You see, I was so happy being a mostly at home Mom.  I adore spending time with my children.  I loved the long hot days of summer spent going to the library or the pool.  I loved going to the movie, buying the refillable large popcorn and drinks, then dividing it among the kids and me while we watched the movie. The spontaneous cookie baking episodes that brought them running from every corner of the house as soon as they heard the hum of the kitchen-aid or smelled the aroma of the cookie ‘du jour. Yes, I loved it.

I didn’t even mind being the shuttle bus driver to and from youth group activities or camps or whatever the kids had planned.  I loved the quiet times when they were doing their own thing around the house, the raucous times they were all laughing and playing together,  and even the times when they were all out of the house and I had it all to myself.  Nothing quite like the absolute quiet of being alone in the house, with only the cycling of the AC breaking the silence. Even the doctor and dental appointments, generally scheduled in the summer around the kids’ activities, brought me a sense of accomplishment.  I was doing my chosen job and doing it well. That summer Monday, the one we call “Black”, I was so happy.  So looking forward to the long lazy summer. The one that turned out  not to be.

The oppressive heat of summer is upon us once again.  I find myself longing for home. I long for those idyllic days surrounded by my favorite people.  Four stair-stepped individuals, each bringing their own unique personalities to the table, which combined together bring the aura of  happiness and contentment to this mother (Even though 2 are basically grown and gone). Being the hubmaster of my home.  Keeping it running smoothly and on schedule. Home.

Don’t get me wrong.  There were days we went to the pool because I had had enough of the spats and quarrels.  I think they call that “redirecting” in the parenting books.  There were times when I thought one more trip down Davis Dr.  would send me to the loony bin.  But for the most part, home was where I wanted to be.  Home is where I still want to be.

We are starting a new sermon series at church entitled “Journey”.  We are exploring where God wants us to be. How He can use us. How we can allow ourselves to be used.  This has been the theme of our last three years. Both of us have been called to transform ourselves into something new.  DH is in his second semester as a doctoral fellow getting a PhD.  I am in my third semester of clinical doctorate work.  Huh?! Me??!! Me who would stay home?  Yes. Me. Yes, us.  We who were so happy in Egypt.

My “new”, now three-year-old, role is very hard. I hate being “the husband” of my home, although having DH doing the cooking does have its merits. I hate not being the hubmaster, keeping everyone’s schedules in sync and running smoothly.  Having to turn my beautiful home over to someone who doesn’t mind piles of messy clutter or smelly kitchen sinks, well, just stinks.

My physical job is not one I can leave at the door when I go home at night.  I work with underprivileged infants who are developmentally delayed.  I see them in their homes.  In the poorest and most crime ridden neighborhoods in my large metropolitan city.  Me. Me who longs for home.  They often have medical issues that are yet to be diagnosed.  Some have rare disorders that have yet to be named. I find myself awake at night thinking about them and what I can do differently to make their lives better.

Some people say I have “the coolest job”. Yes. And, no.  It is a hard one.  Yes, it is cool when I get to participate in a miracle. I have seen them.  Yes it is cool when I am in the family home video because the child took his first steps on my watch. I am in them.  Yes it is cool.  Sometimes.  But it is hard.  It is hard when a family has 2 or three kids, all with the same un-diagnosable problem.  It is hard when the parent doesn’t care about the child and they don’t follow through with doctor visits or therapy strategies.  It is hard when the family has generations of dysfunction and that is all the family knows so it seems “normal” to them.  It is hard.  And it makes me long for home.  Home where my children and family are.  But more so for home where my Father is.  Home where little K., or R., or B. will run and play instead of only sit and lie.  I can envision them there, laughing, as they play tag in the sun.  Things those of us with healthy strong children take for granted.

So what is my “Journey”? What is my “Purpose”?  I used to say it was to be a great wife and mom.  To be my husband’s helpmeet.  To raise my children to love the Lord. To teach them to be successful human beings, contributing members of society.  Is that enough?  Is that all?  What am I to learn on this journey?  Will I get to be home again?  Will I have children at home if I do?   Will I be home with my grandchildren?  Will I get to be the “Fun-ma” I tease my kids that I am going to be to their kids.  What is my journey, my purpose?

For today, I think my journey takes me to the crime ridden neighborhoods.  It takes me to grad school.  It takes me to a place to provide for my family and my spouse so he can progress on his journey as well.  It takes me to a place where I have to look inward and upward to help those around me.  I think my purpose is to serve my family by providing  the financial means to support them.  To serve those children that need my skills.  To be the hands and feet of Him who put me on this journey in the first place.  It is an uncomfortable journey.  It is an uncomfortable purpose.  It causes me to  whine, and even cry at times.  But it is where He is leading, so I must follow. (I take comfort in knowing that even some of the greatest Bible characters whined a bit.  I guess I am in good company.)

