A Time to Lose

One-hundred and eighty-three pounds. That's what I weigh. As a sixty-two year old woman, who has dedicated three and a half years of my life to diet and exercise, this must be the end of the world. I have gained twenty-three pounds. And I must admit that it did get me down for awhile. However, I have brought my diabetes under control. I am gardening, and I am back on the treadmill stronger than ever.

You see, along with my other medical problems, I suffer from cluster headaches. Often considered a man's disease, cluster headaches can bring a tough man to his knees. This tough woman was brought to near screams. Cluster headaches involve the main nerve in the face, called the trigeminial nerve (sometimes called the trigeminal migraine). From there liquid fire can travel to every nerve in the face, closing off the sinus on one side, and in my case included the head, the nose, the eye, and inner ear. The strangest thing about these migraines is the fact that they come on time, every day. You can set your watch. So, no matter how good you feel, when 8:40 p.m. comes around, watch out. It's like a little dirty trick. It is no mystery to me why this headache is often called the suicide headache. Sadly, there are those who have committed suicide. Not me. I got help.

Anything can trigger these headaches: smells, brushing your teeth, mouthwash, dust, and the list goes on. In my case, exercise also brought them on. I could not use my treadmill for six months. I had reached the point, where I could not wash a glass, wipe a counter, or wash my hair or face, without triggering pain so horrendous, it made me scream. It took about six months of medication, slowly increasing, for my headaches to come under control. I am now pain free.

My medicine has one unpleasant side effect, however. It has nearly shut down my metabolism. Hence the twenty-three pounds. However, stepping out of the pain corridor and into a normal life is a blessing, beyond compare. So, here I am in the middle of a conundrum - dreaded weight gain versus dreaded pain. I hate both. So, here is my strategy. No big deal. Exercise. Back onto the treadmill. One mile a day, at the very least. Every day, all over again.

Beginning again. It's not what I expected to have to do. Starting over. Back to the starting gate. Why me, Lord? The answer He gave me? Well, Jaye, you're so good at it. Who says the Lord doesn't have a sense of humor? So, I'm starting over. That's what God expects me to do. That's His plan, because I'm good at it And maybe there's someone out there who needs to know that starting over is a good thing.

Yesterday was a good day. In fact, it was a great day! Doing the gardening I love: hauling hoses, soaking trees, planting plants, a little nap in the afternoon, then back to the yard. Just plain getting dirty. That's my favorite thing in the whole world. I haven't been able to do this in over five years. Now I can. Thank you, God! You see, I'm starting over there, too.

So, here I go, doing what God says I do best. Rethinking my diet. Sticking to the treadmill. And praising the God who holds each breath in His hand for just one more day outdoors. You see, I realize now, that we can't often make the life that we planned; but we can, joyfully, love the life He has given us. And that's the best day anyone can have.

With love,

Jaye

A Time for Self-Reflection

Hello friends,

I have a friend in India, who writes me from time to time. She is bright, self-disclosing, and very kind. She, like I am, is a Christian, but oh the difference I find in my Indian brothers and sisters, than in my American brothers and sisters. When India has a call to prayer it is a powerful thing. They call for a transformation of the human spirit, while my American brothers and sisters often have a call for a larger gymnasium or a new wing to the Church. In fact, lets forget the wing. Why not simply build a bigger building, or raise a larger Cross? I do see an immersion in my country in material things, and, sadly, the American Church does not see how much they worship prosperity and pleasure.

Jesus said, "a time is coming when the true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and in Truth." I wonder what He thinks about America when He looks upon us? I doubt that He is amused or impressed.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day in America. My family will be spoiling me much more than I deserve. It is a very joyous time. How wonderful to be appreciated and celebrated. May I remember, as I accept the beautiful love of my family, that God gave me their love. May I remember the Mothers who will suffer, without celebration. Those who weep, undeserved, and those who are truly alone, may I celebrate them in my heart.

Come, Lord Jesus! While I am unworthy, I am believing, and I am surely ready.

With love,
Jaye

A Time for Feasting

Hello friends,

After an early spring, and then a return to harsh winter, then back to almost summer, we still have devastated trees in our yard. Perhaps the most painful sight for me is my tall flowering pear, which I planted as a twig eight years ago. The white blossoms were breathtaking this year, then a sudden drop into winter blasted the little pears just as they began to appear. It looks dead, much like the fig tree that Jesus cursed, because it didn't bear fruit. (I've always felt sorry for that fig tree.) This was different, however, the trees bore too soon, and now they look like death.

Soon we will have rain, and the rain will replenish the earth. Renewal will come, as will new healthy leaves. There will be no fruit this year, making it harder on the birds of the air that visit my yard. All are welcome to my feeders and bird bath -- the beautiful as well as the unlovely. All are invited to the feast -- the starlings, the grackles, the cowbirds, and the crows, as well as the robins, the cardinals, the sparrows, the blue jays, the hummers, the blue birds, and the rose breasted grosbeaks. My yard does not discriminate, for each is precious to me.

