On A Clear Day

Praying for Miracles

2011-09-18T09:15:00.004-04:00

What are you praying for today? I am praying for miracles.

To me, the greatest miracles are spiritual, rather than physical. I mean, I am as happy as anyone to see a miracle of physical healing or recovery, but sometimes I think we discount the miracle of spiritual transformation.

After all, a miracle is "An event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God". With that definition in mind, what is more miraculous than salvation or spiritual transformation? Every time we witness a genuine conversion or see spiritual passion reignited it the hearts of the people around us (or ourselves, for that matter), it is a miracle.

There are no ruts deeper than our spiritual ruts, no act more foreign to human nature than the act of letting God control our lives. The lust of the eyes, the lust of the heart and the pride of life run deeply and swiftly through our veins and we resist transformation. There is no miracle greater than that of true repentance and turning to God.

So, today, I am praying for miracles.

Thoughts on Prayer

2011-09-15T11:38:00.000-04:00

Prayer is a Biblical topic that is rarely preached on. It's part of the measure of a Christian, yet it is not often discussed among believers. Training for prayer is practically unheard of, though training for sharing the Gospel or preaching or being a successful Christian business person is readily available. Let's face it, some of the statements that the Bible makes about prayer seem contradictory and even a little embarrassing, and I think that adds to our reluctance to offer concrete teaching about prayer. There is no money back guarantee of success. In fact, sometimes I think success in prayer is sort of elusive, like humility- if you claim to be humble, you probably aren't, really. While I sometimes tell people that I do pray or will pray for them, I make no claim to being a successful pray-er- and who would?

Yet, in my heart, I feel the need for more prayer. Some days I sense that I cannot deal with anything well without it, but it is often a low priority. Trust me, I know that I can pray anywhere at any time, and I know that we are supposed to pray without ceasing, but Jesus often got up early in the morning and went away to pray. (Have you ever wondered about the fact that Jesus had to pray? I mean, he was God, yet when he wrapped himself with the bonds of humanity, he had to begin praying, just like any other human.) If he went away to pray, shouldn't that be our example? Sometimes I think the "pray without ceasing" thing is used as a cop out, to excuse praying only when it is convenient. Trust me, I am reminding myself as I write these things, I make no claim to perfection in this department, yet I feel a need to talk about prayer, and to renew my commitment to pray daily in a focused way. If Jesus had to pray to the Father, then how do I think I can live this life without doing the same?

Summer Time

2011-07-26T18:06:00.000-04:00

The view to the left at one of our favorite spots on the beach- the north end of Hampton Beach.

The view to the right at the same spot.

The tiniest starfish I ever saw, found under a rock at low tide by Mark and Zoe.

This, our first summer in New Hampshire, has been a dry one- but only weather wise. We have had beautiful, sunny days- and some refreshing, wonderful and simply amazing walks on the beach. We had the heat wave that hit most of the eastern US last week, bringing temperatures to 100 degrees here in this usually cooler part of the world. Yesterday afternoon, we were glad to see rain. It was a relief from the sun and I found myself wishing for a long gentle soaking rain to nourish the earth here. Today we have cooler temperatures that are very pleasant, and a sky promising more rain soon. I must say, I hope the promise is fulfilled.

Remembering Karen

2011-04-04T18:43:00.000-04:00

So, it seems I have lost another friend. Karen. Playing her flute at the feet of Jesus even as I type, no doubt. In truth, I did not know Karen well, but I loved her. It's a little complicated. Karen was a woman who loved the Lord with all her heart. She also loved her husband, her daughter, her churches, her Bible study mates. She did indeed love to play the flute for the glory of God, but what made all of this remarkable was the fact that she had Cystic Fibrosis. Two other people in my life have had Cystic Fibrosis. One was my cousin, Connie, who died from complications of the disease when she was about 11. The other was a boy named Mark, who passed at 15, also from the complications of CF. Had they lived, they would have been close to Karen in age. Karen was a miracle, and she knew it. She lived like a miracle, loving God with all her heart, enjoying her family to the fullest extent, loving other people deeply, playing the flute in defiance of her disease- a disease which should have made flute playing impossible. To me, she represented my friends who lost their fights with CF years ago. I loved her because she was alive- she did not squander that precious gift that she had been given. She lived with courage and poured herself into the lives of others.

