8/30/2025
"The LORD is near to those who have a
broken heart, and saves such as
have a contrite spirit."
Psalm 34:18
I remember a time when Saturday mornings were eagerly anticipated, and although I still wait expectantly for the Sabbath message, something has been missing. Both last week and this Saturday I missed the services, because I allowed myself to enjoy time with my sister last week, and this week, I felt the Lord lead me another direction. I can always watch the services later, but not this time. I became so busy trying to catch up on some other things, to include writing, that my usual routine got a little topsy-turvy. I even made two trips to the grocery store this week, plus my little outing with my sister to celebrate our birthdays. I used to go to the grocery store once or twice a month, and now it seems as if I'm always going. But, never on the weekends. I seldom eat out on the weekends, either, but I did go out in the late afternoon with my son last Sunday. Another deviation from my normal habits.
I remember Blue Laws growing up, and I guess that is still pretty much part of my life. I never realized that Blue Laws began with colonial America mostly to enforce rest on the Sabbath day and religious holidays. Only businesses that were absolutely necessary were allowed to be open, and the rules varied from state to state. In Virginia only a few gas stations were open for travelers, but locals were always encouraged to fill up on gas and stock up on food by Saturday. I don't think it encouraged church attendance, but it did allow for rest for workers. Over time the rules changed, probably out of necessity and greed. I'm not an expert on these things, nor do I wish to speculate. But life sure was interesting back then, and as a child I never missed not being able to do things on Sunday. That was the day we went to church, then the families got together for dinner at Grammy's and Papa's. The cousins played outside in the woods, or at least that was my thing, and on rainy days I'd hole up in the upstairs bedroom plopped lazily across an old brown quilt on a brown metal bed that had a saggy mattress that squeaked. I think that same bed may be upstairs in my attic, as it houses a lot of old stuff, even an old dashboard from one of daddy's classic vehicles. He loved to keep things.
So today, I listened to quiet, instrumentals and painted faces for the Dolls on Mission. I still need to finish those, as I have been particularly slothful of late when it comes to painting anything. The most fun I've had lately has been cutting vines out of trees and chopping down bushes for Daniel to burn. It's not exactly his cup of tea, but we share the load. This place will be his one day, so I hope I can get it spruced up a bit before I say my adios.
Yesterday's blog really wore me down. I get tired fighting the same battle of ignorance, apathy, selfishness, and pure evil. But as I was reminded in our daily prayer call this morning this is the life of the intercessor. Although our numbers have decreased over the 394 days since the war with Hamas began, we are still strong. Most people on the call are engaged only in prayer for their countries, Israel, and the prayer points we have on any given day. There are some whose attention is divided like mine, but I don't think anyone is as engaged as I have been for as many years. My involvement dates back to the 70's, or possibly when I was a little kid so drawn to missionary life that I ate, drank and slept stories of foreign countries where health care was limited, people were starving, and mostly did not know Jesus. I had such great dreams of solving the world's hurts, curing the sick, feeding the hungry. I wanted to fill the void in each life, in each country, particularly those who needed it the worse. If there was filth, squalor, and heaps of refuse with children living on streets or used in brothels, I wanted to help. I'm pretty much the same today. Some things never change. On days when I don't follow my "normal" lifestyle, I think more. I'm not sure that's a good thing, because I remember things that have been pushed aside, unpleasant memories, hurts and such. I have learned one thing over all these years of ins and outs and ups and downs. I have learned how to survive, and I have learned how to love others as they are.
As I write this, I smile. Growing up I know we were not wealthy. Mama said they moved a lot when she was young, and they never owned a home. She said they lived in a home with wooden floor, with holes in the slats or planks. You see the chickens running around under the house. Mama would tell me stories about when daddy drove a semi-truck. Many times he'd get a load, leaving her with all the money he had in his pocket, which wasn't much until he delivered the load and got paid. Then he'd have to find another load to get home. One time my sister was sick, and mama didn't have money to go to the doctor. Dee's fever was very high, so while mama was downstairs in the basement washing clothes, she was praying. She told me that as she got ready to go upstairs, she saw Jesus on the steps. When she rushed upstairs she found my sister's fever had broken, and she was healed from that moment on.
I've had my own visit from the Angel of the Lord in this house. I guess we had taken my daughter to her dance recital, and because it was late when we got back to the house, I spent the night with my parents instead of driving back to Dinwiddie in the dark by myself with the children. I had three small children at that time. Kristie was four, TJ was two, and Daniel was one, or thereabouts. I was asleep in my old bedroom when I heard the sound of my door slamming open, except it was already open. I looked up at the door, and there stood a man in white. I remember lying there, unafraid. He was looking at me as if speaking yet without words. Then He turned and walked into my parent's room, moving around the bed on the side my daddy slept. I went into my parent's room and woke my daddy up to ask him if he needed something. Well, they both thought I was nuts, I guess. I can't remember anything after that other than I returned to bed after checking my children. I believe it was that night that my husband, who worked late, stopped at a store on the way home and had a gun put to his head. So many things happened in my marriage during that time that I don't know why Jesus came that night, but I know it was Him. One thing I know is that He has always been with me as He promised, and I know He always will. Since then there been other times when I had visions or dreams, warnings. The last one was in New Mexico in 2018, but that's a story for another time.
Memories have a way of taking us back in time, hopefully in a good way. Some days I think I know why God told me to get back here and buy this house. Other days I have buyer's remorse, because the repairs needed overwhelm, even my imagination. I get tired of thinking about it, and I get tired doing it. I know God is tired of hearing me say that I'm tired, so I make attempts to keep silent, but He knows everything. I'm here to help my son, to be closer to the other, and maybe provoke my daughter to jealousy so she'll remember what's truly important. I don't know. Perhaps I never will. I just need to be obedient. So, I try my best to write the story - mine and His, but all the glory goes to Him. He's the reason I'm here. He's all that matters. The house is a little extra He threw in to help me over the rough patches. He has a grand sense of humor, but He did give a patch of grass, as I asked...a huge patch.
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