But my ultimate journey and purpose are to long for home.  To live each day secure in the knowledge that it takes me one day closer to home. Home where my Father is. Home.

God’s mercy of  longing for and hope of home is sufficient for the journey.

 A small crowd of mourners gathered around a bronzy-pink casket. Words were spoken.  Hymns were sung.  Tears were shed.  Hugs were shared. Farewell to treasured family member.

After the final prayer, the cluster broke up.  The mourners slowly loaded into cars, heading to the church.  But first they would gather for the requisite meal: to talk, reminisce, and steel themselves for the memorial service to come.  After the ham and potatoes were eaten; over chocolate pie and coffee, one of the mourners who would be speaking began to ask the gathered for memories of our lost treasured one.  Memories spilt out in waves.  A kind word here.  A gift of a stove to young newly weds.  A well-timed hug or word of advice.  A shelter for a night, or even a semester, to a youngster in need. A life most definitely well-lived.

My own memories flooded back almost 25 years before.  A specific week in time where a warm bed and clean towels had been offered to me.  A student working in a clinic in town to gain experience and complete my degree was I.  Engaged to be married in a few short months, my evenings were spent working on wedding dress embellishments to be sewn on my gown.  In those day, gowns were often hand-made.  My mother was making mine.

It was to be adorned with lace appliques which were further embellished with seed pearls.  I don’t know the actual number of appliques, nor the number of pearls.  It was a labor intensive job that many might say, unnecessary.  I, on the other hand, thought it beautiful and that I,  in turn, would be beautiful for my groom.

As I thought back on that week, and the evenings we  spent together sewing pearls on the appliques, my heart became full once again.  Her kind encouragement; Her willingness to participate in this frivolity; Her sage advice for life and marriage.  Such treasured gifts she gave me that week, only now fully realized this incredibly sad day.

Thoughts of my special dress and its creation continued to come forward in my mind. Thoughts of the day spent with mother when I chose the pattern, ordered the fabric, picked out those pearls.  Thoughts of all of the people who touched those pearls.  Those who lovingly stitched each one.  Those who loved me and shared in my joy.  My father and sister,  who have gone on before.  Yes even my father stitched a pearl or two.  My brother, the eldest of the clan, almost 2 decades my senior.  My other sister and brothers and even an in-law or two.  My mother, whose gift with a needle is legendary.  My groom’s family members.  So many hands helping stitch by stitch to create this gown for our special day. So much love represented by thread, fabric, and pearls.

As I walk through antique malls and thrift stores today, there is no shortage of old wedding dresses there.  Many are dated by the styles of the times.  I wonder about the young bride who first wore them.  I wonder about who will buy them from here.  I wonder about the marriage that began in that dress.

My dress, stitched with love, sits carefully preserved in a special box in my closet, taking up precious storage space.  It is out of style by today’s standards. My daughters are not too interested, today anyway, in wearing it for their special days.  Nor should they be.  It will be THEIR day, after all, not a recreation of mine.  But I just can’t bear to part with it.

Today’s wedding gowns are sophisticated affairs, designed in far away places by people who specialize in their construction.  The brides look so beautiful and elegant in them.  There is no doubt they are something to behold.  What is missing in those gorgeous  creations is  that they are not something that holds.  Something that holds the love of a family for the bride and groom.  Something that holds the memories of young love.  Something that holds hope for a future filled with promise.  Today, more often than not, they are simply costumes for a party.

I don’t know what will happen to my wedding dress.  Perhaps someday it will be sold in the estate sale.  Perhaps the ravages of time will cause it to fall apart. But today is reminds me of a path long ago.  A path surrounded by the love of our families, that has led us to this journey together.  The journey has not always been easy, but it has always been good. Good because we are journeying together.  Together as beloved and friend.

God’s mercy of my beloved and friend to journey along this path with me is sufficient for a life time.

I am glad I don’t remember all the details like it was yesterday.  It means the painfully razor-sharp edges have been worn down by time.  But I do remember that it was Friday evening and I was pulling something out of  the oven.  DH arrived home from his contract job.  I asked him how his day had been.  “It could have been better ” was his reply.  “I got laid off again.”

2 times in one year.  Really, God, what gives here?  DH had been hired for a contract position starting in Dec.  It was supposed to last 26 weeks.  It lasted nine.  We had been so excited.  This was contracting for a fairly decent sized contracting firm and he was working for a major national company with thousands of employees.  We had really hoped it would lead to something permanent; viewed it as a 6 month long job interview, really. Hopefully leading to a full-time position of a different sort than he had been in before, but full of new opportunities and challenges. 

