Gone in 6 seconds

It’s amazing how quickly everything can change.

One minute, you’re walking along, finished with work for the day, thinking about going home and what you’ll do that evening. The next, you’re flat on your back with people staring down at you, asking if you’re OK.

One day, you are independent, driving yourself to work, changing light bulbs, pumping your own gas. The next, you’re dependent on someone else for all the large and small tasks of living, dressing, eating, even opening doors.

A broken right arm makes a difference.

In the past six days, I’ve gained a new appreciation for caregivers, for people with permanent physical limitations, and for God’s incredible timing.

As I lay awake that first night, waiting for the painkillers to kick in, I was filled with gratefulness to God. After all, I reasoned, He knew this accident was going to happen and, for His own purposes, He allowed it. Yet He arranged for my husband, who had been away on business the past month, to be home when it happened, with no trips in the near future.

I am incredibly fortunate. To be loved and cared for by this man, who can make me laugh in spite of the pain. To work with a bunch of praying people who are figuring out how to get things done in my absence. To be part of a wonderful church and Sunday school class who have offered to do whatever we need and who have relieved my husband from having to cook several meals. To be loved by God, Who sometimes forces me to slow down and focus on how suddenly life can change.

God, make me sensitive to the needs of those around me, and remind me every day that today may be the only day we have to meet those needs.

Blinkers

As I sat at a stoplight waiting to turn right, I watched a flock of cars turn left without signaling. Once again I wished that people would use their blinkers.

That started me thinking about how much easier life would be if we all had signal lights to warn each other what we were about to do. If my kids would signal when they were planning to go to a party where alcohol would be flowing. My husband would use his blinker to say that he was about to spend the evening watching football when I was hoping to go out to eat. My boss’s lights would warn me that I was about to hear about that mistake I made.

Would such a thing aid communication, or hamper it? Maybe we would be like some drivers: I’d see your signal and speed up to keep you from getting in my way. Or you’d pretend not to notice me trying to get on the freeway.

I guess God has given us signals, even if people don’t. His Word shows us how to stay on the straight road, and not turn to the left or to the right.

Most of us have not picked up a driver’s manual since we first got our license. Amazing how many rules we’ve forgotten, isn’t it?

In the same way, we have a tendency to forget God’s rules for our life if we don’t review the Book regularly. Oh, we remember the “big 10”—most of the time. But how often do we remember Jesus’ words about our hearts?

“You have heard that our ancestors were told, ‘You must not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.’ But I say, if you are even angry with someone, you are subject to judgment!” (Matthew 5:21-22, NLT).

A little later, He told His listeners, “You have heard the commandment that says, ‘You must not commit adultery.’ But I say, anyone who even looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:27-28, NLT).

Ultimately, if we study God’s Word regularly, He’ll help us follow the better route of love, and we won’t need blinkers to signal our intentions to others, after all.

Missing in Action

I can't believe it's been exactly one month since my last post. I've missed writing my blog, but life got in the way, as it often does.

The past month included a wonderful visit with some of our family, attending an outstanding writers' conference, and a new twist on the work situation, as well as challenges for my husband as he headed to the Gulf Coast to do disaster inspections for FEMA. He's still there; you'd think that would give me more time to write, but you'd be wrong.

This is just a quick post to say I'm back, and I'll try to be more faithful about posting at least a couple of times a week.

When I think about it, that's the story of my life: eating healthy for awhile, then falling back into the unhealthy eating; exercising regularly for a few weeks, then missing a little, then quitting, all the while telling myself I will do it tomorrow; faithfully having my daily devotions for long periods of time, then skipping a day or two, then more, and before I know it, I've formed a "new" habit of missing my personal quiet time.

Fortunately for me, God is always faithful, and He's there waiting when I come back. Maybe someday I'll be able--with His help--to stay faithful day after day, week after week, year after year.

Right now, excuse me while I go have some ice cream.

Kicking and Screaming, Part 3

Back in July, I wrote about how God was pulling me “kicking and screaming” toward something that I really didn’t want to do.

I’m grateful that I was obedient, because God showed up—as He always does, of course.