Because of that sharp return to winter, natural foods in the wild are scarce, so we have been blessed with the loveliest of visitors. Yesterday, I had a close encounter with a pink-breasted house finch. No fear was in this little bird's heart. He saw that I hurried to fill the empty feeder, and he awaited me. Then he popped into the feeder, not three feet from me. I spoke to him, and he was not startled. Busy at his meal, he allowed me to clamor around in my effort to fill the next feeder, spilling seed, and dropping covers. It warmed my soul. He didn't stir, as I moved on to the bird bath, in fact he met me there. Even as I struggled with the water hose, he stayed and cocked his head at me.

"Would you like a cold shower?" I asked. He seemed to nod yes; so ever so lightly I turned on the spray, sprinkling the water. He dipped down to drink, so I moved the nozzle and gently sprayed over him. His wings flapped with pure joy, as he washed his feathers, then he flew to a nearby limb, so that I could empty and refill the humble bird bath.

That encounter was unasked for, yet freely given, and even now, it brings tears to my eyes. So, little birds, the unlovely with the lovely; come to my yard, one and all, and feast. Perhaps it is I who need you, more than you need me.

With love,
Jaye Lewis

A Time For Understanding

Hello friends,

Soon my girls will be finished with their semester at their university. We will have the entire summer together. It's our favorite thing - just being together. My husband will be able to take a day off here and there, and we have many plans. We will garden, write, and read, just for the love of reading. Who does not love the reading of real books - feeling the pages slip between our fingers; hearing them as they turn; and getting sleepy as dandelion puffs brush across our faces? And what about fireflies as the sun goes down and the moon comes up; the sounds of peepers on the wind; and most of all, just being?

This will be a different season for me. I will be able to breathe outside. You see I'm an asthmatic, and finally, at 62 there is enough medication for me to be able to breath. I also suffer from a type of headache, which makes the sinuses burn up into one's brain, like liquid fire. The tears and nose stream, and outside is an impossible place to be, because anything can set it off. It's called Cluster Headache. None of us knew. But not this year. This year there's a new medicine, and even today, a very hot and dry day, I was able to go outside and breathe.

Most people want to get rid of the dandelions. Seeds beget more dandelions and soon the yard is filled with nothing but dandelions, but, you see, I have been waiting for this day for more than ten years, just to feel the blessed "wish-givers" brush across my face, as I blow them into the wind.

My wish? It has already been fulfilled, this day.

With love,
Jaye

A Time to Dance

Hello friends,

When tragedy strikes, all seems lost. Immersed in the grief, terrified to allow my children out of my sight, no matter their ages, I often forget to look about me and see the real joys in my life. So here, I'd like to celebrate a few with you.

Early each day my husband awakens me with a tender touch. I have early medications to take, but his smile and his gentle ways make me feel young and full of life. While I am rubbing the sand out of my eyes and counting my pills, he brings me a mug of coffee. That first sip is the best of the day. It's just us. For a moment the world is full of joy, just to be awake and together.

In a few minutes, our daughters may be up, and they wish us a good-morning. They pile on the bed, with cups in hand, and it is then just the four of us. We lift our cups into the air, and we clink, "Tink! I love everyone in this room!" We say. And we mean it.

Everything that happens after that moment is blessed by that love. Joy. Sorrow. Triumph and tragedy. Nothing will have been wasted, because we took that moment to say, "This is our day. This is our time. This is our love. This is our time to dance.

What tomorrow will bring, I cannot know; and sometimes the not knowing is worst of all. But for today, at this moment, I cannot help but thank God for giving us our time to dance.

With love,
Jaye

A Time to Weep

Hello friends,

This has been a week like no other in Southwestern Virginia, the home of Virginia Tech. So many questions have filled my soul, and we have shed buckets of tears. Although my daughters go to a different school, in another state, no place seems safe anymore. For us, especially so, because we have a connection to Virginia Tech.

My daughter, Helen, spent 3 semesters at Virginia Tech, in Blacksburg Virginia. She was accepted into their Engineering Program with highest honors. She spent much of her days inside the building where the carnage took place. That's where all her professors' offices were. She looked forward to being a student of Professor Librescu, the holocaust survivor who laid down his life for his students, so that they could escape. There were other brilliant professors, as well, that she looked forward to working with. It is significant that Professor Librescu was killed on Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is a reminder, to me, that holocaust is not far from any of us, at any time.

By the time that Helen entered her third semester, it was obvious that she was unhappy. She was under terrible stress. She was making all A's, but very unhappily. And I believe that we should not only do what we love, but we should also love what we do. There seemed to be little connection, I will say, spiritually, between the students and the teachers at Virginia Tech. While a few of Helen's teachers were wonderful, in other areas many things were overlooked that made Helen feel very unsafe.