We had hopes and dreams.  But we had reservations as well.  DH knew almost from the very beginning that this job was overpaid and underfunded.  He knew that it was shaky.  One of his colleagues had already been let go.  But he was the creative part of the project. What they needed more was technical writers.  They finally decided they didn’t need creative if the technical couldn’t produce.  So they let him go and hired 2 more tech writers. 

I wish I could say we took it in stride and he went right back to find another position.  But I can’t.  We didn’t cry as much this time, but there were a few tears   We had revamped and upgraded his wardrobe in hopes that a professional appearance and demeanor would gain favor in the powers that be.  He dressed for the position he wanted.  He didn’t get it.  I still don’t understand.

But never-the-less, here we are,  trudging our way through the desert some more.

DH is a Bible class teacher.  He has been almost all of his adult life.  Currently, he teaches the most senior members of our rather large congregation.  And they love him.  Almost the minute he got laid off the first time, they started telling him he should be a teacher.  He did not want to be a teacher.

Then someone else told him that. And someone else.  And then people from outside of the church.  Old friends and acquaintances.  Family members. Random people. Professors at colleges the 18 year was touring who didn’t even know DH’s situation told him how badly students needed to learn how to write and how badly good teachers were needed. Everywhere we turned, the “T” word was mentioned.  And finally, when about the 100th person told him he needed to teach, he began to listen. 

My brother teaches at a small liberal arts university in a smallish town about 150 miles west of us.  He has been telling DH he needed to teach in college for a long long long time.  DH had no desire to go to school to get the credentials to teach college.  None whatsoever.  But after the 100th person told him he should teach, and since he was unemployed now for the second time in less that 12 months, he started looking in to it.

First he had to pass the GRE.  30 years after college graduation the first time.  He had about 2 weeks to get ready for it.  He basically took it cold.  And passed it soundly.  He spoke to the  graduate school admissions counselor. He needed to write a couple of essays and get recommendations from his undergrad teachers.  However, since it had been so long, letters from his former employer would do, and a letter from a certain professor, even though related by marriage, would be just fine.  And by the way, the essays you have already published in major American newspapers would suffice for the entrance essays as well.  Pretty much, they told him he was in. 

Well if that ain’t an open door, I don’t know what is.  Here we have been wondering the hot sandy desert for almost a year with hundreds of job applications submitted and only 2 or 3 little interviews.   Not even a cracked door to get a foot hold in and certainly not any real employment. Now, suddenly, the door swings wide open and there are welcoming arms on the other side. We were confused and questioning.

I stopped to ask God if He realized that we already had one child in college and another just months behind.  I asked Him if He realized that He was asking me to solely support 3 people in college and take care of the octogenarian at the same time.  I asked Him if He really understood all that I would be going through for DH  to voluntarily go back to school and not have any real income for another 3 or 4 years.  Did He really understand that? I think He laughed.

And then DH got a graduate teaching assistantship.  You understand, all the positions were already filled.  We had missed that deadline while he had his contract job.  But suddenly, one opened up. Just like that.  I think HE laughed some more.   The good news is, DH would get practical experience and some minimal money (and I mean minimal.  He makes less than the 20-year-old). The bad news is, it would slow down his progress toward his PhD.  We opted for practical experience, minimal money, and slower progress. Doesn’t sound so great, does it.  But we are hoping the practical experience will pay off on the other side.

So, we headed through the only open door we found and are slowly trudging our way up the mountain we found there.  36 hours for a Master’s and 36 more for the PhD.  Give or take an hour or two depending on which track he takes.  Just like  Dory told Marlin in “Finding Nemo” when he got overwhelmed at the distance and difficulty of the task at hand, we tell each other daily to “just keep swimming”.  We will get there eventually. Just keep swimming.

There are days when the mountain seems insurmountable.  There are days when I wonder how in the world I am going to keep the bills and the taxes paid.  There are days when I want to just give up, that I pray for a catastrophe that will take me home and leave the family supported by my life insurance money.  There are times when I ask “do you really think we will look back on this someday and laugh? ”  I really really don’t see that happening.  But then I didn’t see DH starting graduate school on his 48th birthday while I supported the family of 7 all alone either.   I guess anything is possible.

So here we are, with almost 15 hours of grad school under DH’s belt. And we are swimming.  Swimming through the open door in the desert.  In the palm of God’s hand.  Swimming towards the hope of a job and new career on the other side. It is not where we wanted to be.  But it must be where we are supposed to be.  Where He wants us to be. And so we keep swimming.