Play on Karen, play on.

Saying Goodbye

2011-03-04T08:04:00.000-05:00

    I have been saying goodbye to my family for 30 years. We would drive up from West Virginia once or twice a year to visit. We would see as much of my family as we could, always staying with my Mom and Dad. At first we stayed in the old farmhouse. I have no idea when it was built, but it was a place full of childhood memories. My grandmother and grandfather had moved in while my Dad was still a teenager (he just turned 80) It smelled of hay and the original knotty pine floors had never been replaced, so they were full of curves and bumps- the knots standing up from the rest of the floor in the most well worn places. My grandmother cooked on the wood stove in the kitchen there, and took flour for her biscuits from a large crock under the "trap door" in the counter by the sink. I remember that the counter was covered with shiny flowered linoleum, a cheap way to make things smooth and clean, I guess. The farm caught fire in 1990, and burned to the ground. It burned fast and hot, and there was little the fire men could do to save it.
After that we stayed in the mobile home my folks lived in while building their new home. It was a tight fit, the five of us and Mom and Dad in that mobile home. Mark and I got the pull out in the living room, and Lydia usually slept in a closet, above the built in drawers that were standard in mobile homes of that era. We had good times there, though. One summer the kids and I got to spend 6 weeks there with Mom and Dad, making daily trips to the beach at Long Lake. In the days before seat belt laws my sister in law with her three kids and me with mine would all pile into her Chevy- a hatchback of some kind, whose model name I cannot recall, and head to the lake to sit on a blanket and watch the kids take swimming lessons and play together. Good times.
    After that it was the new house- a little roomier. The first time we stayed there, it wasn't quite finished. My brother Charles and his wife were there with toddling twins. It was special because we don't often see our Arkansas cousins, and it may have been the first time I had actually met Paige and Pam. Dad kept the upstairs bedrooms large in his new house so that he could accommodate his out of town family (read Mark, Jessie and all their kids.) We have made many memories in this home, too. We have had great games of croquet in the field, and many family dinners on the back porch Dad added on a few years after the house was built. We watched Mom grow ill and eventually die in this home, and when I go there today, I miss her every moment.
    It was at this house my parents started a tradition. When we left, usually very early in the morning, our van full of sleepy children, and my heart full of melancholy over what I would miss while I was away, we would drive to the end of long the driveway and turn left on Rt. 302, which would bring us by the house again. Mom and Dad would still be there on the porch, summer heat or winter cold, standing in the light cast by the floodlight there, waving as we went by. That was always my last memory of them. I came to watch for them, usually through my tears, waving until we could see them no longer, blowing the horn in a farewell salute, despite the early hour.
Now that we live in New Hampshire, only a couple of hours from my Dad and my sister, who now lives with him, we are able to make the trip more often. It's nice to be close enough to be there for my Dad's birthday celebration and other family events. We don't have to leave quite so early in the morning, but when we do leave, we still glance at the house as we pass on Rt. 302, and my Dad and sister are still there, waving goodbye as we start our journey.