It would have been easy for us to say, "Stick it out. Go forward. Let nothing stop you. Stay at Virginia Tech, and conquer your fears." However, in my many visits with Helen, I began to feel an intense pressure of unease. I would wait for her classes to end, and I would wait for her to walk through the door.

What was wrong with me, that I could not quench a burning desire, to bring her home? At the same time our other daughter, Jenny, was attending another university, south of where we live. The teachers and the atmosphere were caring, and her classes were exciting. Very little pressure was put on the students, and there was an open feeling to the entire campus.

I began to ask Helen what she really wanted out of school and her life. I talked with my husband and her. I prayed. Over and over I felt as though God were saying, "Helen doesn't belong here. Bring her home."

Before the next semester Helen was able to transfer to Jenny's university, where her talents are celebrated, and encouragement and "hands on" teaching, are the order of the day. The change has been miraculous. Helen has been so happy, and still is, until the day of the carnage at Virginia Tech.

If Helen had stayed at Virginia Tech; if we had coerced her to stay in the big school with the big name; there is no doubt that Helen would have been in the Engineering Building, that moment, that day. At the time that I was praying and feeling the pressure of God on my heart, I would have moved Heaven and Earth to make her leave Virginia Tech. I was ready to lay down in the driveway, if necessary, to keep her from driving away. I cannot answer why, except that God would not let me leave her there.

I have wrestled with this for three days. Along with my grief at the horror that was perpetrated in twenty minutes in the halls of a building where my daughter would have been, I do know this: I thank God that He is so hard on me. When He puts Godly pressure on me, it is nearly impossible to ignore. I thank Him, because Helen was not there. There is a terrible guilt that comes with that gratitude; the gratitude that makes me say, "Thank you, Lord, that it was not my child."

I'm not sure I know what the message is, except this: when we say good-bye to those we love, when we hug them, we must make every second of that hug count. Hug, love, and pray, as though we have the lips of God pressed to our ear. There may come a time that we will be certain that we do.

With love,
Jaye

A Time to Gain

Hello friends,

There is a certain irony in focusing on the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible. With each measure of time there is an equal and opposite statement, as in "a time to gain, and a time to lose." I could not stop thinking about this, as I once again climbed upon my treadmill and slowly measured my steps, after my last fall. I also considered all the weight that I had lost, before I was put on my new medication. Then I thought about the weight I gained during the time that I could not use my treadmill.

I had walked my way up to 40 minutes of continued walking every day. I had lost 40+ pounds, and I felt like I was never going to see those 40 pounds ever again. Well, that was before the cluster headaches, and that was before this new medication. I gained back nearly 20 pounds. So, I guess you could call that my "time to gain."

Today, I did not run a marathon. I did not leap from a helicopter on my boogie-board, nor land like a gazelle on the frozen snow and ski my way down the side of a mountain. But I began a new journey. My latest fall made speed impossible, in fact, I was slower than I was before, and I had to stop at fifteen minutes, but I began. Now is my "time to lose" again.

I will not get hysterical about this. Other people have bigger problems, and fifteen minutes is still a half a mile more than doing nothing. I think that much of our lives are like this "losing" and "gaining." Wherever we are in this simple wisdom of the Bible, it is still our time. Perhaps it is our time, also, to thoughtfully consider what is worth losing; and in gaining, what are we willing to give up to get there.

Much is made, these days, about "winning." Gaining wealth. I am no expert on wealth, but I do believe I know what it means to be rich -- a hand to hold in the sunset of our lives, the love of our children, friends (if we are so blessed), our pets, and a relationship with God. Those are the things that make us truly rich. Everything else is just "stuff."

With love,
Jaye

A Time to Contemplate

Hello friends,

This morning I took a "walk-about," not as my Australian friends might, but around my acre parcel of land -- small as compared to the Outback, but large as compared to the suburbs. The last week we have had one killing frost after another. This is after our early spring-like weather in late February and March. Everything was in bloom, more than a month too early -- the daffodils, the tulips, the trees, and especially the Magnolias.

The beautiful Magnolias. I have loved them all my life, always being too poor to afford them or too far north to grow them. Last year we were able to buy two young trees, Magnolia 'Jane,' which were planted late, suffered severe drought and insect pests, and yet, this year they bloomed, in breathtaking velvet-pink shades and with a honey-like fragrance. My daughter Jenny took a hundred pictures, capturing every shade, every graceful curve, and almost capturing its fragrance. Then they were frozen. By the second day, the flowers hung there looking so much like wilted lettuce, brown and unappetizing.