God’s mercy of an open door is sufficient for the day.

We are studying a series of lessons at church (at least some people are, I haven’t been  in Bible class in 3 weeks and it looks like I won’t make it tomorrow either due to sick children.). The series is “When God Calls” and it looks at the different ways He called those in the Bible and people of  today.  This is something I have been pondering a lot lately. 

I remember the last few years at my previous employer, a place I eventually worked for 20 years.  It was rainy outside and  dreary.  The department where I worked was being remodeled and we were sharing with another department as our home base.  I was tired and weary.  And the thought came to me: “Its time to go”.  “Go where??” I thought.  Close to that same time, a flyer arrived in my mailbox advertising positions at my current employer.

But I liked my previous  employer.  I liked my fellow employees.  I didn’t want to go.  But I knew I would be leaving soon.  I hung around about 18 months more before I finally got the gumption to resign.  It took me a while to write that resignation letter.  And even after I wrote it, I hung on to it for a few weeks.  I was already working where I do now part time and part-time at my former employer.  I just didn’t want to let go. My final day was June 11th,  just 4 days prior to DH being laid off….(If I had listened sooner, we wouldn’t have had any lapse in paychecks…..)

Anyway, I was poised and ready to take on full time work to support our family in this desert time with a job that is doable for me.  And so He provided.

Now I find myself working in a “local mission field” using gifts and talents I already had, earning a living for the family. I wish I could say I enjoy it every day and I can’t wait to see what God has in store today.  Unfortunately, that is not the case.   You see, my job involves working with the poorest most vulnerable members of society who are there not one whit because of anything they have done.  They were simply born into the circumstances created by their parents sometime made more difficult by the choices the parents continue to make.  Not every client is poor, but the vast majority are extremely poor.  And they are all vulnerable.

Was I called to be here in this place at this time in my life?  I venture to say yes.  Like Jonah, I did not go willingly and I am not even very happy to be here.  But I am here and I do see His hand in my every day. The needs are so great.  Overwhelmingly great.  My field is not so specialized, it has just grown faster than the schools can crank workers out.  And the environment is rough.  It is “in-your-face” poverty and illness that is not for everyone.  It is little tiny babies who do not have anything, sometimes not even food to eat or heat in their homes.  And they have physical limitations that make life even that much harder.

But I can help them.  I have resources and knowledge and skills that can help make a difference, even if just for 1 day in the lives of the vulnerable little babies. So I find myself in the most unlikely of mission fields.  The one in my own back yard.

I remember  so clearly the first step on this path.  I was on a church retreat when I was a sophomore in college.  I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I didn’t know what i wanted to study.  I wanted to be a full time stay at home wife and Mom. ( I still want to be that.) But I wasn’t dating anyone and I had to study something so I spent the whole weekend in prayer for guidance. 

And it came to me.  Peacefully.  As I was talking with God.  Go to this school to study this field.  And so I did. It wasn’t easy.  The school is very competitive and difficult to get in to.  In fact, I was wait-listed and figured I wouldn’t get in. And in the mean time, I met DH and fell in love.  He was graduating and eventually moved off to begin his career.  When I didn’t immediately get into my professional school, I figured I would be going to follow DH and be the full time wife and mother after all.  Wrong answer. I got the call and I was in.

So I followed God’s calling there, and then married DH.  And I did get to be the part-time stay at home wife and mother for 19 years.  I think that was as much “a calling” as anything.  I love being a wife and mother and I have raised some pretty great kids who make me so proud every day.  I am just not quite done and this little one has the most needs of any of them….but I digress. In the meantime, He allowed me to help my fellow colleagues by filling in for them when they were out.  And He allowed me to help my fellow man who was in the hospital and in need of my help to get back on his feet.  It was a blessing to me all around.

For now, He has called me to be where I am now, doing what I am doing now.  I don’t know how long this calling will be.  But I know He is there with me no matter what.  And I know that He has supplied all the tools necessary to accomplish His tasks today. And no matter how mentally, emotionally, or physically draining the calling is, He is able to see me through.  And so I heed His calling.

God’s mercy of provisions when He calls is sufficient for today.

There is ice in the air today.  The temperature hovers between 31 and 33 degrees. Not very cold by most of the country’s standards, but for me in my corner of the world, it is cold. Ice is forming on my rear view mirrors and the antenna to my car.

I have 5 baby clients scheduled this day, 3 of the families do not speak the same language I do.  My interpreter is leery of getting out in the icy weather.  I just want to get the clients seen and get home to my warm, dry house. One family has an appointment at the neurologist and has called to see if we can come later in the day.  All I want is to go home.