Lost and Found

2011-02-19T09:48:00.000-05:00

     We lost a friend this morning. Dave Colt, 86 years young. Loving husband of Marge, proud father of 2 and "Bink" to several grandchildren. Dapper dresser and friendly, helpful, kind soul. Servant of the living God. Lifetime resident of Hampton, NH and long time member of Hampton First Baptist Church. Dave had a great sense of humor and a sharp mind.
   Dave came to mean a lot to Mark and I in a short time. We were amazed at his memory, tickled by his sense of humor and thankful for his friendship. He came to our house a couple of weeks ago to get help with his new laptop.   Mark downloaded some software for him and talked to him about whether or not he should upgrade from the dial up internet connection he had at home. As I listened to the conversation I realized that Dave wanted, not only updates for his computer, but some understanding of how it all worked.
    In our time here at Hampton Dave was anxious for us to find our place in the community. He did all he could to make us feel at home and help us get acquainted with our surroundings. He always had some little bit of insider information he wanted to share with us. Once, when I went into the office to tell Mark I was going to Seabrook for groceries, Dave was there and said, "You're not going to Seabrook, Jessie, you're going to "the Brook". Say you're going to the "the Brook. "
    Dave and Marge were avid square dancers. He was always headed to Saco, Maine on a Sunday afternoon to go square dancing. Apparently, when his grand daughter suggested that he should take her, too, he responded "I don't think you could keep up with Gram and I." If you asked "Are you going dancing again today, Dave?" He would say, "Yes, but don't tell my Grandmother!"
    Dave had a stroke the other night. When his family took him to the hospital he was alert and passing all the tests, answering questions, touching the correct body parts, etc. They expected a night in the hospital and release the next day, but his brain began to swell and bleed, and by morning his condition was deteriorating.   The doctors were not hopeful, his family gathered and surrounded him with all the love born of a life well lived. We got up this morning wondering if Dave was in this world or the next. The call came at 9:00 am. Dave met the Savior at about 5 this morning.
     So Dave is lost to us in this world, but found in the arms of our Savior.

Parsonage Tour Part 2- Upstairs

2011-01-04T18:57:00.000-05:00

This is Zoe's room. The girls have their own rooms here. This is something they have wanted for a while. Both rooms still need a coat of paint. We hope to get to that soon.

This is the bathroom, obviously. I haven't updated it yet. It is the largest bathroom we have ever had in any home we have lived in, just so you know.

This is the catch all corner of the laundry room. It is large, for a laundry room, so it serves as storage, too.

This is the family room. Charis is probably knitting.

This is the laundry room from another angle. It is different for us to have the laundry room upstairs, but we are just glad to have it.

I hope you've enjoyed this tour of the parsonage. We are well and busy making memories in our new home.

Parsonage Tour Part 1- Downstairs

2011-01-01T09:24:00.000-05:00

Let's start at the front door. A spiral staircase goes up from the entry way. I set our creche up for the Christmas season on this built in under the stairs..

It's hard to get a picture of the stairs, but this is what it looks like from the top.

Our living room. Christmas was a motivation to get unpacked. I couldn't imagine trying to get out decorations when the rest of my life was still in boxes. We hung curtains, photos, etc., right after Thanksgiving.

Another view of the living room. Made the swags myself- I have never been a drapery type of girl. Notice the handsome pastor on the couch.

This is the dining room. The good folks from Hampton Baptist did a lot of work in here for us, including putting up the white bead board. It's very homey.

Another view of the dining room.

More dining room. The built in cabinet was redone for us also. It's a great place to store the Fiesta Ware.

Welcome to the kitchen. This is the first time in our married life that we have not had an eat in kitchen. I have another shot that I wanted to include, but in all honesty, it keeps loading out of order, and I haven't yet figured out how to fix that. I have learned quite a lot just in the process of getting these up, so this is a problem for another day.

