Life, or so I've been told, is like a puzzle. Each event that happens is a different puzzle piece. As you experience each thing, it can be like turning over an up-side down piece, or maybe even putting a piece together with another one. At any rate, it's exciting. Unless, of course, you put a piece on that you only think belongs in that spot. Lately, I've had pretty much all of the above. In fact, I've had to remove a puzzle piece out of my picture. It was a little painful. I figure it must have been like those puzzle pieces that are a really close fit and yet not quite the right one. However, by removing it, God has blessed me with an inner peace that is beyond words. (If you can find out what's wrong with the italicized sentence before I tell you, Congratulations! You get a brownie point!)
Proverbs 18:24 says: 'A man that hath friends must show himself friendly; and there is a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother.' (KJV) And that last half of the verse leads me to the big puzzle piece I was talking about. I am so grateful for how close God sticks with me even when I'm totally off track. And I've definitely been off track.
Have you ever put together a puzzle, found a piece that 'goes together' and kept on trying the piece over and over and over insisting that 'it's got to be the right one' and all along, it's not? The scenario described my life.
You see, when I graduated early, I had all sorts of goals and plans and expectations. I was going to do this, go there, learn that. And really some things were good things to have as goals. You know, 'get involved in a ministry,' 'spend more time in the Word.' I was sure that I could easily pursue my various goals without a problem. And yet, as time passed, absolutely nothing happened, even when I tried. Certain 'leads' for both getting a job and participating in a ministry petered out before they even got started. (These leads are indirectly referred to in Stories of My Life: My Advice. A previous post from this January). I could sort of understand that getting a job might be harder than I had anticipated, but, to my mind, working for a Christian ministry was a worthy goal. I didn't understand why God seemed to be stopping me at every single turn, even the 'good' things.
I became frustrated and took it out, sometimes internally and sometimes externally, on my family, myself, and God. I almost took my frustration out on one of my dear friends. Thankfully, I never got around to finishing and sending the letter.
I eventually ended up having an all-around complaint session with God one night. (Some of the issues that came up are very obscurely mentioned in Fountain of Thoughts: Bread Making. A previous post from last October). I still don't understand it, but that night, God chose to call a truce. I'm sure it wasn't me. All I did was complain and beg not-so-humbly for peace in my life over the issue of 'nothing is happening and it's supposed to be, so why aren't You allowing me to do anything?' I'm pretty sure I even quoted Scripture at God. So why in the world He granted a truce to me is more than I'll ever understand.
There should be an emphasis on 'truce' rather than peace. A truce, by definition, is a 'suspension of hostilities for a specified period of time by mutual agreement of both warring parties.' Peace on the other hand, has two pertinent definitions. 1: 'an agreement between warring parties to end and abstain from further antagonism.' And 2: 'untroubled, tranquil, and content.'
While for the first day or two I thought, wished, and hoped that I had been given peace, I knew deep down that it wasn't peace, but only truce. Sure enough, after a week or two, I blew up; again. Hostilities, at least on my side, were renewed with a vengeance.
Then, I randomly decided that I been reading too much fiction. I abruptly switched to reading non-fiction. I began with George Mueller, (A Day in the Life of: George Mueller. Posted in February.) From there I went on to Hudson Taylor, Borden of Yale, and With Christ in the School of Prayer by Andrew Murray. Each of these books had a common thread in them. Faith, and the giving up of everything for God. I particularly noticed the second part of the thread.
If you'll look back at the beginning of this post, I wrote a sentence in italics. 'I've had to take a puzzle piece out of my picture.' Remember I said there was something wrong with the sentence? It should read, 'God had to take a puzzle piece out of His picture.' As I read those books, I began gradually to realize that my plans and goals were just that; my plans, my goals. I'd been trying to take things into my own hands; I'd been grabbing a puzzle piece out of God's hands and trying to fit it in where it didn't belong. The process of trying to put the piece in where it didn't belong effected not only myself, but also the puzzle pieces around me as my frustration grated on my family and my relationship with God.
