. There is nothing on this earth more disgusting if you ask me. I still can't figure out why God created such a vile looking creature. Anyone know?

My husband is the most wonderful man. He has never made fun of me about this. He has come to my rescue countless times, when I have found myself cornered by this mollusk. He has picked dozens of them up and tossed them away just to clear me a trail. Now that is what I call love.

I see God in my husband's chivalry. Sure, Mark knows that I am not in any real danger, but he sympathizes enough to play along with my insanity. He treats me with dignity and respect, even though I am being completely unreasonable.

I think God does the same kind of thing with us. We whine about this fear or that, when all the while what we are afraid of could never do us any real harm. The enemy of our souls is great a lying to us, and his sole purpose is to keep us fearful.

So what are you deathly afraid of? Does it have potential to cause you any real danger, or is your fear as ridiculous as mine?

Cry out to God, He doesn't care if you are in any real danger or not. He loves to step in and be the hero in your life . . .

one snail chuck at a time.

Practice

Practice makes perfect. I like the sound of that today. I am hoping that each day's post is sharpening me in the language arts arena. I struggle to come up with something to write about today, but I have to admit - I do have a few more ideas than I did this morning.

God is really good at bringing great material my way. People are my favorite thing to write about (and to watch of course). It think today, my subject will be the the goofiest one of all - myself.

Let's see, I could write about the events of my day - but there is really nothing out of the ordinary to report on. I worked some on ministry stuff this morning. Then Mark and I tackled the bills, and afterwards rewarded ourselves by cleaning all of the windows in the house. Then we picked up the kids and took them clothes shopping. Not a single one of them could fit into their jeans anymore.

These are just a couple of the things on Mark's to-do list for his week off. As the day comes to an end we find that windows are sparkly, the creditors are happy, and our kids are clothed. We extend genuine to our perfect Provider.

What was so significant about today, is that there was nothing really so significant - and yet my heart could just burst with joy. I am surrounded by a beautiful family, we have a lovely home and God has given my plenty of soul satisfying things to work on.

I like my life. I haven't always been able to say that you know. There was a time, several years ago, when I lived a very empty and shallow existence. I used to never feel like I fit in - anywhere. I was afraid of everybody, and everything. I dreaded what was to come, because I wouldn't dare dream up anything good.

I used to look at other people - anybody else, and wished that I had their life. It didn't matter too much what their circumstances were like . . . rich, poor, popular or a loner . . . anybody elses life looked better than mine.

Why I loathed myself so much, I don't really know. I remember feeling like there was hope somewhere out there, but everything I tried had proven to be anything but hopeful. Hanging out with the wrong crowd, pouring myself into ballet, falling head over heels for one guy after the other. These were just some of the ways I tried to make myself feel important. All the while, I died inside - knowing that none of those masks represented the real me.

Then the day came . . . the Lover of my heart and soul came to the rescue. Everything I looked for in other people - I found in Jesus. No longer did I feel out of place and ashamed. I felt valued, precious and dearly cared for. And I will even go as far as to say that I felt like royalty. I've said it before, there is nothing in the whole wide world like knowing that you belong to the King of Kings.

Well, for not having anything to write about, once again God has been so faithful. What could be better than being able to say, "I like my life."

Practice makes perfect . . . and a perfected view of myself could only come from Him.

Ragamuffin

I think I'll write about my dog today. I've sprinkled a mention of Ginger here and there - which hardly gives her the credit she deserves. She is, after all, my greatest fan.

We adopted our "Minger" almost a year ago last October. After going years without having a dog, it was time to open our hearts up again to one so furry. Years earlier, my dog Sammy (who I had for over ten years) got out of our gate shortly after we moved to Turlock - and she never came back. My heart was broken. I literally cried for three days.

It was the middle of January, during the really cold and rainy season. Mark drove all over Turlock and the surrounding cities trying to find that stupid dog. She was a wanderer alright . . . a min pin with a very short attention span. One mingle out of the yard cost her and us everything.

So needless to say, we have needed time to mend that wound. To make things even worse, I made one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made, and I decided to make an emotional purchase. While looking for Sammy at the animal shelter, once I had pretty much given up on finding her, I decided to adopt a little orphan puppy. She had markings similar to Sammy, and she seemed to be just what this broken heart needed in order to mend.