The Way Things Appear

2010-12-11T09:57:00.000-05:00

I love the foot race at the beginning of John 20. Peter and John racing like a couple of kids to the tomb, John hesitating at the entrance, Peter actually getting the first look. In this day and age it would seem like the empty tomb would cause a little more excitement for them- after all, a body is missing- but they just go home. That's all. The body is not here, let's go home.
Now, I don't know about you, but I generally think that people in the Bible are pretty much like me, so I imagine that they were disappointed with Jesus' performance. He didn't set up the kingdom they were expecting, and now his body is even gone. Ho hum, what a let down. I think that I would be more like them than I would be like Mary. Mary hangs around, but I would be ready to quit. Ready to go home and do what comes naturally, ready to give up on God.
But God thinks "outside the box" (if I may use that overused expression). The empty tomb is hard to swallow, but it is only empty because God has something better going on. He is Risen! The disciples miss out on a life changing encounter with the risen Christ because they go home. At this moment, their disappointment keeps them from seeing what God is really doing.
I pray that when this happens to me, that when I am disappointed because God isn't behaving the way I expect Him to behave, I will be like Mary and hang around to find out what is really going on.

The Princess of Princewick

2010-11-18T19:47:00.000-05:00

About 16 years ago, in the dying coal town of Princewick, WV, a little girl was born. She came into the world in the middle of the night, about 12:08 AM. Her older siblings had gone to bed, but were awakened by her cries. It was a momentous night in the Lowe household when Charis was born.
Our next youngest child was seven and a half years old, so it was like we were starting over. Charis grew to be a determined child, teaching herself to tie her shoes at 3 and to read at 4 (using a computer). That same determination has made her a top notch, prolific knitter and a self-taught pianist.
Twice the Lowe family has made major moves right before Charis' birthday. The first time was when she turned two. We moved from Beckley to Charleston to be with her Dad, who was spending most of his time in Charleston with his job at Union Mission Ministries. Her little sister, Zoe, had been born in August, we moved in mid- October and her birthday was Nov. 8. We celebrated among the boxes as I was so tired we didn't get totally unpacked for six months.
We moved a couple of times between then and now, but the second major move was also in October, here to Hampton. She celebrated early with her best friends in Charleston, and then again here, with friends and family. Her new Hampton friends came in the afternoon of her birthday to take her out for a little while. They brought balloons and a party hat, and I, forgetful Mom that I am, did not take pictures of them together. (My new mantra is "get the camera". I'm hoping if I say it enough, I will actually remember to use it when I should.) It was Alex and Mikayla and Emily who came, and I know they brightened Charis' day.
Our family tradition is that the birthday celebrant chooses the meal, so we had spinach lasagna and chocolate cheesecake in place of cake and ice cream. Grampa and Gail got to come, a first for Charis, since we have always lived so far away from them. Mark bought her her first dozen roses, another "Sweet Sixteen" tradition at our house. Honestly, it had been so long since we had celebrated a 16th birthday, we almost forgot the roses.

It is hard to believe that our "Joy Girl" is 16. Charis, we love you, and we can't imagine life without you.

Breaking the Silence

2010-11-04T11:32:00.002-04:00

It has been a long time since I felt the freedom to write for my blog. Since my last post I have done a lot of old fashioned journaling, but haven't felt the freedom to do much publicly. Let me just say that a lot has changed since my last entry. We have started a whole new chapter of our lives. October 14 we packed a 21 foot Penske van with what remained of our earthly belongings (which was quite a lot of stuff, actually,) and headed north with our two youngest daughters, the family dog and the porch swing tied to the top of our little red Vibe.

We were on our way to a new adventure, leaving West Virginia to start a new life in Hampton, New Hampshire, where Mark had been voted in as pastor of the small but mighty First Baptist Church of Hampton.

It is an adventure in many ways. Mark has never lived outside of West Virginia before, and neither have Charis and Zoe. The church congregation is small, but made up of people who believe that God is not done with Hampton First Baptist. They have a desire to see the church move forward and reach the next generation for the Lord. We were moving, for the first time, into a parsonage, and the house we thought we might spend the rest of our lives in is for sale.

We arrived on October 16, after a couple of days on the road, and found some of our new church family working on the house, getting it ready for our arrival. The next morning, we were ready to unload the truck, and Mark did a wonderful job of parking it. He took pictures because he said his brothers would never believe he did it himself.