So, a couple of weeks ago, I gave up my plans, all of them, even the 'good' ones. I finally realized that those 'good' goals were merely thrown in there in an attempt to be 'righteous.' God had blocked my efforts to become involved in ministry because my motives were not right.
What's the result? I can't get over it. Over the past couple of weeks, God has blessed me with His peace, not just a truce. I'm beginning to realize the truth of the verse that says 'it's a peace that passes all understanding.' I don't understand it. I now feel more 'tranquil, untroubled, and content' than I've ever felt in my entire life. It's...indescribable. Not only that, but just a day or two after, God, out of the blue, sent me a ministry to be involved in. It's not just a random ministry either, in fact, it's exactly the kind of thing I enjoy. I am now responsible for coordinating and gathering together 25 apple pies for the Annual Home School Day at the Capital in Olympia on March 15th. Wow! And I didn't even ask for it! God is so amazing! (If you're interested in making a pie, let me know).
I now have absolutely no clue as to what God wants me to do with the rest of my year and life. But in spite of that, every day I wake up and I can't help but saying, 'Thank you, God.' And, 'Wow, God, You're so...COOL!
Showing posts with label Stories of my Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories of my Life. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Stories of My Life: My Advice
This is a short post. Not because I have nothing to say, but rather that I haven't decided yet how to say it. So, I decided to change what I was going to say and save the other for later.
This time, I'm going to give you all some random advice based on various and sundry un-named circumstances in my life at the moment. In other words, the advice might sound just a little bit on the cryptic side. Oh, and another thing, some of it is not my advice, it's somebody else's.
1. Never assume. This could be phrased differently as "Don't count your little chick-a-biddy's before they hatch." In fact, it would be even better to not count your eggs before they're eggs.
2. If you do commit the serious mistake of making an assumption, don't tell people about it. It's never fun to have to tell people 'oops, I made a boo-boo. X ___ is not happening after all!'
That completes my random advice. A bit short. Oh well.
(This has been: Stories of My Life: My Advice. Look in next time to read: Tidbits of:__)
This time, I'm going to give you all some random advice based on various and sundry un-named circumstances in my life at the moment. In other words, the advice might sound just a little bit on the cryptic side. Oh, and another thing, some of it is not my advice, it's somebody else's.
1. Never assume. This could be phrased differently as "Don't count your little chick-a-biddy's before they hatch." In fact, it would be even better to not count your eggs before they're eggs.
2. If you do commit the serious mistake of making an assumption, don't tell people about it. It's never fun to have to tell people 'oops, I made a boo-boo. X ___ is not happening after all!'
That completes my random advice. A bit short. Oh well.
(This has been: Stories of My Life: My Advice. Look in next time to read: Tidbits of:__)
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Stories of My Life: Pride Goes Before a Fall
I, like others in my family, enjoy joking about all the ridiculous superstitions that people have. Once, while walking down a sidewalk we came across a ladder propped against a building. We proceeded to joke and made a great show of not walking under the ladder because that would be a horrible thing and would mean bad luck. Of course, we dripped sarcasm. However it was rather funny because a group of people walking behind us, overheard our conversation and started talking about it too.
And thus, when I talk about a certain event of my life, I usually poke a little fun at superstition too, because after all, it did happen on my 13th half-birthday, and 13, as we all know, is a very unlucky number. (Not!)
That day, we were invited to go roller skating with another family we knew and their other friends. Neither myself or my brothers had ever roller skated to speak of. That is, we'd done it for a few minutes on carpet before. This however, was an actual skating rink; nothing close to carpet, and, in my opinion, not nearly as safe.
However, when we got their, my brothers and I came to the mutual agreement that, since we were there to roller skate, we might as well roller skate. The rink was oval. On three quarters of the oval were walls which blocked access onto the rink. On the last part of the oval was a large open space where there were no walls, or rails, or anything to hold on to. And this, naturally was the only way to get onto the rink. It was truly stepping, or rolling, out in faith.