I hurry through my appointments with my eye ever present on the temperature.  The first sign of ice on the road and I am on my way home.  We finally make it to the last client.  This it the family who was to see the neurologist.  We moved them to last in the day.  They are not answering their phone.  We agree to go by the house and at least  attempt a visit. 

They live in an apartment that has seen much better days. The complex is visible from a major highway, yet is invisible at the same time as we hurry on our way.   The family is young and poor and do not speak the same language as me.  The stairs leading to their apartment are very icy.  My interpreter is a great grandmother and i fear for her safety on the stairs.  I go up first and make sure the family is home, hopefully sparing her a trip up the stairs if the family is not at home.

The Mom answers the door and agrees to let us come in.  We lead my interpreter up the icy steps and into the tiny apartment.  Mom begins to cry.  The news they recieved  from the neurologist is not good.  The child has a rare genetic disorder that affects 1 in 200,000 children. 1 in 200,000!  Let that sink in….  The disease course is devastating and fatal.  Her beautiful little girl is going to die, likely before she sees her 5th birthday. 

To complicate matters, this very young family has already buried one child.  A two month old with the official diagnosis of SIDS.  They are devastated and we are devastated for them.  They are scared and confused and not sure they clearly understand what they have just been told.  We are all in tears by the time we leave.  We leave with a promise that we will help them understand and we will continue to help this precious little child and her family.

We carefully pick our way down the now ice coated stairs and out to our cars.  It is finished.  We can go home. Now more than ever, I just want to go home!  Every client has been seen.  My interpreter heads one way, I another.  I am driving along the freeway that I drive every single day.  The roads remain clear for now.

I look ahead and there is an accident on the service road.  1 car only.  Doesn’t look too bad.  And then I see him….A young man is lying in the grass beside his car.  It is icy icy cold outside, yet no blanket covers this man.  Instead, his shirt is pulled up over his face.  The EMS workers are milling about  yet no one is touching this man.  And I know.  He is gone.  His car hit the only tree in the whole median. The only tree!  And the car doesn’t appear very damaged.  Yet here is someones loved one, lying on a grassy median on a bitter cold day in January, without even a blanket to cover him. The tears fall down my face.

In the course of 1 hour, I have seen 2 souls being visited by death. Wow!  I am still processing that day.

I read a brief account of the accident in the paper the next day.  The same paper that laid DH off and led to me even working on that bitter cold day.  The time, location, and circumstances are the same.  It was true.  He was gone.  The next day, the obit appeared.  He was a bit younger than me, married, but I can’t remember if he had children.  He apparantly grew up in a suburb of the city in which I work, and had many friends there.  They probably would have given him a blanket, even if they knew he was gone.

I drive by these places visited by grief every day.  The apartment, not every day, but almost every day. The tree is there every day, many times a day.  A scarred up bark the only evidence of the fateful event that occured there some few short weeks ago.

I wonder how the young family is faring now.  Her services have been transferred to another employee for geographic reasons.  I wonder how the man’s family is faring now, a young widow alone.  And I say a prayer for all of them.  A prayer for comfort and peace.  And a prayer for myself to appreciate my healthy children and living spouse.  Both of these events could have been me.  Yet I have so far been spared, yet I don’t know why.

God’s mercy of comfort for the grieving is sufficient for the day.

I am home from work today enjoying a taste of my former life.  The children are out of school due to the end of the semester break and I took off to supervise their “unsupervised” day.  It happens to be inauguration day in this great country of ours.  Not just any inauguration day, but one deemed more special than any in recent history.

I reflect on that designation.  And yes, I agree that it is special.  But I don’t feel it is so special because most other people do.  I feel it is special because this country is so unique and blessed. 

 I did indeed find myself glued to the television.  I even recorded some of the day to avoid missing anything.  But what I find most fascinating is the peaceful transfer of power. In most other countries, the overturn of power involves bloodshed and bullets.  Some would say this one did too.  Maybe that is so.  But today, it is business suits, handshakes, parades and balls. 

Here are several men; past, present and future presidents, who gave many years of their lives serving this country and indeed many countries.  They are men who chose to attempt to handle a job that I would never ever want.  And frankly one I would not want any of my loved ones to tackle.   I do not pretend to have enough wisdom, or brains for that matter, to be the leader of the free world.  Yet here on the television screen are many men ,and their families, who  have tried or are trying to do just that.

There are lots of opinions on how each man fared in that job.  There are even some backhanded comments as to each mans supposed failures.  And yes, each one of them probably had days they made some bad decisions.  There are as many opinions on what was bad as what was good in each administration.  I don’t pretend to even half way understand all the ins and outs of the political world.