We had a great crowd to help us unload- new friends from the church and some of my family drove down from Maine. We even had a volunteer from a local high school, putting in her community service hours. It was a good day, though I personally didn't know what to do with myself. Thankfully, we had lots of other good help.
I am including a few more random pictures of the day, though the one I didn't get would probably be the best- Mark and Joe Noyes could only get our couch into the house by putting it through the living room window. It's a long story, but we are just glad they actually found a way to get it in.

So, the silence is broken. You will hear from me again much sooner this time.

Radical Living?

2010-03-09T00:54:00.000-05:00

We have been having a sermon series on radical living, with ideas taken from a book called "Crazy Love", which was written by a Pastor named Francis Chan. In the book he challenges Christians to truly radical living- because Christ lived a radical life. We have had some great challenges from the sermon series, and the Lord has used it to make me think about my life and my lack of radical living.

In our home group we have been reading another book by Francis Chan. This one is called "Forgotten God: Reversing Our Tragic Neglect of the Holy Spirit". The combination of the two books and the sermon series has been a triple whammy in my life, causing me to think almost constantly about the meaning of my life and whether or not it really counts for Christ. It has made me think seriously about whether or not I hear the voice of Christ or know the leading of the Holy Spirit as God intended me to know it.

In the book Forgotten God, Chan encourages Christians to think about the Holy Spirit and the role he is supposed to play in our lives. He asks whether or not we really believe in the Holy Spirit, reminding us that there is much written about the Holy Spirit in Scripture that we tend to ignore or rationalize away.

For example, there is the well known fact that the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, faithfulness and self control. Yet we are not disturbed when we as believers live without these things. We are no more loving than Joe down the street, no more at peace than Susie that we work with, and no more patient than the guy beside us on the rush hour freeway.

How about this- first John tells us that if we do not love our brother, then we walk in darkness. Yet we are not disturbed that we don't have any love in our hearts for the woman who sits across the aisle from us in church. In fact, we think she's rather annoying. We tell ourselves that we can love her without liking her. According to first John, that means we walk in darkness. Why are we not alarmed?

I am as guilty as the next person. I have not been alarmed myself, until these books caused me to ponder. I find myself in a challenging situation right now, struggling to love people that I ought to love, struggling to forgive people that I want to forgive. I earnestly desire to live a life pleasing to the Lord all the way through the struggles I go through right now, but I find myself floundering. The Holy Spirit is supposed to be the answer for this. Not only do I want to forgive people, I want to forget the offenses, real or perceived. Can the Holy Spirit help with that? He is supposed to bring peace that passes all understanding. Why am I not scared when I don't have it? Why am I willing to live without it?

I have heard people suggest, and I have at times tried to follow the suggestion, that we imagine Christ is with us while we have our devotions- sitting across from us, waiting on us to meet with him. Well, the Bible says that the Holy Spirit is a better comforter than Christ, and that he lives in us. Is that not better than even Christ sitting next to me on the couch while I read my Bible? I think it should be.

So, what are my plans for living radically? Well, at the moment they consist of acknowledging that I have little or no power of my own to produce the fruit of the Spirit in my life and asking the Spirit to produce them in me. I am asking Him to teach me to hear his voice so I will know when he wants me to do something and when I have grieved him. I am asking him to give me the joy he promised and the peace that passes all understanding. I am seeking to acknowledge my weakness, so that his strength can be made perfect.

If you read this, and you know me, I'd like to ask you to pray for me, and not to judge me too harshly if I fail. God willing, I am closing in on the end of this powerless life.