We all half slipped, half rolled our way to the safety of the wall, and using it to hold us up, we began to actually work on learning how to keep our balance. Our friends meanwhile, were going circles around us, figuratively speaking. And then, alas, the wall ended. We were forced to cross that huge open stretch with no help from anything. Needless to say, our first couple of dozen circuits around the rink were not something I would want anyone to see. After that however, we all started gaining confidence.
By now, nearly two hours had past and our parents had just told us to do one more loop and then we were to leave. I was just at the beginning of the wall, which I still used a little, but not much. I have to say, though I don't like to, that just moments before, I had been teasing my brothers about how much better I was doing than they were. I guess that should have warned me.
When I reached the end of the wall on my last loop, I told myself that when I did the open stretch, I would really do it. You know, no sitting down, no slipping, lots of confidence. "I can do this" I remember thinking.
I thought it again when I was three quarters of the way across the open stretch. The end was in sight. Unfortunately, I rejoiced to soon. I forgot the rule about bending my knees and leaning forward at the same time. I leaned back just a very little. I didn't really even realize at first that I was on the ground. The action of falling didn't seem to have occurred. Nonetheless, there I was, on the ground, with my legs twisted up.
Here, I must insert a few things. First, I was not using roller blades, but roller skates. Roller blades are supposed to be safer, (although, I can't see how since they have a far narrower base). Roller skates are more like boots, and they lace up too. That, I was told, is not as safe. Second, I really didn't feel any pain whatsoever. I didn't really try to get up. In spite of feeling no pain, I knew somehow, that I wouldn't be able to get up. I think, however, that I did untwist myself. The next thing I heard was two other kids telling the guy-in-charge/coach-dude-or-something sitting nearby that 'it looked like something was wrong over there.
Mom was alerted, and I was carried off the rink. I still really didn't feel pain, but it must have been painful subconsciously because I cried. Our friend's friend's Mom turned out to be a nurse. She wanted to see my ankle, but I'm afraid that I was a little suspicious, not knowing her to be a nurse. I didn't want anybody to touch my ankle. I guess it really hurt. I imagine that it was so painful that it didn't register as being painful. It was an odd sensation.
The friend's friend's mom said I should be taken to the hospital. I was a little upset however, that mom took us home first, so she could call Dad and have Dad take me. At that point, I just wanted somebody to fix me; now.
When I finally got taken to the hospital, I discovered what everybody but me probably already knew. The 'emergency room' is not treated as an emergency but rather as a 'waiting room.' I waited for over an hour before someone came, and even after that, it was still another twenty minutes before the doctor came. (I meanwhile complained greatly about the subconscious pain and listened to the lady in the next partition telling her doctor about how she cut her finger.)
When the doctor came, he said something or other, looked at the x-rays, and then disappeared for another 20 minutes. When he came back, he was really puzzled. He came shaking his head. It turned out, that the break I had, was so rare, that he'd never heard of it; he was an under-doctor or something.
I had a CAT scan, and the upshot of it all was, that I had to have surgery. I know have a screw in my ankle. When I'm being silly, Dad jokes about having a 'screw loose.' The anesthesia was smelled like coconut. I was out like a light, but the sensation was more like drifting.
When I was in the recovery room, I came awake in a kind of dead way. I could hear everything, but my vision was a little blurry and my mind felt completely asleep. Everything except my hearing seemed to be out of focus and way in the distance. Even the things I heard, while I heard them clearly, seemed to be coming from far away.
Hospital people want recovering patients to eat and drink something before they are released. I however, was not hungry. The nurse, at her wits end, offered me unusual hospital food such as ice cream. I eventually was persuaded to try a tuna salad and lemon-lime sprite. It was actually pretty good.