The situation that I had been praying about for nearly three years changed "in the twinkling of an eye.” As I’ve come to expect with prayer, the answer wasn’t at all what I had prayed for or expected. But I have no doubt that it was—or will eventually prove to be—exactly the right answer.

What is even more surprising is that I suddenly found my attitude had changed. A week ago, I couldn’t even talk about this situation without crying or at least getting a catch in my throat. This past Sunday, I sensed that God wanted me to ask for prayer for other people as the changes unfold. Didn’t even occur to me to ask for prayer for myself. I told Him talking about it would make me cry. But He still insisted that I do it.

And I was able to talk about it—in general terms, of course—and ask for prayer for one individual in particular, without even getting choked up. It was the first time in three years, I think.

Maybe next time God wants me to do something, I won’t be so inclined to kick and scream.

“No doubt about it! God is good— good to good people, good to the good-hearted. But I nearly missed it, missed seeing his goodness. I was looking the other way” (Psalm 73:1-3, Message).

Hooked on Rocks, Part Two

The jury’s still out.

After finding gems in purchased buckets of dirt several weeks ago, we decided to try our hand at digging up our own dirt.

At one site, we paid to dig in some tailings from area mines, and spent about an hour looking for “color” in a pile of rocks and sand. Three different employees gave us three different ways to go about this. I was drawn to the white rocks but was quickly told that was just rock. It’s a lot harder to find color in dry sand.

We didn’t feel very successful, but when we sat at the sluice and washed our “keepers,” we discovered we had several nice sized garnets, as well as lots of quartz and moonstones. My husband thinks quartz is so plentiful that it’s not worth the effort, but it is pretty and can be made into some nice jewelry, so we kept it.

The second place we tried allows you to dig in the “mine” or to hunt for stones in the creek. We thought the mine sounded more promising, so we opted to dig. We discovered the mine was really just a series of open pits spread over a wide area, so we had no idea where to start.

It was Labor Day weekend, and the place was really busy, so the staff had no time to provide much instruction. We asked for advice and were told to “find the deepest hole and dig there.”

What we found was red Carolina clay with some layers of soft rock. We asked other diggers, but everyone else was a first-timer, as well. Finding “color” when the clay sticks to everything was even harder than finding it in dry sand. We picked through spades of clay, selecting a handful of rocks to examine more closely at the sluice. After washing the clay off, we had a few stones that might be garnets or emeralds, and again, several quartz-like pieces.

Unfortunately, the staff helping with identification had long lines and we decided not to wait to find out what we had found. For all we know, we may have brought back more red clay than gems, since the clay seemed to cover everything we wore, as well as our tools.

We came home with a determination to learn more before we go digging on our own again. It helps to know what you’re looking for.

I guess the spiritual application is this: God knows the treasure that is hidden inside each one of us. Sometimes it is not revealed to others—or even to ourselves—until we are washed clean by Jesus Christ.

Electronic Touchpad for Life

Life seems more like gymnastics than a race. But I think I’d prefer a race.

When Michael Phelps won the Olympic 100-meter butterfly by one-hundredth of a second, the electronic touchpad provided a clear, black-and-white decision. Even more than the slow-motion photography, electronics removed all shadows of doubt.

In gymnastics, diving, and tumbling, by contrast, the decisions are made by a complicated system of difficulty ratings and judges’ points. The variation between judges sometimes makes you wonder if they’re looking at the same competitor, or creates questions about objectivity. How can one individual’s dive be rated both a 6 and a 9 by different judges?

It sometimes feels as though we’re being rated in how we live. Did the way I treated my husband today deserve a 9.5, or was it only worth a 7.0? Was the lunch-table conversation with my co-workers worthy of a gold medal, or would we have been out of medal contention?

Fortunately, the only judge that matters in life is God. And He doesn’t play favorites, or use a complicated scoring method. In fact, He really has given us an electronic “touchpad,” of sorts. All He asks is that we “touch” His Son, Jesus Christ. “Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me’” (John 14:6, NIV).