Life's A Beach

2009-09-17T07:57:00.000-04:00

I begin to understand why people fall in love with the beach. When I was a child, the beach was a place with icy cold (I grew up in New England), salty water, and where I got the worst sunburns of my life, due to my fair complexion and the fact that no one had ever heard of sunscreen back then.
As an adult, I began to long for a glimpse of the ocean, and when we went to visit my family, I would try to get to the shore at least once during the week or two that we were there. We would usually drive out for an evening walk or picnic, after all danger of sunburn was gone. A few minutes gazing out to sea somehow brought me a sense of calmness and peace that was hard to catch in other places.

Now, in my fiftieth year, I have officially had something that I never thought I would enjoy- two vacations at the beach- last year we were privileged to go to St. Simons, GA, and this year, to Emerald Isle, NC. Those two vacations are all the credentials I need to wax poetic about the sea, so here goes.
There is something about the sea that feeds the eternal nature of my soul. Looking out into the expanse of the ocean fills my heart with a sense of the eternal like nothing else here on this earth. I don't really know why, I just know that it's true. Yet, often when I walk the beach I find myself looking down. I am looking for pretty things to pick up, or at the birds on the shore. Focusing on the ground beneath my feet, looking for pretty things to fill my hands doesn't bring me the same peace that looking up does. The things on the shore do give me a sense of pleasure, but it is looking up at the expanse of the ocean and the far horizon that brings a change in my perspective and the sense of peace that I long for.
I fear I go through this life much the same way. I am so focused on what is at my feet that I forget to look up at the eternal. I miss the perspective that looking at God can bring and instead, fill my eyes with the crashing of the waves around me and the baubles on the ground, alternately worried about what the waves will bring and hoping to find something to make me happy.
My week away was a wonderful reminder that life is for looking up. Once again I am praying for the wisdom to remember that in the days ahead.

Missing Addie

2009-08-28T04:25:00.000-04:00

I have a beautiful granddaughter. She turned a year old on July 26 and lives far, far away. It is crazy to me that I can miss someone so much that I see so little. I see the hand of God in these amazing attachments of the heart, and of course in the wondrous development of every young child, but especially my grandchild. My heart strings are pulled each time I think of her. These are some of my favorite pictures of her from over the summer.

Wedding Bells and Other Things

2009-08-06T21:26:00.000-04:00

We are having a big week here at the Lowe house. Our oldest daughter is getting married. We have family in from New England, and expect our son tomorrow. What a joy to have loved ones near.

Yesterday we took my Dad and sister to Blenko Glass and watched them blow glass for a while. Dad had never seen it done, and it had been years since we had been there, so it was new for Charis and Zoe, too. Zoe declared that she could watch all day long, but we didn't. After that my sister and I made a run to the Everything Fiesta store at Flatwoods, picking up a few goodies at the bulk foods store, too, before we headed home.

Today I got to take my Dad to the new state museum at the Culture Center. (Are any other West Virginians having trouble with that small change?) We allotted one and a half hours and it wasn't enough. Dad is a real history buff and wanted to read every note on every item. We only got through the first 4 rooms. I'll have to talk him into coming back for the rest, I guess.

Tomorrow we look forward to visiting with Jared. Sadly, his visit is much shorter than originally planned, and he has to leave his wife and our only grand daughter at home. We will miss them both, but we'll have to make the most of our brief time with Jared. He'll head back to New England with my Dad and sister on Sunday since he has to be back to work on Monday morning.

We'll have dinner with the wedding party here at the house in the evening. Thankfully, I don't have to cook! I do get a little nervous about these things, but that doesn't mean I don't have a good time.

After the guests leave, my whole family will be under one roof once more. I don't expect that to happen too many more times in this life, to actually have all 5 children in the same house for the night. We will enjoy it and try to document it for future reference.

On Saturday, our family will officially grow, as we welcome Chris as our son in law. We like Chris. He is a hard working, thoughtful young man. He has a sense of humor that makes him seems like one of us. We look forward to getting to know him better in the years to come.