They had given me so much pain killer that the day after surgery, I felt awesome, in spite of the inconvenient full-length splint, (later replaced with a full-length cast). That first day, I did school. The next day however, was a killer. I have a very high pain tolerance threshold, so when I say something, on a scale of 1-10, is 8, it usually means it's pretty painful.
I was on crutches with a full-length cast for 6 weeks, and a half-cast for another six weeks. I don't think it's necessary to say that Proverbs 16:18 really came home to me. "Pride goes before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."
And thus, when I talk about a certain event of my life, I usually poke a little fun at superstition too, because after all, it did happen on my 13th half-birthday, and 13, as we all know, is a very unlucky number. (Not!)
That day, we were invited to go roller skating with another family we knew and their other friends. Neither myself or my brothers had ever roller skated to speak of. That is, we'd done it for a few minutes on carpet before. This however, was an actual skating rink; nothing close to carpet, and, in my opinion, not nearly as safe.
However, when we got their, my brothers and I came to the mutual agreement that, since we were there to roller skate, we might as well roller skate. The rink was oval. On three quarters of the oval were walls which blocked access onto the rink. On the last part of the oval was a large open space where there were no walls, or rails, or anything to hold on to. And this, naturally was the only way to get onto the rink. It was truly stepping, or rolling, out in faith.
We all half slipped, half rolled our way to the safety of the wall, and using it to hold us up, we began to actually work on learning how to keep our balance. Our friends meanwhile, were going circles around us, figuratively speaking. And then, alas, the wall ended. We were forced to cross that huge open stretch with no help from anything. Needless to say, our first couple of dozen circuits around the rink were not something I would want anyone to see. After that however, we all started gaining confidence.
By now, nearly two hours had past and our parents had just told us to do one more loop and then we were to leave. I was just at the beginning of the wall, which I still used a little, but not much. I have to say, though I don't like to, that just moments before, I had been teasing my brothers about how much better I was doing than they were. I guess that should have warned me.
When I reached the end of the wall on my last loop, I told myself that when I did the open stretch, I would really do it. You know, no sitting down, no slipping, lots of confidence. "I can do this" I remember thinking.
I thought it again when I was three quarters of the way across the open stretch. The end was in sight. Unfortunately, I rejoiced to soon. I forgot the rule about bending my knees and leaning forward at the same time. I leaned back just a very little. I didn't really even realize at first that I was on the ground. The action of falling didn't seem to have occurred. Nonetheless, there I was, on the ground, with my legs twisted up.
Here, I must insert a few things. First, I was not using roller blades, but roller skates. Roller blades are supposed to be safer, (although, I can't see how since they have a far narrower base). Roller skates are more like boots, and they lace up too. That, I was told, is not as safe. Second, I really didn't feel any pain whatsoever. I didn't really try to get up. In spite of feeling no pain, I knew somehow, that I wouldn't be able to get up. I think, however, that I did untwist myself. The next thing I heard was two other kids telling the guy-in-charge/coach-dude-or-something sitting nearby that 'it looked like something was wrong over there.
Mom was alerted, and I was carried off the rink. I still really didn't feel pain, but it must have been painful subconsciously because I cried. Our friend's friend's Mom turned out to be a nurse. She wanted to see my ankle, but I'm afraid that I was a little suspicious, not knowing her to be a nurse. I didn't want anybody to touch my ankle. I guess it really hurt. I imagine that it was so painful that it didn't register as being painful. It was an odd sensation.
The friend's friend's mom said I should be taken to the hospital. I was a little upset however, that mom took us home first, so she could call Dad and have Dad take me. At that point, I just wanted somebody to fix me; now.
When I finally got taken to the hospital, I discovered what everybody but me probably already knew. The 'emergency room' is not treated as an emergency but rather as a 'waiting room.' I waited for over an hour before someone came, and even after that, it was still another twenty minutes before the doctor came. (I meanwhile complained greatly about the subconscious pain and listened to the lady in the next partition telling her doctor about how she cut her finger.)