If we receive Christ as Savior and seek to follow Him in all we do, we don’t have to worry about the score. All God asks is that we put forth the effort. He doesn’t judge us on how well we do, just that we ran the race.

But a “no decision” is a “no” decision. There are no silver or bronze medals when we die. Either we place our faith in Jesus and get to spend eternity with Him, or we don’t, and we will be separated from God forever.

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize” (1 Corinthians 9:24, NIV).

It's Easy Being Green

Being green is all the rage these days. Seems like it happened faster than it takes to pump a dollar’s worth of gas. Who was talking about being green three months ago?

Now, everywhere you turn, some company trumpets their latest earth-friendly initiative, or tells you how you can join the “revolution.” My credit union has a “green” url, according to their Web site. Isn’t the Internet inherently “green”? It eliminates the need for paper, stamps, gas to go shopping, and energy for phone calls. (Okay, that last one is tongue-in-cheek.)

I remember when being “green” was ugly. It meant you were unreasonably jealous. No one would admit to having this weakness, and if you were accused of it, you would get even more upset.

Then, of course, there were the little green men from Mars. And you certainly didn’t want to claim that distinction.

Not that I have a problem with saving the earth. After all, “the earth is the LORD's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it" (Psalm 24:1, NIV). We should do all we can, within reason, to preserve natural resources and protect the environment.

It’s just that I wonder why so many people can become evangelists for creation, but they’re ashamed to speak up on behalf of the Creator. They’re eager to learn ways to save energy, but few are willing to go out of their way to know the Savior.

Jesus promised, “Stand up for me against world opinion and I'll stand up for you before my Father in heaven. If you turn tail and run, do you think I'll cover for you?” (Matthew 10:32-33, MSG). I pray that you will be willing to stand up for Christ against world opinion, so that He won't be ashamed of you when your life on this earth is over.

Hooked on rocks

I think I’m hooked.

Last weekend, we went hunting for gems. Not dig-in-the-dirt, get-muddy-all-over kind of rockhounding, mind you. We took the “easy” way, for now, and bought buckets of dirt, which we sifted through screens over a flume. Maybe we’ll try the messy, dig-your-own kind of treasure hunting next time.

But this time, we were rewarded with lots of rubies, a few sapphires, some amethyst, and, best of all, a big emerald. Actually, this rock is about four inches in diameter and contains at least 3 emeralds. The jeweler at one of the mines estimated their combined weight will be about six carats. Pretty exciting. I can’t wait to see them after they are cut.

Oh, wait. Getting them cut is a problem. We could have left them with a jeweler at the mines. We’d have to wait at least six weeks to get them back. Instead, we’re hoping to find someone closer to home, who’s not so far behind.

After the stones are cut, we still need to figure out how to get them mounted without spending an arm and a leg. After all, what good is it to have beautiful, real-gem rings if I don’t have any fingers to put them on?

Now, I’ve never been one to wear lots of jewelry, or anything real flashy. But there is something about the hunt and the reward of success that is more exciting than store-bought, any day. I will be proud to wear the final result because I will know that it is unique and because I will remember the fun we had finding the gems.

Maybe Christ takes the same sort of pleasure in us when we decide to follow Him. After all, it’s been said, He seeks us until we find Him. Then He cuts and shapes us into the jewels that He designed us to be.

Dancing with the Creator

We were privileged to attend a Steven Curtis Chapman concert at the Biltmore Estate in Asheville on Friday night.

You may know that the Chapmans’ 5-year-old daughter Maria was tragically killed in an accident in May.

We thrilled to listen to his music while watching the sunset over the North Carolina mountains. From the opening song, Blessed Be the Name of the Lord, to the final number, I felt that even the rocks were crying out in praise to the Creator.

Tears didn’t flow like I expected them to. But Steven Curtis Chapman talked about Maria and the music before he sang each song. He provided context for the songs—all of which were written before Maria’s death—explaining that grief has made the words more real to him today than when he wrote them.

I don’t remember his exact words but his basic message was this: he doesn’t have it all figured out, but he does know that God is faithful, and that he will dance with Maria again—someday in Heaven.