All I know is this:  They were willing to try.  And men have died trying at this job.  They all left the job with many more gray hairs and many more wrinkles than when  they entered it.  They put their families lives at risk to take on this job.  It is a job that could never pay me enough money to even remotely think about taking.

And so today, on this inauguration day, I applaud you all.  And I say, “Thank you, Mr. President, for at least being willing to try.”

God’s mercy of men who are willing to try is sufficient for today.

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times”.  Thus began this year’s Christmas missive.  The 17 year old asked “What was so good about this year?”  I guess I haven’t done a very good job of pointing out the blessings in this turmoil-filled year….

So today, on this New Year’s Day, I set out to list “the best of times”.  We aren’t going to dwell on “the worst of times”. Too much energy has already been spent on  those…

First of all, we are all still breathing.  This time last year, I was not so sure the head count would be the same at the end of the year as it was at the beginning.  We had been told to get the octogenarian’s affairs in order, because her heart was giving out.  But she has rallied and even thrived this year.  She lived to see another birthday, 2 more great grandchildren, a grandchild married, and to ride a motorcycle for the first time in her life.

As mentioned above, we welcomed 2 new great nephews, a niece-in-law, a nephew-in-law, and a sister-in-law into the family.  One nephew became engaged to an engaging young miss as well.  He shared with the entire family his plans while we were celebrating the matriarch and patriarch’s 50th anniversary this summer.  It was fun to see it come to fruition as planned Christmas Eve.

We had a lovely trip to San Diego to celebrate 50 years of marraige.  It was a fine, fun-filled trip that garnered many  happy returns of the day.  I hope my 50th sees such happiness.

The 9 year old has had dyslexia ruled out and is making progress on his learning difficulties.  His self confidence has been raised along with some of his grades.  Things are good with him.

The other children have thrived as well.  The 19 year old is staring at 20 and is officially a junior in college.  The 17  year old  is wrapping up her junior year and gearing up for college entrance exams, tours, and scholarship applications.  The 13 year old is 3/4 of the way through the dreaded junior high years and is mostly unscathed, if not flourishing.  It is good.  It is all good.

We have had several financial windfalls that have helped us not only pay the current bills, but pay down on the debt load we had accumulated.  We are in a slightly better place financially than we were this time last year.  Not where we’d like to be, but better than we were.  How does that happen when you are unemployed??  A God thing maybe.

The 17 year old’scar died as she pulled into the driveway after dropping off her after school charges on the Friday school let out for Christmas break.  We had two weeks to find a car and she wasn’t left stranded with her charges on the side of the road.  The timing was impeccable.  Well…almost impeccable.  It would have been better had the paychecks started coming in first.  But we aren’t dwelling on the worst of things.

We celebrated 23 years of marraige and are more in love than we were that steamy August day so long ago.  We are in a good place in our marraige and our relationship.  And this experience has made us appreciate each other more and more. 

At one of our Christmas gatherings, someone jokingly asked DH how being a “trophy husband” was working out for him; how things were at the tennis club. (obviously, he hasn’t been at the tennis club, for those of  you who don’t understand my brothers’ humor.)  He replied that  he had improved his serve.  He has no idea how true that is. I have enjoyed having a “trophy husband.”  He has served me so well since he has been home.  He has done everything he could to make things easier on me all the while trying to find a job and keep his own moral up.  I hope I have done at least half as good a job as he has in “improving my serve.”

So while this year has held its share of tears and heartache, it has had its share of  joy and blessings.  So here’s to “the best of times” as we set about to face the new year.

God’s mercy of  “the best of times” has been more than sufficient for the days past, present, and future.

I know its cheesy and predictable, writing about Thanksgiving at this time of the year.  But today I reflect on the blessings I have been given.  Wow.  What a year it has been.  So much has happened. So many tears. So many changes. And so many blessings.

We laid a foundation under the desert tent.  We are here for a while.  We are making it  as cozy and as stable as possible.  DH was offered 2 interviews this past week.  One at a local university for a part time job.  The other at a financial institution.  Both offers were retracted because he has a temporary job lined up to start in January. The temp job will last 6 months.  The other jobs didn’t want to hold out that long.

 This job is working for a consulting firm assisting a major company in revamping its internal communications.  It is a good job that could potentially lead to other opportunities.  Or it could lead back to the unemployment line.  Who knows?  But for now we are cautiously optimistic.

What we are having to do is put the situation in His hands and just let it go.  Funny how that works, isn’t it?  Having to let it go and trust in Him only.  But you know what?  He has been so faithful to us.  He has even prospered us in the desert.  We are amazed at what all has transpired in the last 5 months.  We cant even begin to remember all of His faithfulness to us.