Yesterday, on Easter Sunday, I just sobbed. My entire garden, flush with bloom way too soon, was nothing but a pile of old lettuce, just waiting for warmer weather, so that it could begin to stink. It was a truly "all-about me" moment; and some of it was "all-about-my-mother." The magnolias, especially, were like a tribute to her; loving them all her life, she never had them. My father never understood that she would rather have had plants than crystal; she would rather have planted trees than diamonds. My mother could make anything grow. Plants loved her. She would have loved my magnolias. She would have loved that my husband bought them for me, and she would have been so touched that my daughter, Helen and he picked them out together. To my mother, that is the evidence of a great love.

Later in the evening, we all took out our Bibles and did our Easter study. We read about a young man, Jesus, who died too soon. We read about a perfect God who willingly gave up his life, so that I might sob over my garden. We read about his trial in a garden; and most of all, we read about his resurrection, which guaranteed eternal life for me. We also read about his friends, who had betrayed him, and we read about his followers who still were wrapped in fear. Then we read about His resurrection and unconditional forgiveness, a promise for all humans that salvation is not only possible, but it is freely given to those who believe. Again I sobbed, but this time it was with shame, that I would forget that gardens, too, will resurrect and bloom again.

So, as I walked through my garden this morning, the frost still clinging to the trees, I felt a sense of wonder that a God so great and loving, would come after me and capture my heart. I felt understanding fill my soul, as I realized that I am still God's favored child, much like my precious daughters are to me. He still loves my laugh; and He still turns happily at the sound of my voice.

My garden will bloom again, as will the call of my Savior, once I get past myself and focus on Him.

With love,
Jaye

A Time to Rest

Hello friends,

Today my walk on my treadmill lasted a full minute and a half. You see, I fell yesterday, while racing behind my Happy Dog, who was hot on a trail. Yes, weenie dogs are trackers, and their noses always rule. I twisted my ankle and pulled muscles that I didn't know I had. Louie, my husband, said, "you'll be resting tomorrow." Like the stubborn nearly 61 year old that I am, I assured him, "oh, I think I'll be all right."

Well, the spasms in my foot, my hip, and my back, after a minute and a half on my treadmill, said, "oh no you're not!" So here I am, talking to you, and admitting to you, "oh no I'm not." I could swear that ten years ago, maybe fifteen, I could bounce back in a night, but no more. That extra eighteen pounds that I gained with my new medication will just have to wait, and I will rest.

It's occurred to me that God wants us to rest. To rest and to think. To realize what we have. In my case, my vanity is involved, and since I'm using the inspiration of Ecclesiastes to write my blog, let me not forget that the second line of Ecclesiastes tells me, "All is vanity." Okay, Lord, I'm listening. Help me to make it through the day. Help me to look into my mirror and see myself as my husband does, a fresh, pretty, lovely woman, inside and out. But most of all, let me see myself as you do, and may I ever see what I hope to see...You in me.

With love,
Jaye

A Time of Wonder

Hello friends,

Every once in a while in the Southern Appalachians, we have just enough winter to create the perfect spring. This year is the perfect spring. I went for a walk this morning and cherry trees were simply loaded with blossoms. My Bradford Flowering Pear, that I planted as a seedling eight years ago, is simply bursting with huge, white blooms. It towers nearly to the roof of our house, and we have two levels. It's BEAUTIFUL!

Last year we had drought, and it hurt to see our newly planted Magnolias choking and dying, but this morning, there they were: rejuvenated and bursting with the promise of purple pink blooms. My Redbud is towering, which is unusual for a Redbud, and it is loaded with tiny, pea-like buds that will soon flush with perfect pink blooms. Even some of my tiniest Redbuds have a bloom or two. But the biggest surprise lays at the back of our property. Planted as a seedling, also eight years ago, is the thorn tree. Supposed to be a Washington Hawthorn, it is not, and it is loaded with four-inch long thorns, that my husband says are a "b#tch" to mow around.

This thorny, unlovely tree has survived explosion after explosion from the installation of our sewer line. It has survived years of drought, and years of the worst insect inundations, that have had me running for my Bible just to figure out when the "chewing locusts" were going to arrive. But I have grown to love that tree, even when we discovered that it's first blooms would not appear for twelve years. As I said to my husband, only half kidding, "I would have been sixty-five."

Standing at the top of the slope with my "weenie dog," I looked down at that thorny tree, and what did I see? A bloom. When Happy and I finally reached the bottom (you never rush a weenie dog, when he is reading the grass), there were TWO blooms. My heart filled up with wonder! Two blooms. Two little bouquets, sent by God above, four years early. Just for me.

I can't explain to you why this little treasure filled my heart with so much wonder, when there is so much more this spring, but the blooming of the thorn tree has won the prize in my heart; and I think I know why.

Aren't our lives a lot like this thorn tree? Sometimes quite unlovely, prickly with thorns, and then, when we least expect it, in one wonderful springtime in our lives, we bloom. We show them all! And most of all, we show ourselves.