When the doctor came, he said something or other, looked at the x-rays, and then disappeared for another 20 minutes. When he came back, he was really puzzled. He came shaking his head. It turned out, that the break I had, was so rare, that he'd never heard of it; he was an under-doctor or something.
I had a CAT scan, and the upshot of it all was, that I had to have surgery. I know have a screw in my ankle. When I'm being silly, Dad jokes about having a 'screw loose.' The anesthesia was smelled like coconut. I was out like a light, but the sensation was more like drifting.
When I was in the recovery room, I came awake in a kind of dead way. I could hear everything, but my vision was a little blurry and my mind felt completely asleep. Everything except my hearing seemed to be out of focus and way in the distance. Even the things I heard, while I heard them clearly, seemed to be coming from far away.
Hospital people want recovering patients to eat and drink something before they are released. I however, was not hungry. The nurse, at her wits end, offered me unusual hospital food such as ice cream. I eventually was persuaded to try a tuna salad and lemon-lime sprite. It was actually pretty good.
They had given me so much pain killer that the day after surgery, I felt awesome, in spite of the inconvenient full-length splint, (later replaced with a full-length cast). That first day, I did school. The next day however, was a killer. I have a very high pain tolerance threshold, so when I say something, on a scale of 1-10, is 8, it usually means it's pretty painful.
I was on crutches with a full-length cast for 6 weeks, and a half-cast for another six weeks. I don't think it's necessary to say that Proverbs 16:18 really came home to me. "Pride goes before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."
Monday, October 4, 2010
Stories of My Life: Sticky, Sticky, Sticky
I don't actually remember this experience, but I've been told about it so often, it feels like I remember it. It all happened once upon a time, a long time ago. I was very small.
Two of my older siblings were sitting in the living room doing school with Mom. Except for Mom's voice, and an occasional answer from the two, all was pretty quiet in the house. My other sibling and I were two young at the time to be doing school, and so we amused ourselves in another part of the house. Thus, it was only mostly quiet. For a while that is.
Gradually the noise proceeding from my part of the house ceased. Most people other than a mother would assume that my brother and I had fallen asleep. When Mom noticed the quiet however, she knew otherwise. For little children, quiet just as often means trouble as it does sleep.
Mom finished quickly her studies with my two older siblings and proceeded towards the kitchen. There, she was confronted with a horrible sight. Earlier in the day or week, my oldest brother had been (clandestinely) in the honey. He had forgotten to screw the lid of the 3 gallon jar on tightly.
Seated happily in the middle of the kitchen floor, I had a pool of honey around me, one hand in my mouth and one in the jar of honey. Yum, yumm, yummm! Mom swooped down upon me, and started to pick me up, (probably to give me a spanking. I deserved it. Naughty girl!) Unfortunately, all Mom's efforts to pick me up were thwarted by the pool of honey surrounding me. I was stuck to the floor.
When she finally released me from the sticky grasp of the kitchen floor, Mom had to call Poison control because I had eaten so much honey and had become sick. While this was going on, more horrors were being perpetrated. My other brother, you will remember, was an accomplice in the crime.
My brother had become tired of actually eating the honey. Fastidious at times, it was in evidence now. He had discovered that his hands were sticky and wanted to get the honey off. With this goal in mind, he wandered around the house wiping his hands on everything; door knobs, towels, cupboards, floor, wall, and carpet.
Needless to say, he also got in trouble. (I think I avoided a spanking because I got sick.) My oldest brother also got in trouble, for getting in the honey earlier that week. Now, we all live happily ever after, and somewhere in my lifetime, I acquired a taste for honey. Now I wonder where that came from!
(This has been Stories of My Life. Look in next time to read Tidbits of:__)
Two of my older siblings were sitting in the living room doing school with Mom. Except for Mom's voice, and an occasional answer from the two, all was pretty quiet in the house. My other sibling and I were two young at the time to be doing school, and so we amused ourselves in another part of the house. Thus, it was only mostly quiet. For a while that is.