I think the saying goes something like, "And to add salt to the wound . . ." this little puppy died a horribly painful death from Parvo a few weeks later. That did it. No more dogs for this family for a long time.

Aside from getting over two tragedies in a row, Mark and I had decided to wait until we were finished with diapers and doohickeys (for the kids I mean). Makayla had just turned four, and was pretty self sufficient in the potty area. So, after some research, and much eye batting on my part, Ginger was welcomed into the family.

After speaking with the breeder over the phone, the kids and I took a trip up to Ripon to have a look. The woman had seven puppies, and we were the first family to arrive. While we were driving up to pick out a new family member, I remember feeling elated. A new baby to bring home! I knew that I would probably have to get up in the middle of the night to check on her, and that she would need to be house trained and comforted like all little babies do.

As we walked into that kitchen, I felt a little bit hesitant about the idea of adding more responsibility to my list of duties. But once glimpse of that fur ball and all of my anxieties evaporated. She was the pick of the litter, and she was going home with us!

Ginger has proven to be a great fit for our family. She has a great temperament, although at times can be a little bit stubborn and even sassy. What do you expect? She's female. She is not like any dog I have ever known. And I have seen a lot of dogs. Ginger definitely thinks she is one of "the people", and that she should be treated as such.

She likes to follow me around the house and lick my feet. This can be annoying at times, especially just after I step out of the shower - yuck! But aside from a couple of annoying habits, she is nice to have around. She is a great guard dog, but a chicken at heart underneath all of that noisy bark. A basket of her "babies" rests underneath one of our end tables. She loves to pull one out and chew on it.

I never understood why God allowed such heart brake during that rainy season. Sometimes we all go through storms that don't ever make sense. But what I did learn, was to trust that sometimes God's answer is "no", and sometimes it is "wait". I rest today in the goodness of God, not because He came to my rescue all those years ago - but because of His silence. There is something remarkable when faith pushes past the seeming absence of God.

These days, God has blessed us with a great companion in Ginger. There are times when fear kicks in, and I find myself checking to make sure the gate is closed a couple of times a day. That heart brake will never fully go away. But God has healed most of my wound, over time.

Like yesterday's post, a brokenness leads to new appreciation. At the end of the day, God uses my little ragamuffin to warm my lap - and to heal my heart.

Window

I wrote about my hospital experience a while back, and wanted to add a little bit more color and detail today. After visiting with my doctor for a check up this morning, I decided to mosey on over to Memorial Hospital for stroll down memory lane. A fierce storm like I experienced that late December, makes me appreciate the vibrancy of today's rainbow.

As I walked through the automatic sliding doors, I was immediately embraced by the smell and sounds of the hospital world. Memories of being bed bound and pain stricken were rushing in - not with fear and sadness, but instead, with a deep appreciation for God's miraculous healing.

I got to the elevators, and remembered the feel of the gurney underneath my small and broken frame. I thought about how it felt coming out of surgery - drugged up and in terrible pain. I remember hearing Mark and my sister walk beside me as they wheeled me into the elevator, and out onto the surgical floor.

I arrived in a very small room, which ended up being my home for the next several days. The first few days after surgery were a blur . . . aside from visits from the nurses and morphine doses, I don't remember much of anything.

I never much liked the feeling of being drugged up. There was something about the sensation of losing control that didn't appeal to me. Often times, it made me feel very afraid. "I don't like how this makes me feel," was my usual response. The medicine really took the edge off, but the out of body experience hardly felt worth it.

As I stepped onto the third floor this afternoon, I was surprised to find a large piece of plastic covering where the entrance to the surgical floor used to be. A sign indicated that they had moved to a different wing. My eyes followed the hall a bit further, and carefully landed on my favorite window.

I took a few steps towards what used to seem like an oasis. The blinds were closed today, leaving the hallway looking dingy. I took in a deep breath, and peeked my head through the plastic bars. Ah, yes. All of this was still the same. The tar on the roof below - same. The traffic rushing by about a quarter of a mile away - same. The variety of trees and plants submitting to the push of the wind - delightfully the same.