I am in the autumn of my life. God has brought me through illness after illness, and like that unlovely tree, sometimes it feels as though my way is filled with thorns. But God never gives up on me. There will be a new medicine. I'll have to try harder to lose that extra eighteen pounds, but in my husband's eyes and in the eyes of my children, and best of all, in the eyes of God, I bloom. So today, my heart is filled with blooms and wonder.

With love,
Jaye Lewis

A Time for Thanksgiving

Hello friends,

I'm writing to you from my laptop in my bedroom today, instead of my office. Instead of being in my lap or on my shoulder, Happy Dog is in his crate. He is not pleased; so I have chilled the room down and turned on his electric blanket. There is nothing a "weenie dog" loves more than warmth. You see, we almost lost Happy this week-end. He had a normal procedure, just the removal of some cysts -- a little slip of the scalpel and a few stitches. On the way home he started bleeding -- drip, drip, drip, and he soaked through my clothes. We did an immediate turn around, and, thankfully, the best emergency vet in the world was on duty. Thank God, Happy is recovering, my clothes are in the trash, and I have my weenie dog to annoy and delight me for a long, long time.

One of my reasons for sharing this is to remind you that a dog's blood loss is a very urgent emergency. Especially for small dogs, but also for large dogs. A pint from us is easy to share, but a pint from them can mean the death of a dog. For Happy, just a few more tablespoons and I would have lost him. No more warm body stealing my space on the bed; no more ice-cube nose thrust into the small of my back; no more sharp kicks telling me to move over; no more funny tricks as we play dodge-ball with a slipper; and no more face turned up to mine, just to let me know I am his world. With every drip, drip, drip, it felt as though my life was pouring out, along with Happy's.

Today, Happy is recovering under his super dog pressure bandage, that looks like a bright blue and white T-shirt. He is not allowed to play or run around. That is for another day, when we will once again resume our merry chase.

So I thank God for the precious instinct that He gave me, to see the unusual and to act immediately; for a vet who knew what to do; but most of all for the charm, laughter, and mischief that is Happy Dog. Thank you Lord, for his life!

With love,

Jaye

A Time to Speak

Hello friends,

Today has been one of those days that middle aged women often have, where the blood sugar and the blood pressure seem at war. I hate these days. I want to get busy. But I've been given this day to think, to ponder, and to share.

I want to share with you stories of some special souls that God has given to me. These are souls without a voice, unless I listen with my eyes, and with all of my heart. One precious soul you have met, if you have looked at his pictures above and below, my Happy Dog. He is the dog of my life, nine years old and still keeping his watch over me. The perfect heat seeking missile, he's under a blanket nearby.

Happy's voice says, "Mama, stay within sight; take me everywhere; and I will die for you." It's as simple as that. He would die for me. I know his voice, his real voice, that comes from his heart. There is no conflict; no wondering if he can slide by without honor; just one love...me. He has been by my side every day of his life, and he lives for me.

Then there is Jessie. He was supposed to be smaller. Much smaller. He is very big. He is very sensitive. He is often very scared. He's afraid of feet with shoes, scraps of paper, the T.V. remote, and the computer modem. He has a history that makes him so. He adores my husband, and he needs a lot of gentle reassurance from me. He is safe here. We will not let anyone harm him, including ourselves. He can be very fierce to outsiders. God help the person who ever tries to break into our house.

Peanut. Helen's little Pomeranian princess. Sassy. Bold. Funny and devoted. She is the youngest, and she has stolen all of our hearts. How could that happen when we were so unsuspecting?

Morgan. The Queen Mum. (No disrespect to the British) She just is. She is the oldest. She is fourteen years old. 85 in people years. She has given so much. Frail, now, I can still remember her standing in the river, desperately looking for a stray fish, and running through the meadow with such abandon. The Alpha female, always in charge, now the other dogs still defer to her, and I wish I could hear the patterns of their voices, saying, "Yes, your Majesty, you still rule in our hearts."

MeowMeow. The cat who never stops talking. An outdoor cat simply because she loves me so much she relieves herself on my pillow. Talking and going to the bathroom on my pillow. Along with eating those are MeowMeow's ways of saying "I love you." And she does. She loves me, and she follows me around the yard, wherever I go. She is precious, and she speaks to me, constantly. She makes my heart just ache, because I know she forgives me for the outside. Besides she loves the butterflies, and the mouse who shares her bed, and the birds who share their water. MeowMeow is like no other cat.

But there is one voice whom we will never hear from again. A little white and gray, calico Manx, who worshipped no one except our daughter, Helen. Snoopy would wait on the fireplace mantle (it was her spot), until Helen came back from college. Almost seeming not to care, at first, she would fly off the mantle and into Helen's arms, as she sat down. Helen would catch up on old times, and Snoopy would lower her ears and close her eyes for a good stroking. Snoopy loved Helen, and it was magic to watch.