The week before Black Monday, we spent with DH’s family celebrating 50 years of marriage.  What a wonderful relaxing time that bolstered us to face what unknowingly lay before us. His mercies never cease.

DH was given a 6 month severence package.  Here, almost 6 months out, some small amount remains.  Our coffers have not dried up.  Oh we have had to use the money to make ends meet.  But not all of it.  He has provided abundantly.

My job is going well.  It is fairly low stress, although it is draining mentally and physically at times.  But my coworkers are nice and we help each other through the stressful situations in which we find ourselves.

We have had unexpected windfalls.  A bonus here.  A mineral rights lease there.  Amazing.  The night before Black Monday, I paid the bills.  Never enough money at the end of the month.  I prayed over those bills asking God to help me do ”something” about them.  The bills are not gone.  But they have not gone unpaid either.  He has helped us pay our bills every month during this desert time.

Dear friends to offer words of encouragement and lend an ear as I fretted and worried and healed from this event. Precious dear friends.

And now we have the hope of a new, temporary, job.  But that job also brings with it challenges.  We have always operated on the premise that one parent will work part time and run the household while the other makes the bulk of the money to run it.  We have run our home this way for 19 years.  Come January, we become a 2 income home, for 6 months.  I can’t give up my job and its benefits for a temporary job. 

We still have 3 kids at home, although the 17 year old can handle herself pretty well.  The 13 year old and the 9 year old, not so much.  Still a little supervision needed there.  A little kid wrangling if you will. The 17 year old willingly offered to help as much as she can, by doing the evening bus run etc.  That eases my mind immensely.

But He has been faithful to us, even before Black Monday.  He has seen us through.  And He will see us through this phase in our lives as well.

There is an old song we sing sometimes at church.  The words really comfort me.  It is called “Great is Thy faithfulness”.  Phrases that hit home…”Great is Thy faithfulness, oh God my Father…..Thy compassions, they fail not….Morning by morning, new mercies I see.  All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.  Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!….Join with all nature in manifold witness to Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love…..Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide; Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!”

And so, today, this Thanksgiving week, I pause to give thanks to the Lord for His abundant blessings to me.  Even here is this most uncomfortable of seasons in my life.  He gives me strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. He even gives comfort in the uncomfortableness. Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside. 

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.  God’s mercy of faithfulness is sufficient for today and for every day to come.

We are redecorating the tent here in the desert.  The temperature is cooling and we are settling in more and more everyday.  Our lives are taking on a workable routine.  DH is expanding his cooking repertoire beyond pancakes and scrambled eggs.  He is actually reading recipes and trying them out.  Yum!!

I have even revived my work out routine which I started and ended on Monday, after last Sunday when we were happy. I have made it to the gym 3-4 times per week the last several weeks.  Yay me!

The children have worked out a workable routine.  The 17 y.o. drives the 9 year old home from school every day.  We still have to get the 13 y.o. picked up, but not until 4:00 or later.  We are beginning to figure out how to get the house in order and the laundry done every week so come Monday, every one has clean underwear. Our family may not be running like a well oiled machine, but maybe like a fairly decently oiled one anyway. We are pushing 21 weeks here.  It is about time!

A few years back, the 9 y.o. was on a soccer team.  He has never been one for athletics.  As a believer that the kids need to be involved in something positive and healthy, I signed him up for soccer.  Sitting around at soccer practice one evening, and chatting with the other soccer moms, I discovered that one of the moms is married to the fellow who was the drum major of my high school band my senior year.  Haven’t seen nor heard from the fellow in 20 something years.  And here I am with his wife on the soccer practice field.  Hmmm, small world.

DH sometimes took on the task of evening soccer practice and began chatting with this woman some too.  He was in band with me lo those many years ago, although we didn’t really run in the same crowds at the time.  But he knew this woman’s husband and so they would speak occasionally.

Through the years, our paths have crossed at various events.  It seems they have 3 sons roughly the same ages as our 3 younger kids.  They are in the same high school cluster as our kids and the husband and I served a booster club board at our school.  The wife and I served on a committee together.

Somehow they knew DH and his job situation, though I am not sure how.  Anyway, a few weeks ago, we happened to sit by them at a football game.  Our team has not had a good season, so the social aspect of the game has become more important than the game itself.   We visited a bit and the woman asked about DH’s job search.  Not too good we told her.  1 interview in all this time.  A couple of “close” calls to interviews, but nothing ever came of them.  Kind of discouraging.