Again, pieces of what I experienced so many months ago flashed in my head. I remembered how it once took everything I had in me to walk to that window. And when I got there, I wondered if I would be able to get all the way back to my bed. The guard rail underneath my arms was at one time where I bared most of my weight, as my legs were too weak to hold me up. Hunched over, dizzy, weak, wracked with pain and full of fatigue - I used to stare out that window and wonder what normal life would be like again.

I remember thinking, "Those people driving those cars have no idea how fortunate they are." To be able to walk and sit down without hurting sounded dream like. To be free from the torture of the hospital, where needles were constant, vitals were like clockwork. Beneath my broken body, was a disheartened soul.

The funny thing is, before I went through all of that suffering, I was just one of those drivers myself. Before facing the reality of death, I hadn't realized the true measure of the gift of life. I too, was hurrying from one place to another - not realizing just how much every moment counts.

What have you gone through that has given you a different perspective on life? Was it tragic, painful or debilitating? Are you on the healing side of things, or are you still in the suffering stages?

Hold fast dear one. God promises that He will never waste a single one of our hurts. There will be a rainbow after every one of our storms.

And remember - the darker the clouds . . . the more vibrant the color.

Bench

Matthew really wants to hone in on his baseball skills this year, so we decided to sign him up for something called Fall Ball. Tonight was his second game, and unfortunately they got slaughtered. As Makayla and I sat on hard bleachers full of distraught parents, it was painful to watch (in more ways than one). One mess up after another - they seemed to be on a roll.

From where we were sitting, the other team seemed so much bigger. I'm sure the kids were pretty much the same size as our boys, but when you see the other uniform cross home plate twelve times for every zero for us - well, it makes those ten year old kids look like giants. (And I don't mean the San Fransisco kind.)

After the game, our coach gathered the boys into a huddle. He had some words of encouragement for them, and then doled out information about Thursday's practice. No smiles, no enthusiasm . . . just hum drum.

Excitement did begin to stir with the news of cupcakes. Did somebody say cupcakes? With all of the frosting that sucker had on it, the sugar high alone would make up for any clobber.

I guess defeat is just a part of life. You win some, and you lose some. Makayla didn't seem particularly upset about the score, and although I would have liked to see a few more runs - I wasn't crushed. But for a ten year old boy out there giving it his best - the loss was misery.

After we'd been home for a while, and after Matthew had showered, he sat tearful over a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. I had one of their favorite shows on to help them wind down. The episode seemed to lift him out of his pout, and few minutes later he was off to bed with thoughts about the next day.

I began thinking about something that struck me as we meandered in and out tonight. As we walked to and from the baseball field, I noticed some benches lining our path. A man's name was etched in stone on each one of the benches, indicating that the bench was there in remembrance of him. I got to thinking, how do you get a bench named after you?

He was probably a remarkable player - a real hitter, maybe even the Babe Ruth or Barry Bonds of Pedretti Park. He was not famous enough to strike my familiarity, but I'm sure he was very dear to somebody - if nobody else, the guy who makes benches.

I really did wonder what his story was. My best guess? He was probably, at one time or another, simply a ten year old boy who overcame a defeat or two.

. . . and how he handled the obstacles of life, cupcake or no cupcake - probably won his name on that bench.

Tree Trunk

I've been posting later in the day lately, waiting for God to send me some material. Today's nugget was found in a very panicked little girl. I saw so much of myself in her.

The kids and I were standing in line at Michael's, waiting to pay for some supplies for Matthew's next project. Being in the gate program not only means boosting up on the edjumacational kinds of skills . . . but crafty projects are a part of the culture as well. We've had a lot of fun through the years visiting this craft store run a muck. From book reports made out of paper bag puppets, to science projects calling for gobbly gook - Michael's has never let us down.

It was the middle of the afternoon. I was tired and hungry, and I felt a little bit on the cranky side. I had to pray continually that God would help me keep my complaining to myself. The kids will often times mirror my moods - and let's just say that cranky doesn't look pretty on any one of us.

Toes were tapping, arms were getting tired. Michael and Makayla were swarming around the candy that was placed at eye level. Hopping from one square of linoleum to another, they didn't have a care in the world. Matthew stood at my side, explaining in detail the book he would be doing the project on. I tried my hardest to listen, but the noise inside my head managed to drown out most of his words.