It was humbling to see this father able to say, “Yes, God, even little Maria is Yours,” after losing her so suddenly at such a young age. So was standing under the canopy of God’s creation and worshipping our Father with him.

The Chapmans had adopted Maria from China, and her father reminded us that we were all once like Maria—orphans without hope. But once we place our faith in Jesus Christ, we are adopted into God’s family forever. I am thankful that we have never had to face the kind of sudden, life-shattering tragedy the Chapmans have dealt with these last two months. I pray that, in the daily “crises” that seem so difficult, I will have the same grace and deep assurance of God’s goodness and love.

Fireworks

Like thousands of other families, we watched fireworks on the 4^th of July.

I wondered what it is about fireworks that makes them so memorable. We talked at work the following Monday about where we had seen the best fireworks ever. We talked about how long the shows lasted. Everyone seemed to have a favorite fireworks story.

I can remember watching fireworks with my parents when I was little. We’d drive up to a point that looked out over our western Kentucky town and sit in the car to watch. I don’t remember getting out of the car, like we do now, but maybe we did some years.

The first fireworks show I watched with someone other than my parents was during the county fair. I was in high school, or maybe college, and was with a group that included a boy I had a crush on. We all had great fun saying “ooohh” and “aahh” to express our appreciation for the bigger explosions of sound and colors.

As a family, when our children were small, we made a big deal out of watching fireworks. We got to see them over a lake or river many times; the colors reflected off the water increase the pleasure of the spectacle. We watched them from the shadow of the Minnesota state capitol as the formations sparkled above us; another year we watched from a bridge that crosses over I-94 in St. Paul, about a mile away from the capitol.

One time, we set up “camp” on a blanket on the shores of the Mississippi to enjoy a boat parade followed by a fireworks display. During the parade, our four-year-old son fell asleep and when the fireworks began, he woke up suddenly and was scared. He began to cry, and I don’t remember enjoying the fireworks at all that year—not that I blamed him. We just didn’t realize how frightening it would be to a four-year old to wake up to that noise. I think he enjoys watching fireworks now, though. In fact, he and his wife saw the new year fireworks in Hong Kong a couple of years ago, and he said that our little displays just don’t compare.

So a fireworks show always brings back memories for me—and, I believe, for others. Perhaps it’s because these paintings in the sky are as close as we humans get to Creating something as big as the universe. When the chemicals explode and create those multicolor designs—how do they get a bunch of rockets to form happy faces and hearts?—it’s like a huge multidimensional sculpture that is rivaled only by nature’s fireworks.

The show we watched on the 4^th this year took place following a thunderstorm. So the fireworks were surrounded by an awesome lightning display as the storm moved away from us.

“The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship,” declared King David (Psalm 90:1, NLT).

That’s where we see the best fireworks. Ooohhh. Aaahhhh.

Remembering a Great Lady

My husband and I recently learned of the death of a dear friend. Though she was his friend first, I came to care for her deeply as well. As we talked about her, I learned that many of the qualities I love most about him were learned from her. So in tribute to her, here is his remembrance of Jean Gibbs:

Jean Gibbs was the first person, other than an aunt, who really showed me what relationships are all about.

I met Jean through her daughter Hilarie when I was in high school, and I soon learned that Jean Gibbs knew more about being a teenage boy than I did. I would perch on a stool in her kitchen and watch the family interact. As they came and went, they would talk to me—especially Jean, who would impart her words of wisdom in her gentle, knowing way as she prepared cranberries in more ways than I ever imagined.

I never felt like just another kid passing through. Years later, I would take my wife to meet the Gibbs family and she, too, was welcomed like a member of the family.

Jean and Phip taught me by example how to love each other, and Jean gave me some rules about what women need. I needed to make my family better than what I had come from, and Jean helped me to do that. She taught me:

• “It’s nice to have a man around the house.” By this she meant that little things like drippy faucets are not so little to the woman who has to listen to it, and even though the husband is tired when he comes in, it is important to fix those “little” things.

• “I love it when we think alike.” I learned that, if we weren’t thinking alike, things would go easier if I adjusted my thinking to hers.