Soon afterwards, she contacted DH and told him of an opening at her place of employment.  She told the person in charge of hiring about DH.  That person is involved in the same organization we have been involved in at school, only our paths had never crossed. That person called DH this week for an interview.  Only the second interview he has had in 21 weeks!

The interview went well, although it was very short in interview terms.  A decision was to be made within the next two weeks.  Well, that was a relief, as some of the jobs selection processes have taken months.  The call came today.  The job is a contract job for 6 months.  He will be a consultant for this job and be an employee of a consulting firm, not for the place he will actually be working. He starts sometime in January.

We are happy.  We are relieved. We are grateful for this manna.  And we are amazed that a casual relationship we had with a kid 20 plus years ago, led to a  relationship with his wife a few year ago, which led to a job today. You never know how your relationships work together.  How God uses such relationships to impact your life.

And the moral of the story is, don’t burn bridges, ever.  And be careful how you treat people.  You never know when you may need their help or what they may be able to offer you in the future. Be nice.  It might come in handy some day.

God moves in mysterious ways.  It is not for us to understand.  Just as I could not have guessed that the quiet oboe player sitting behind me in band would become my beloved, I could not have guessed that the drum major would one day be indirectly responsible for helping my beloved get work. Yes, God does move in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.

God’s mercy of mysterious ways is sufficient for the day and we are very thankful.

All the campaigning is over.  The election is done.  We have a new leader to move our country forward.  The headlines read things like “Historic Election”, “History Making Event” etc.  I am sorry, but isn’t history made with every election?

Oh, I realize that this one is special in some ways.  Yes, we have the first African American in the white house.  That is something.  And I will be able to say, I remember when.  Much like our parents say, I remember what I was doing when I heard JFK had been shot, or in the case of my parents anyway, I remember what I was doing when I heard Pearl Harbor had been attacked. I will remember the day Obama was elected as president of the United States.

There have been some mighty ugly things said and written about this man.  A man who is willing to take on a job for which, I, for one, would never ever volunteer.  He has fought for the right to take the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, for all practical purposes.  No matter how you feel about the man, would you be willing to take on such a task? ” ‘Not I’, said the cat” to quote a famous story.

The campaigning and mud-slinging are over.  (Well, the mud-slinging will likely never be over).  It is time to move on, people.  The deed is done.  Now this man needs our support and prayers.  Like it or not, he will be making decisions that will affect each of us and will continue to impact our lives for generations to come.  Just like our founding fathers’ wisdom and insight affects each of us today.

I can’t say that I agree with everything that Obama says or does.  I couldn’t agree with everything McCain said or did.  I don’t agree with everything DH says or does.  But we are all in this together.  And that “togetherness” is what has made our country what it is today.  We, as Americans, some of the most privileged people on the face of this earth, can achieve great things.  But only if we work together.

So instead of crying and moaning and wringing our hands, why not offer our support and prayers?  Prayers for our leaders to have wisdom and guidance to do what is best for this great nation of ours.  Our economy is in the tank.  We are fighting 2 wars of questionable origin.  We have a growing disparity between the classes.  Great challenges are facing each of us on many different levels.

What can we do to make things better?  What can I do to make history?  What can make the written annuals of our time say ”They did it!” ?

There is a song I love in some of our old song books at church.  The music isn’t particularly inspiring.  But the words speak volumes to me.  The name of the song is “My Task”.  The words go something like this:

“To love someone more dearly everyday.  To help a wandering child to find his way.  To ponder o’re a noble thought and pray. And smile when evening comes.  And smile when evening comes.  This is my task.”

“To long for truth as blind men long for light.  To do my best from dawn of day til night. To keep my heart fit for His holy sight. And answer when He calls.  And answer when He calls.  This is my task,”

“And when my Savior by and by to meet.  By faith has made this task on earth complete.  To lay my homage at the Master’s feet. Within the jasper walls, within the jasper walls. This crowns my task.”

The song is old and we don’t sing it anymore, so I am a bit rusty on the words.  But is sums things up a bit for me.  I may or may not like what is going on in my world.  But my goal is to lay my homage at the Masters feet.

And so I will pray for our nation and our leaders.  And I will hopefully see that this chapter in our lives is not remembered  only for the first African American in the white house. 

 Instead, perhaps this next chapter will be about how we pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps, and continued to march forward.  That our nation continued to prosper and be blessed.  And that we prospered and blessed those around us because of it.

Yes, history was made this week.  As it is made every single day by every single one of us.  You never know what impact you have on the lives of those around you.  You never know what impact that will have on those who will come after us.  May the history we write help us “crown our task” and help those beside us “crown” theirs as well.

God’s mercy of wisdom and guidance throughout our history is sufficient for the day.