Then it happened. A soft and sullen cry came from the aisle to my left. It was a steady noise, mirroring the rhythm of footsteps. But slow steps became fast ones, and almost immediately, a dainty little girl shuffled around the corner, discovering that she was lost.

"Daddy, I can't find you!" This was spoken through panicked sobs. "Where are you?"

In that moment, there was something that made me forget the acid that was forming in my stomach. I wasn't paying so much attention anymore to the new cashier who was taking forever to work on a customer's return. Every thought, and opinion of my own was tossed aside, as I longed to help her.

She wasn't my child - I had my own three within a careful distance. But my compassion was no less. Even though I knew that she would be okay, and all of the adults surrounding her knew it, this little girl was convinced that she was in grave danger. She had been exploring (like all curious little girls like to do), looking at all of the gizmo and gadgets Michael's has to offer. And somehow, she managed to wander off.

How many times have we done that same kind of thing? We will be moseying along the path of life, hand in hand with our Heavenly Father . . . and then one distraction after another takes us down the wrong aisle. It could be the sparkle of glitter, or the fascination with a cornucopia of yarn. It doesn't take much. And like that little girl, we can find ourselves miles away from the original destination.

One sniff too many of that silk flower, and suddenly we discover that we have taken a wrong turn. Everything that looked familiar suddenly seems foreign and uninviting. Panic takes it's place, and we begin to feel abandoned by God.

What did this frightened little girl decide to do? Did she try to re-trace her steps, and logically come to some conclusion? No! She simply cried out for her Daddy. With everything in her, she shouted for safety. I am happy to report that this little cutie was reunited with her family moments later. I watcher her wipe the tears from her eyes as she grabbed on to daddy's tree trunk of a leg.

When God wants to teach us a lesson, He is never one to be crafty. We don't have to wonder if He will leave or forsake us. God's Word says that He never will. As we wander around from one project to another, God is constant amidst the confusing choices. His ways are simple, His load is light.

And when we find ourselves in what we perceive as grave danger - a tree trunk of a leg will be waiting patiently, for the embrace of tiny arms.

Eeyore

As I sat to write tonight, I almost panicked. It seems like an eon since I've written, and I thought I might have skipped a day. I know that I have probably lost most of you out there, but bear in mind that a woman with a mission can be someone to reckon with. (I have no idea what I just said, but it sounded good - didn't it?)

God has amazingly whipped me back into shape after feeling sorry for myself yesterday. I always spend too much time face down in a puddle. Even a moment of splashing in the throws of "whoa is me" is too long according to God's watch. I am so grateful that God sees the child underneath the glop.

A dear friend of mine back from the good ole' Diversified days likes to joke around about the Eeyore mentality. His favorite line is, "It's probably going to rain." He and I both have little stuffed Eeyore's on our desks, reminding us not to take life so seriously. Nobody wants to be around a complainer . . . as endearing as Eeyore can be.

This same friend taught me how to throw a football on Friday afternoons, when most companies would be working to prepare for the weekend. "PAC Bash" was our end of the week ritual, where employees would head into the kitchen, or outdoors (if it was nice) for some chit-chat and the top of the line munchies. Sometimes we played games, other times we sang Happy Birthday, or threw the newest mommy a baby shower.

Where was the boss, you wonder? Funny thing is, he was the boss - founder and CEO of the company. His business philosophy was remarkable, adding to their unparalleled success. Diversified was the leader in the software industry - and it wasn't because he worked his employees to death. Lowell had a much higher standard. He operated out of something the world does not understand - that of valuing people.

Some of the greatest memories I have of Diversified, are of Lowell and I sitting in his office chewing the fat. I sat and listened to so many of his life experiences - like the time he drove a cab in New York city, the infamous peanut butter legend, and my favorite of all time was the Oreo story . . . you'll have to ask me about that one.

Who has God placed in your life that has made an impact on you? How has that person's choices affected the way you operate today? What inspires you about that person?

A man driven to succeed - with the customer always coming first. Sometimes the customer was a vendor, or a sales guy. Other times the customer was someone working with the product who needed technical support. And on an occasional Friday afternoon, the customer would be me - a girl with a promising spiral.

God's greatest lessons sometimes come from the example of others. A man who no doubt had his share of the Eeyore kind of days . . .

yet he never let the rain keep him down.