• “It’s easier to hold onto someone you love if you hold loosely, not with a tight rein.” Was she talking about sheep, horses, or people? She explained that people need their personal space and it’s important to give them time and space to work out their differences.

From about the seventh grade, my family never ate together. There were eventually 10 kids, and there was no room in our house for everyone to gather at the table. I didn’t realize that families did that until I saw at the Gibbs’ house how important they made it to sit down together for dinner. Because of them, I made a point for our family to eat together when our children were growing up.

I learned from Jean and Phip to keep a sense of humor about life. When Hilarie and I were dating, I would often spend the weekend, sleeping on the couch since they lived more than an hour from my house. I remember one night after Jean and Phip went to bed, the two of us were sitting on the couch kissing. After a short while, we heard one shoe or boot hit the floor above us—hard. We waited for the other shoe to drop, then burst out laughing when it didn’t. We knew it was time to say good-night.

My wife and I have adopted similar humor. Jean used to say the first one to mention divorce would have to take the kids. Our first significant purchase was a brass bed, and we always said that the one to mention divorce first gets the kids and forfeits the brass bed!

Many of the things I have done and do to take care of my family are because of Jean’s lessons—teaching my daughter to dance, spending time in Boy Scout activities with my son, making sure my wife always drives the “good” car.

Jean made sure their house was a safe place for me when I needed someplace safe. When I did a dumb thing and they reprimanded me, I knew it must have been really dumb if Jean thought it was, so I never did it again. That probably kept me out of a lot of trouble later in life.

After I married, we visited the Gibbses several times. On one visit, Jean told my wife that she knew that Hilarie and I were too much alike, and that she was glad to see us happy and not fighting all the time. She was happy that I had found peace and happiness, and that meant a lot to me.

We saved every Christmas letter she wrote us, and out of all the Christmas letters we received each year, I cherished hers the most. It was a loss when she was no longer able to write her letters, but she was often in our thoughts.

The world is a lonelier place knowing that Jean Gibbs is no longer in it. But I’ll always remember that she could pitch hay with the best of ‘em.

Signed by the Author

The conference I attended last week included a number of writers who were signing their books. I am always amazed how long people will stand in line for a book to be signed by the author.

Granted, these were not your ordinary book lovers—they all own or manage bookstores. I consider myself an “extreme” book lover, too. This is evidenced by the stacks of books in my house and the multiple books that I am reading at any one time.

Still, I had no desire to wait for as much as an hour to get an autograph. Just give me the book and let me go, thank you very much. Of course, my week was crammed with meetings, so I really didn’t have time to stand in line. And I tried really hard to avoid taking any books home with me, due to the new airline baggage fees. (I made an exception only for novels.)

Disclaimer: I have been known to queue up for certain authors in the past.

Why does having the author’s signature make a book seem more valuable? In the case of classics, it really does increase the value. Imagine what a signed copy of Huckleberry Finn would bring at Sotheby’s auction.

Do we treat ourselves with the same value? When we set out to perform a task, do we remember that the work we do is, in effect, a creation that is signed by the Author? Since God created us, He is making us into His handiwork. So whatever we do, or say, or how we act, reflects our Maker. And He always signs His work.

God, help me to remember that I am signed by the Author, and I am of great value.

Aliens in a Strange Land

I'm attending a convention where there's a lot of talk about high tech business solutions.

The rental car has OnStar, but no GPS. The GPS I brought with me doesn't cooperate, and the highways here are confusing. If you have a wireless, electronic pass, you can zoom right thorugh the toll booths, but without that, you need correct change or you'd better get in the line where there's a live person.

The TV in the hotel room shuts itself off after 30 minutes. I'm sure there's a way to deprogram it, but I can't figure it out. At least the bedside alarm clock/radio is easy to use.

I could use voice dialing for my new cell phone headset, but I have to read the manual to find out how to set it up.

The digital photo holder I got for Christmas is sitting next to the computer at home. It has the pictures I loaded initially, but I haven't had time to load the latest photos of the grandkids.

My MP3 player plays the same 20 songs because there's no time to load new ones. I'm tired of listening to Bob Dylan and the Kingston Trio when I'm walking.