Gradually the noise proceeding from my part of the house ceased. Most people other than a mother would assume that my brother and I had fallen asleep. When Mom noticed the quiet however, she knew otherwise. For little children, quiet just as often means trouble as it does sleep.
Mom finished quickly her studies with my two older siblings and proceeded towards the kitchen. There, she was confronted with a horrible sight. Earlier in the day or week, my oldest brother had been (clandestinely) in the honey. He had forgotten to screw the lid of the 3 gallon jar on tightly.
Seated happily in the middle of the kitchen floor, I had a pool of honey around me, one hand in my mouth and one in the jar of honey. Yum, yumm, yummm! Mom swooped down upon me, and started to pick me up, (probably to give me a spanking. I deserved it. Naughty girl!) Unfortunately, all Mom's efforts to pick me up were thwarted by the pool of honey surrounding me. I was stuck to the floor.
When she finally released me from the sticky grasp of the kitchen floor, Mom had to call Poison control because I had eaten so much honey and had become sick. While this was going on, more horrors were being perpetrated. My other brother, you will remember, was an accomplice in the crime.
My brother had become tired of actually eating the honey. Fastidious at times, it was in evidence now. He had discovered that his hands were sticky and wanted to get the honey off. With this goal in mind, he wandered around the house wiping his hands on everything; door knobs, towels, cupboards, floor, wall, and carpet.
Needless to say, he also got in trouble. (I think I avoided a spanking because I got sick.) My oldest brother also got in trouble, for getting in the honey earlier that week. Now, we all live happily ever after, and somewhere in my lifetime, I acquired a taste for honey. Now I wonder where that came from!
(This has been Stories of My Life. Look in next time to read Tidbits of:__)
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Stories of my Life: The Stewpot with the Lid
This post has absolutely nothing to do with cooking; at least, not in the edible sense. The edibility factor is simply not there. On the other hand, the boiling part is. This story has everything to do with the dangers of a stewpot with the lid tightly screwed on and an easily fed fire.
I usually tell people that Jesus saved me when I was ten. Truthfully, I remember asking him to come into my life at seven. However, since I never felt like I actually changed until later, I cite age ten as the true date. It was at age ten that I feel I came to true repentence for my sins. And, it happened in the following manner.
We'd moved to a place that I strongly disliked; and that's putting it mildly. In the beginning, I thought it would be fun. It was the first move that I was old enough to help and remember clearly. Any eight-year-old likes fun and adventure, and that, I thought, is what it would be. Of course, looking back, I realize it was in many ways, but then, when I saw the place where we would live, I couldn't help but thinking that I'd been seriously mistaken.
The place was tiny; not tiny as many people think of as tiny, but truly smaller even than that! It was about the size of a Sunday school room in a church. Furthermore, all five of us siblings had to fit in it and share a closet that should have been for only two people. Still more, the room was shared with a computer desk, a wall of food buckets, five beds (two bunk-beds, but still..), and the mess of all five. Yeah, let's face it, kids are messy, and it wasn't a pretty picture to see. And that's not all! The place had rules. Lot's of them! "No running, no leaving dishes out, it's not your property so treat it with respect, keep the doors closed, no shouting"...the list could go on.
About the only safe place was outside. That was also the only plus I could see. The place was on a piece of large property over which we had free reign. But, of course, you couldn't go outside all the time, sometimes it rained, (it never snowed, we'd been used to several inches of snow in the last house, but in this place we could literally count the flakes on one hand. Another minus).
Most people seem to think of me as bubbly (where they got this idea I still have yet to determine). While generally cheery, I internalize things more than most people realize. With the background I've just given you, you can easily see that I began to build around me a castle wall. And inside the castle was a kitchen, and inside the kitchen was a fire, and on the fire was a stewpot, and that stewpot was me, and the fire was fed almost constantly by being in the new place and letting myself be rubbed the wrong way by just about everything.