Widowmaker

2009-04-10T20:24:00.000-04:00

It's hard to describe what we have just been through. It was scary, it was miraculous, it was quick. When Mark told me just a few days ago that he had been having some pain in his chest sort of under his left arm, and some tingling in the arm itself, my heart was heavy. I didn't want him to have heart trouble. His parents both have heart disease. I have heart disease. I was scared for him, for us and for our children. I wanted to deny it. I wanted God to make it go away. I wanted it to be nothing.
The cardiologist's office called when they had a cancellation and Mark went for a stress test. He failed it. The ekg was so scary that they sent him to the hospital to see if the cardiologist wanted to do a heart catheterization that day. The cardiologist told his staff to fit Mark in the next day. He said "This is serious. Absolutely no stress. No physical stress, no stress of any kind until we get you in here." I prayed for a false positive, for a mistaken ekg.
We were essentially walk ins for the test the next day, and the doctor had several emergencies as well as several patients ahead of us as we waited 8 1/2 hours for the test. We arrived at the hospital at 1 pm and they wheeled him out for the procedure at 9:30 pm.
As we kissed goodbye I was still praying for the false positive or something, anything besides a heart problem. What I thought could be better I don't know. Maybe some outrageously simple problem that was easily cared for was what I wanted. 20 minutes later when they came and got us out of the waiting room, telling us the doctor wanted to see us, I knew it was bad news. I said "This is bad." The nurse said, something like "It's not bad." I thought she was nuts. I knew the doctor hadn't yet spoken to the family of the patient done before Mark. I knew he couldn't want to see us for any good thing.
The nurse stood in the door of the operating room and called to the doctor. They covered his hands and he came to talk to us. Mark was on the table in the background while he said "We have found a 95 to 99% blockage in the left anterior descending artery." The nurse showed us vivid pictures of a very narrow artery. "We call this a widowmaker. It is life threatening" said the doctor, "and I want to put a stint in as our first option before open heart surgery. He has seen the pictures" he continued, "and he knows what I want to do." I said "Go for it." He hollered at Mark. "Reverend Lowe?" Mark hollered back "yeah". "Your family is here. I'm telling them what we want to do." I think Mark said "okay". I said "Go for it" again, and the doctor told us that it would be 20 to 30 minutes until they were finished, along with the usual disclaimer about the wonderful risk of heart attack and death during the procedure.
I called my kids and our ministry partners, my mother in law cried and prayed. Not long after all the calls were made, one of the nurses appeared and told us the procedure was over. Mark had not had a heart attack on the table, the stint was "beautiful", she said, and we would see him in a few minutes. We rejoiced. I started calling everyone again.
After he was wheeled to the recovery room, there were more pictures of the heart and the difference the stint had made. We were gratefully rejoicing in the timing of the tests and the success of the procedure. All other arteries look fine. Only one was blocked, and it almost completely.
When Mark had stood on the podium the Sunday before and said,"I could walk out of this building and die today. (God please not today.)" He didn't know how true a statement it was, or that God might indeed be literally protecting him from death as he did tear down at church. He could easily have had a heart attack and died.
We came home today. Mark is tired but otherwise fine. I have been reminded that a husband is a wonderful thing. The widowmaker has been thwarted by the hand of God in the form of an excellent surgeon and wonderfully timed discovery and treatment.

Psalm 139

2009-02-20T06:13:00.000-05:00

Lord, when you look at me, you search me, you see who I am.
It is all revealed, the good, the bad and the mediocre.
You see all the stuff I do... the routines of my day,
and you know my thoughts before I think them.
You know me inside and out.
The things I say are no surprise to you - you saw them coming.
You surround me, and you have touched my life.
I really don't understand that, don't even know what it really means, but I believe it.

I cannot escape the Comforter, so I can't run away from you.
I can't go high enough to escape your knowledge of me, or low enough, either.
Running east or west will not get me away from you.
Where ever I run, you will see me, and it is impossible to get beyond the reach of your protection and guidance.
Sometimes I think darkness will cover me
( and mercifully hide who I really am ),
but it is all the same to you.
You see as piercingly in the dark as you do in the light.