High Tech is great, yet not so great. I'm writing this on a laptop in the convention center. There's a free public WiFi here, but the signal strength is so low, I can't get on the Internet. Meanwhile, my battery power is going down rapidly. Without power, all my high tech gadgets are just heavy paperweights.

I plugged in my cell phone at the last hotel, which we checked out of yesterday morning. After spending a day at SeaWorld before the conference started, I suddenly remembered the phone. Of course, the housekeeping manager at the hotel was gone by the time I called. I was facing a sleepless night as I thought of all the long distance calls being placed on my cell phone. But, lo and behold, there it was in the suitcase! I still don't remember putting it in there, but praise the Lord!

But those hours fretting over it made me realize how vulnerable I am to technology. Someone today said that those of our generation are aliens in a strange land. We can't keep up with the natives, who have been born and raised with texting, IM, MP3s, social networking, blogs. They don't know what the world was like before the Internet. If it weren't for Harry Potter, they probably wouldn't know what it's like to curl up with a good (low tech) book.

Aren't we all aliens in a strange land? According to 1 Chronicles 29, we are "aliens and strangers in [God's} sight" and everything we have belongs to Him (14-16, NIV). If we want to learn how to live in this world, whether high tech or low tech, we need His guidance

Technology is great, but there are times when I will choose the low-tech option for simplicity's sake. And, sometimes, I think I'll just go "no tech" and listen to what God is trying to tell me without all the "buzz" from the atmosphere around me.

“Forgive the Typos”

Where I work, we often receive copies of books for possible review in our magazine. One that arrived the other day had been self-published.

Now, many good books have been self published. What struck me about this one was the white index card stuck in the middle that had a hand-written note stating, “Please forgive the typos.”

The author may have had very good reasons for not realizing there were errors until after the book had been printed. No doubt, he wanted us to know that he realized the mistakes were there.

Isn’t that often what we do? We do something that we know is wrong, then we say, “God, please forgive my mistakes."

I have good intentions not to gossip, but I hear about a co-worker who is having problems and I tell a friend about it. Later, I pray, “I’m sorry, God. Please forgive me.”

Or God has convicted me that my tendency to complain is wrong, and I vow to keep a positive attitude. And I do—until a project with an unrealistic deadline is assigned. Then the old spirit rears up and spits out sarcastic, bitter comments. But again, I say, “Oops, God. Just don’t pay any attention to my errors.”

“Please forgive my typos,” I say to God again and again. The good news is, He does. “He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west” declares Psalm 103:12 (NLT).

Even though God forgives my sins, I wonder if I am taking the easy way out when I knowingly commit a “mistake,” expecting God to overlook it. Still, it is reassuring to know that I can go to Him when I mess up and that He will, indeed, forgive me.

So today, Lord, when I sin—because I will, whether intentionally or not—please forgive my typos.

Kicking and Screaming, Part 2

Today I felt like God was smacking me “upside the head.” Lovingly, of course.

Two friends and I started prayer-walking this morning. We decided to pray silently as we walked, which was a good thing, since I don’t think I could have prayed out loud without getting choked up. Every time I tried to pray what I thought we should, God jerked me around. It seemed as though He was saying, “No, honey, that’s not what you need to be praying about. I want you to pray about your own heart.”

Then, in devotions—I’m blessed that we have devotions every morning at work—we sang Have Thine Own Way and I Surrender All. And God kept asking me, “Why won’t you trust Me, honey?”

See, I have been praying for something specific to happen, something that I thought was the only way a certain situation would improve. But I realized this morning that God is big enough to change the situation in an even better way than I envisioned. He wants me—instead of telling Him what to do—to just trust Him.

As if that wasn’t enough to convince me, I picked up a devotional book around lunchtime. I turned “by chance” to a chapter about trusting God. Once again, I realized that I haven’t been trusting Him to take care of the difficult situation.

Tonight, I found these verses in Nehemiah 18:

“So turn from your evil ways, each one of you, and reform your ways and your actions.' But they will reply, ‘It's no use. We will continue with our own plans; each of us will follow the stubbornness of his evil heart’ ” (verses 11-12).