How Snoopy got out of the house is irrelevant, but she did, and she ran, and ran, and ran, and no one could catch her. It was only later that we realized that she was looking for Helen. The neighborhood dogs, you don't want to know about; and six inches of rain the next day made it impossible for Happy Dog to follow her trail. No amount of advertisements or going house to house could find her. She was gone from our house forever, but never from our hearts.

I guess the point of this is that animals can't say what they want. They can't tell you they are thirsty, or as in Snoopy's case, a withering look and an adamant, "there's a hair in the water." Animals have no voice, or so I've heard; but they will speak, and they do, if we listen, with our eyes, with our hearts, and with our souls. And if we let them, they will change our lives forever.

Their time with us is so short. Morgan, fourteen, where every hug good-night, may mean "good-bye." Jessie, the large dog, who is seven, 54 years old. Large dogs age more quickly, and good-bye comes too soon. Peanut. Precious and pretty. So young, yet time passes swiftly. I know, because it seems like yesterday that I brought my tiny dachshund home, cradling him in the palm of my hand. Nine years old, and not in the best of health, still standing guard and ready to die for me.

I am not ready to say good-bye; but it will come, and I know it. So perhaps God sends these precious creatures into our lives, so that we will understand His grace; so that we will learn how to love; how to cherish; and how to change. We don't have much longer to change, but we can do it if we want to. Perhaps if we listen to the animals speak, they will teach us how.

With love,
Jaye

A Time of Threshing

Hello friends,

 

This is just a tiny note, which is unusual for me.  I wanted to share something with you.

 

The Bible tells me that at the end of the world, my Savior will come and "thresh" the nations.  Oh, I know that there are people who don't believe that, but I do.  What that means, exactly, is debatable even within the Christian community.

 

So I looked up the word "thresh," and I found that it means "to beat the stems and husks of grain or cereal plants."  It's how we get oatmeal, and the first step in getting flour for bread.  In order to get these precious foods, they must first be beaten from the stalk.  It is a necessary part of the life process.  It is also a necessary part of our lives.

 

I hate being threshed.  I hate the feeling of being beaten, but how wonderful is the feeling when I overcome.  We have all been beaten in some way.  We are all being threshed.  Even though I love the outcome, gosh, I hate the journey.

 

Friday a wonderful woman visited my website and blog, and she sent to me an Indian proverb:

 

"We have a saying in India that in order for henna to show her true colours, she has to be totally crushed before her true beautiful colour appears.  That is you."

 

I was so deeply touched that I was overcome with tears.  I cannot thank her enough.  So, it occurred to me, perhaps the threshing is not so bad if something beautiful comes of it.

 

Oh Lord my God, please carry us through the days of threshing, and bring us into the light of Your beauty.  Give us the strength as you carry us through.

 

May you have a wonderful week-end, my friends.  Take heart.  You are not alone, nor am I.

 

With love,

Jaye 

A Time of Deep Reflection

Hello friends,

Tomorrow is my mother's birthday. She would have been 91. As I grow older I find that I mark the date, March 13, and I'm usually quite teary eyed around this time.

My mother and I had a difficult relationship, to say the least. I cannot blame my mother for wanting someone different, but we did find peace in the end. She had a terribly unhappy life with my father, who fought demons of his own. Neither was happy, and I am convinced that neither would have known what to do with happiness, if it arrived in a great big box, all labeled and fluttering with ribbons.

My mother loved the little things: snowglobes and tiny plants. My father loved the grandstand. He was an accomplished musician, so he would write my mother a song. He would type the words onto a card for her birthday or their anniversary, and one problem, he would type his name at the end. Who does that? No message, just his name, typed.

Sadly, I don't believe my father loved anyone, including himself. My mother gave up years before she died. She died in the middle of an argument. A screaming match, really. She had this stomach ache that started in the morning, and only got worse through the day. My father told me this, later. As my mother cried and cried about her stomach ache, my Dad kept telling her, "take more antacid! It's just gas!"

The argument, much as my father's music, rose to a crescendo and then climaxed with my mother screaming, "I'm going to die!" My father, of course, shouted back, "oh no you're not!" And then, my mother fell back into her chair, threw up, and she died. My father did nothing. He wouldn't have known what to do anyway. And so, my mother was gone.

What has hurt me for most of the twenty-five years since, is that I was not there. I would have known what to do. I would have cleaned the vomit from her hair. That would have bothered my mother -- the vomit. I wasn't there to hold her in my arms and say, "Mommy, I am so thankful that the last words we spoke to each other was, "I love you."

Three little words. Nothing grand. Just I love you. Small things that mean so much. On my website at www.entertainingangels.org you can read a couple of stories that I have written about my mother. There is a link on this page.

My mother. I loved her and I hated her. That was simply the only relationship she would allow. I miss her every day.