It went on that way for nearly two years. Until finally, I couldn't stand it. At church one day, I wandered into the then darkened sanctuary and cried my heart out to God. He heard me and answered. I've never been the same since.
It took a little while after that for me to pinpoint my problem of bitterness to the correct sources. God used a school curriculum that I disliked to make me see my exact sin. After that, a long talk with my parents and everyone else I could think of that I was mad at, my consience was completely clear. It felt wonderful!
While I can't say I never struggle with bitterness anymore, after winning that large battle, it definetly has become easier to fight the subsequent ones. I would encourage all of you, if you have a list of things that "other people have done to you," forget it, rip it up, throw it away, and ask those on the list to forgive. With that list, you've probably been trying to keep other people on the hook, but in reality, you've hooked yourself. By ridding yourself of that list, you can find release and freedom. Forgiveness and repentence are powerful. They are the two most often detailed principles found in the Bible. So, in the words of our dear Savior, "Go, and sin no more" (John 8:11)
(This has been: Stories of my Life. Tune in next time to read another: Tidbits!)
I usually tell people that Jesus saved me when I was ten. Truthfully, I remember asking him to come into my life at seven. However, since I never felt like I actually changed until later, I cite age ten as the true date. It was at age ten that I feel I came to true repentence for my sins. And, it happened in the following manner.
We'd moved to a place that I strongly disliked; and that's putting it mildly. In the beginning, I thought it would be fun. It was the first move that I was old enough to help and remember clearly. Any eight-year-old likes fun and adventure, and that, I thought, is what it would be. Of course, looking back, I realize it was in many ways, but then, when I saw the place where we would live, I couldn't help but thinking that I'd been seriously mistaken.
The place was tiny; not tiny as many people think of as tiny, but truly smaller even than that! It was about the size of a Sunday school room in a church. Furthermore, all five of us siblings had to fit in it and share a closet that should have been for only two people. Still more, the room was shared with a computer desk, a wall of food buckets, five beds (two bunk-beds, but still..), and the mess of all five. Yeah, let's face it, kids are messy, and it wasn't a pretty picture to see. And that's not all! The place had rules. Lot's of them! "No running, no leaving dishes out, it's not your property so treat it with respect, keep the doors closed, no shouting"...the list could go on.
About the only safe place was outside. That was also the only plus I could see. The place was on a piece of large property over which we had free reign. But, of course, you couldn't go outside all the time, sometimes it rained, (it never snowed, we'd been used to several inches of snow in the last house, but in this place we could literally count the flakes on one hand. Another minus).
Most people seem to think of me as bubbly (where they got this idea I still have yet to determine). While generally cheery, I internalize things more than most people realize. With the background I've just given you, you can easily see that I began to build around me a castle wall. And inside the castle was a kitchen, and inside the kitchen was a fire, and on the fire was a stewpot, and that stewpot was me, and the fire was fed almost constantly by being in the new place and letting myself be rubbed the wrong way by just about everything.
It went on that way for nearly two years. Until finally, I couldn't stand it. At church one day, I wandered into the then darkened sanctuary and cried my heart out to God. He heard me and answered. I've never been the same since.
It took a little while after that for me to pinpoint my problem of bitterness to the correct sources. God used a school curriculum that I disliked to make me see my exact sin. After that, a long talk with my parents and everyone else I could think of that I was mad at, my consience was completely clear. It felt wonderful!
While I can't say I never struggle with bitterness anymore, after winning that large battle, it definetly has become easier to fight the subsequent ones. I would encourage all of you, if you have a list of things that "other people have done to you," forget it, rip it up, throw it away, and ask those on the list to forgive. With that list, you've probably been trying to keep other people on the hook, but in reality, you've hooked yourself. By ridding yourself of that list, you can find release and freedom. Forgiveness and repentence are powerful. They are the two most often detailed principles found in the Bible. So, in the words of our dear Savior, "Go, and sin no more" (John 8:11)
(This has been: Stories of my Life. Tune in next time to read another: Tidbits!)
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