It’s pretty clear that God wants me to change, instead of praying for other circumstances to change. My heart is stubborn, but God is pulling me—kicking and screaming as I am—back toward Him. Now I just have to trust Him to help me change, because I sure can’t do it on my own.

Kicking and Screaming, Part 1

Ever feel like you’re being pulled kicking and screaming into something you don’t want to do?

That’s the way I feel lately—like Jesus is pulling me. Not to do something bad, of course, or even to do anything uncomfortable.

The truth is, there’s this habit I’ve picked up. Not one of the “big” sins, mind you, like drinking or gambling, but one of those Paul talks about: “They are filled with all unrighteousness, evil, greed, and wickedness.…They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, arrogant, proud, boastful,…unloving and unmerciful. Although they know full well God's just sentence—that those who practice such things deserve to die—they not only do them, but even applaud others who practice them” (Romans 1:29-32, HCSB).

Ouch. Gossips and slanderers are right there alongside God-haters.

Somehow, over the last few years, I’ve slipped into this habit. I don’t want to give it up. To give it up, I’d have to actually forgive someone who hurt me. Jesus says forgiveness means forgetting, too. At least, that’s what He does.

So if I forgive this person, I also have to forget how hurt I was. And not ever bring it up again—to anybody. It feels like that would be saying it wasn’t important—that I wasn’t important. That how I felt and what I had done wasn’t important. I’m not sure I’m ready to accept that.

But a good friend says we—all of us—need to pray and ask God to sweep out the hidden corners of our lives. She asked me to be part of a prayer group at work. I said I would, because I know God wants me to.

That doesn’t mean I have to like it. So I’ll try, but I’ll be kicking and screaming on the inside.

GPS for elderly parents

My 96-year-old mother’s been in a nursing home for over a year, but we can’t sell her home. Or even her 1990 Toyota Camry, which sits in the carport unused except when some of us come to visit.

My mother-in-law has been living with one of her other sons for several years now. He feels guilty but feels like he has no choice but to put her into a nursing home soon.

A friend at work is bringing her mother from four hours away to look at an assisted-living facility so she can be nearby. My friend says her mother has been indecisive, one week wanting to make the move and another time wanting to stay where she is.

Indecisiveness seems to capture this stage of life. Elderly parents know they need to change their living situation to one that works better for their stage of life, yet they cling to the familiar. Children want their elderly parents to be safe, yet don’t want to be pushy or force them into an uncomfortable environment.

Selling the car or the house carries a sense of finality with it. She won’t ever drive again. She’ll never live in her own home.

It’s a passage of life—and not one that any of us looks forward to, for ourselves or our parents.

But the psalmist said, “all the stages of my life were spread out before you [God], the days of my life all prepared before I'd even lived one day” (Psalm 139:16, Message).

Helping parents make decisions—or making the choice for them—as they near the end of life is not easy. God doesn’t give us the Google maps directions: “Turn left at the next light.”

But He does promise that He knows each day of our life, and He will be with us as we make these choices.

Baby Steps and Dieting

My husband and I went to a nutrition class at the Y.

I was expecting a boring review of the food pyramid and a lecture on eating right. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised by an instructor who barely mentioned the pyramid and was realistic about what it takes to change habits.

She encouraged us to take “baby steps,” starting by drinking more water, writing down what you eat, and not eating for two hours before bedtime. I can do this, I decide.

It reminds me of the movie, What About Bob?, when Richard Dreyfuss encourages Bill Murray to take baby steps to get over his multiple phobias. It occurs to me that baby steps can be applied to other areas of life, too—such as my writing, and my spiritual walk.

I’ve been working on a novel for two years now. Or mostly thinking about it, not writing. But if I apply the baby step principle, maybe I can work on it in small chunks when I have 15 minutes instead of waiting until I have a two-hour block.

Applying the principle to my spiritual life, I will focus on getting through one day without saying something critical about someone. I will try to spend five minutes reading the Bible and praying instead of putting it off until I have 30 minutes.

Dear Jesus, help me to take “baby steps” toward becoming more like You.