Saturday, there was a contrast in my personal life. I got out of bed and I had a fainting spell. Out of the love that dwells within them, my two daughters sprang into action. Calling my husband they hovered over me, taking my blood pressure, which had fallen suddenly. My blood sugar was quickly monitored. Something was provided for me to throw-up in. My feet were held high, as my head was lowered. In my chest, my heart so fluttered, like a flock of birds. I am now fine. But I thought of my mother, so alone with my father, which is the most alone she could have been.

I realized how blessed I am, to be loved, to be sheltered, to be cared for, to hear those simple words, "I love you" hundreds of times a day. Oh yes, I'm sure my mother is smiling for me from heaven. And finally I can smile for her.

Much love,
Jaye Lewis

A Time to Grow Old

Hello friends,

I haven't thought about it very often in the last 60 years. Okay, maybe 30 years. I remember turning 30 and having this moment of sickening panic, when I realized that I would never see twenty again. That day, two forty year old friends wrote me a poem, brought it to my house, and then recited for me, just how young 30 is.

I remember that 44 bothered me. Not 40, but 44, because I realized that more than half of my life was over, and one day I would die. I remember thinking that I hadn't experienced enough to think about dying. I needed to do more. Actually, the very thought about dying and knowing that my soul would live on, absolutely terrified me. I had too many unanswered questions.

It seems all too silly today, perhaps because I am facing my 61st birthday, and I am on yet two more new medications, on top of the ones I already take. Yippee.

What brings me to this place of reflection, is silly, really. You see, I have misplaced one of my new medications; and that just makes me crazy, but not as crazy as it would have made me at 55 or even 58 or even 59.

You see, I'm waiting for my daughter to come home. She will find it. She will find where I left my new medication, if she has to tear the house apart; if she has to straighten every magazine, dust every space, crawl under the bed, or find where the dog may have hidden it; or even, where my sometimes scattered brain can't remember where I set it aside last night in the dark. So, my heart is light, because I have somebody. In fact I have three somebody's, who will tear the house down and rebuild it, just to find what I need.

So, I don't need to fear getting old. I don't need to wonder who will love me, and if necessary, who will care for me. If the day ever comes, when I'm suddenly a five year old, and I can't make it to the bathroom fast enough, I know that I have three blessed someone's who will clean everything up, including me, and thank God for one more day, in which to do it.

There is a lot spoken of these days about riches; how fast you can get it; how much you can get; and how long you can keep it. I see it, and it disturbs me, because the greatest treasure on earth is to know that one is loved, and just how much.

Jesus said, that there was a man who so admired his treasures, that he built a huge barn to house it all. Jesus called him a fool. He said, "Thou fool! Tonight thy soul will be required of thee!" Then Jesus asked, how much will your treasure be worth then? Then he said one of my favorite passages in the Bible; he said, "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

So, here is my treasure, in the heart of my husband; in the hearts of my children; and in the heart of God. I am very rich. I hope that you are too.

With love,
Jaye Lewis

A Time for Time

Hello friends,

I suppose that the title to this piece could be "a time to ponder," for that is what this piece is really about. Time. Making up time. Wasting time. Taking the time. And, of course, all the time in the world. That's where I am -- all the time in the world. That's what God has given me. Time.

I often don't like this gift. The time I missed my daughter's talent contest, where she won in a flurry of attention. The beauty pageant that she won with eyes alight with her inner beauty, and a smile that could light up the sun. There are so many things I have missed, because of health issues. So many things.

I am one of the lucky ones. I am blessed with a unique and lasting love of a man who truly understands that commitment. I have the love and devotion of two beautiful daughters, who count themselves blessed to make me a "throw-up" bag, or hold my head as I lean over the side of the bed.

Being like any other human being, I'd like to have more. I'd like to be able to leap to my feet in a crowd and applaud my daughters as they receive one award after another, but usually I cannot. They never suggest, with even a glance that I have let them down, and you know, I believe them.

So why not end it all, right now, as some would say. Why? Because God has given me time. The time to see the beautiful generosity of my children's souls. He has given me time to weigh the balance between what the world calls "love," and the wonderful, selflessness of my husband's devotion. He has given me time to really see who they are, and to tell them that I see.

God has given me time to understand the great riches of a warm hand brushing the hair back from my brow. He has given me time to see the great beauty blazing in the eyes of love. He has given me time to say, "you are my hero," and to mean every word.

He has given me time to gaze up at the stars on a crystal clear night, and to know that He created each one simply for my pleasure. He has given me time to watch a radiant sunset from the beginning to the end. He has given me time, so much time. And for those of us racing against time, I believe, He has given me the greatest gift of all.

With love,
Jaye

A Time to Surrender

Hello friends,

I don't really believe in magic or easy answers. Oh, I used to hope for them...when I was 10. But now that I am approaching 61, I have seen that "easy answers" come only after much hard work.