You made my very soul.
You handcrafted me in my mother's womb.
I must praise you for that.
I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Your works are amazing, a fact that cannot be denied.

Who I am was no secret to you when you made me.
You made no mistakes as you crafted me.
You had a vision of who I would be, and your work was a success.
Before I began to live and breath you knew who I would be and planned my days.
You wrote the story of my life.

Lord, it is hard for me to understand the way you think.
You care for me in a way that is beyond true comprehension- I could never figure it out.
Sometimes I think your love for me is too good to be true- like a dream
but when I wake up, You are still there...

Because you are the one who really knows me,
search me, and help me to know my own heart.
Don't spare me.
Show me the remedy for my anxious thoughts.
(Why do I have them when you are who you are?)
Show me my sins so that I can be closer to you.
Show me how to live for eternity.

On 27 Years

2009-01-17T08:09:00.000-05:00

Mark and I had a whirlwind courtship. We met in the early days of 1981 at Bible college. Mark came as a new student in the second semester and I - well, lets just say I had been there a while. We had a mutual friend, and that sort of threw us together a little bit. We would talk, and the thing I noticed about Mark was that he would actually talk to me. We would talk about the Bible and our lives, not just small talk that other guys seemed so intent on making. Mark was different. He walked around campus with a cup of coffee in his hand- the only one to do so in those days. He had sweet blue eyes and a corny sense of humor. (still does)
When we returned to school that fall, we started to date each other almost immediately. I asked him to be my date for Sadie Hawkins day in October, and that actually turned out to be the day he took me to meet his parents. We got engaged over Thanksgiving, and left school in January to be married.
I took him to meet my parents in Maine right after Christmas that year. There was 3 feet of snow on the ground when we got there and 4 when we left. Mark found it hard to get a good grip on things in his cowboy boots, and he wondered if they would always call him "Mahk". (They still do.) He passed inspection and we returned to West Virginia.
The wedding was small, and quickly planned. We just stood up after church on Sunday, January 17, 1982, with his family and a few of our friends present. Our reception was a potluck dinner. It was so cold that day that Mark's Dad and brother missed church trying to get Mark's car started so that we could go on our honeymoon. I remember a lot of snow on the ground- and an acquaintance of the family opened his parts store and sold us a battery for the car on our way out of town. We honeymooned at Pipestem State Park, which is, by the way, very quiet in the middle of January. Perfect for honeymooners.
How grateful I am for the way God works things out in our lives. In all of our marital ups and downs I have never doubted that Mark was God's man for me. He still makes me laugh with his corny jokes. He still knows more than me about almost everything. He still amazes me with his simple life goal- faithfulness- and the tenacity with which he holds on to it. His faithfulness to God and to me continue to bless my life. They are the bedrock of our marriage. I am so grateful for 27 years.

The Empty House

2009-01-13T19:59:00.000-05:00

My house is not empty, but it feels that way. Hannah has moved to a new apartment and Lydia has returned to Massachusetts to school. It is strange to have them both gone. I miss the company, the conversation, their presence in general. This is not to say that I would keep them always with me, we understand the need to move on. It's just to say that the knowledge of their coming and going is a welcome background to the rhythms of my life. It gives me comfort when I have it, and I miss it in these months when it is less tangible. Lydia will come home from school in the spring and we will have it for another short while and be grateful for it. Hannah will probably never be so present again, but we will see her often and enjoy those times all the more for the variety they bring to our daily lives.

A New Year

2009-01-01T22:36:00.000-05:00

The first day of a new year is fast closing. It was spent in an ordinary fashion, visiting with family, eating beans and cornbread, doing the dishes. Is it the precursor of a boring year? Maybe. Maybe not. It is safe to say that it will be a year of changes, because change is already coming, and I'm sure that the unknown is hiding amongst the expected.