To put it another way, as a writer, I've found that I've had to work every day as though this will be the day I'll be hunted down and handed a million dollars to do what only hard work can bring me. Don't worry. I've never worked hard enough for a million dollars. It was said of one writer, an overnight sensation who spent ten years arriving at that lucky place: "He made a million dollars, but he spent six-hundred and fifty-thousand getting there." So I write stories that I love, and I hope that someone else will love them too. Sometimes I sell, and lots of times I don't, but I always love them.

I hate the testing times, those times that we must go through what makes us strong; but I love how God is able to do that, and still leave us able to love, and to give. I love that He can take our weakness -- my weakness -- and make us strong -- make me strong. In spite of me. While I'm complaining. While I'm shouting, "this should be easy. You're God, after all! Remember the universe? A flash of light, and it's there? You can make my pain go away. You can make my struggle disappear. I thought you loved me!"

How I can hurt His heart is beyond my comprehension, but I do, as I hurl insults and accusations. You see, I have every reason to be happy, and most of the time I am. I am loved by a man who lights up my world every time he walks into a room, and who lights my fire everytime he tells me that he loves me. I am adored by two daughters who can't do enough for me. I am safe in an unsafe world. I am dry. Comfortable. Well taken care of. I have everything already. Why would I want magic? Or easy answers? Why would I want riches, when the God that I worship gave everything up for me? So that I could go to Him and learn to surrender myself.

I don't want what the world can give. I want only what He gives, at least for today.

With love,
Jaye

A Time for Silence

Hello Friends,

Silence. That peaceful feeling in the dark watches of the night. That is when I feel God's closeness the most. I can feel the excitement as I realize I can say anything to my Maker, and He will understand. Anything. I tell Him about my disappointments of the day, or my life, and I share with Him my joys. How sweet was the smile of my husband, right before he drifted off to sleep. The delight in the eyes of my daughters as I have yet one more story or article published. Every smile; every delight meant for me. Themselves forgotten. Just my happiness in their eyes. These are eternal gifts, given to me by God. As my eyes close, and I finally drift off to sleep, I know that I am a blessed woman.

So, this is what I give to each of them, the gift of silence, when my aches and pains have troubled me all day. The gift of laughter, instead of tears. A smile, instead of a frown. Not something fake, but something that comes from deep within my soul. First the action, and then the feeling follows.

The gift of silence I give to my God. So that I can listen. So that I can understand. So that I can follow, and bless Him for His blessings. Here Lord. Here is my heart. Here is my ear, so that in listening, I may truly hear. Thank you for every blessed thing in my life.

With love,
Jaye

A Time to Heal

Hello Friends,

Recently I have thought much about healing. Where does it rest? Where does it lie? In the heart? In the body? In the soul?

There are those who will insist that if we have enough money, then we will be healed. There are also those who will say, "If you send me your money, then God will heal you." There are other conditions and programs that a host of people will tell you will heal you. The five steps...the seven steps...the ten steps. Listen to me! Follow my advice! Have enough faith in God! Have enough faith in me! The cacophony of noise is endless, like walking through the Midway at the fair. Look at me! Follow me! Hear me!

I think that healing is somewhere else. I believe that healing is in the heart of God. His love. His strength. Not my own. His hand holding mine. So little I am, without any power of my own. That is where I find my strength. That is where I find my healing.

God pulls me out of the waters, and I can feel the solid rock beneath my feet. I may still stumble. I may be poor and needy. I may be wracked with disease. My body may be crippled, but that is just for the blink of an eye that is my time upon this earth. I am healed when I am totally dependent upon Him...helpless, afraid, and wondering why. I am safe now, in His sheltering arms.

With love,
Jaye Lewis

A Time of Peace

Hello Friends,

There's not much peace in the world today, is there? I can feel it in my own country, and we see it every day on the news and online. It's very disturbing, and sometimes I think our leaders do not know where they are taking us. Sometimes they seem to have tunnel vision, a lot like my big, dumb dog.

My big dumb dog knows where he wants to end up, but it doesn't occur to him that there might be people in the way. He just charges forward, keeping his head down like a battering ram, figuring everyone will move aside. He looks neither to the right nor the left. He doesn't comprehend the consequences. In fact, consequences don't matter, as long as he arrives.

Of course, war is more serious than that, but in some cases the principle is the same. There simply isn't going to be a peace, and for the life of me, I don't know how a blood bath is going to bring peace about. Peace and blood are mutually exclusive. Blah. Blah. Blah. No one is listening to a sixty year old woman with health problems.

So how do I find peace? I have to look within myself. I have to find that part of me where God dwells, and find my peace in Him. This is not easy for me, but it is a place that I try to go every day. I have to honestly say that in all my sixty years, the only place that I have ever found peace, is at the foot of the Cross, on my knees. I guess blood and peace are not mutually exclusive after all, when One lays down His life to save the world.

Only in Christ can I find peace within my turmoil. Only in Him do I find answers to unanswerable questions.

May He give you peace in your heart today.

Blessings,
Jaye