She still believes....

A single tear streams down her cheeks from the corner of her eye. A tear of sadness or a tear of happiness? Hard to tell, but a tear none-the-less. She stares into the fire raging in the fireplace and just takes in the crackling sounds and the snapping of the flames. As she looks around the room, she sees the tree brightly decorated with beautiful packaging underneath. She even knows that there is a special one or two there for her. Her children are fighting back the closing of their eyes and she knows it won't be long before sleep will overtake their excitement and they'll be carried off to bed. She looks over at ther husband who is fighting to keep his eyes awake as well and she imagines the boy he once was.

As she waits for slumber to finally come for the family she knows she will be up for a while yet. There is still work to be done and a past to reconcile in her mind. It's going to be a long night but one that she must face alone. She thinks back to the days when her biggest concern on Christmas Eve was trying to stay awake long enough to hear the gentle rap of reindeer hooves on the roof and the familiar Ho Ho Ho coming from downstairs. Sleep always won, and mercifully so.

She didn't grow up in the picture perfect settings that were portrayed on the cards of friends who sent their well wishes for the season. No, Christmas brought out an ugly side of the adults in her life. Egg nog with brandy, scotch on the rocks, hi balls, seven and sevens, champagne, Isabel rose wine, martini straight up with a lime twist - stirred, not shaken, Heineken beer... she could name all their drinks. What she couldn't know was what monster would emerge once the libations were consumed and what she would face for the next few days. Laying in her bed and hearing the fighting downstairs would reach something deep inside of her and rock her to her core. "Please Santa, remember that I am not my parents", she'd sigh into her pillow between the sobs she tried to stifle there. Many nights she lay there in fear, wondering if someone was going to come in and use her as a punching bag or worse.

Christmas Eve was always special though. That night she could have hope that Santa would come and certainly rescue her from the pit that she was caught in. She laid there and vowed that she would NEVER do this to her family and bless her heart, she hasn't. Every year she goes out of her way to make the memories special for those around her. It's become a sort of mission in her life. Santa still holds a special place in her heart. She is so very grateful that her children can just see him as a big ol' guy that comes to spread joy and good will. They don't have to go to sleep wondering if he will save them from unspeakable horrors.

Her husband has gotten used to her overstriving over the holidays and just has learned to accept it. He's not aware of the motivations, but he is astutely aware enough to know which battles to fight and trying to get his wife to sleep at a reasonable time on Christmas Eve is a battle he knows he can't win. So they've fallen into the routine of him carrying the children to bed as he kisses her on her cheek and she begins her work in earnest.

The cookies are made and set out with a glass of milk, just like she had done as a child. Sometimes she'll even take one of her husbands boots and put flour on the bottom to make tracks from the fireplace to the cookies, for visual effect. The packages from Santa have to have different paper from those that the family bought. The good presents are still from the family but there's always some special something from Santa, picked out perfectily for the recipient that they didn't even know they wanted or needed. The squeals of delight in the morning always confirm that the right gifts were picked... but that would be hours away.

This particular night, after everything had that picture-perfect look for the children to awake to in the morning, she poured herself a cup of hot cocoa and took a few minutes to just sit and stare at the fire once more before putting it out. After all, no one wants to be accused of burning Santa's rear as he descends down the chimney. A quick glance around confirmed that all was in place, except for one thing. There was still the matter of her past that she had to let go of.

As she sat there alone, in the dark of the night, she had to face the fear that if she'd have fallen asleep too soon, she would have awakened not to hoof beats but to the alcohol breath of an adult. Didn't matter which one, they all had abuses of their own. Sometimes it was physical and sometimes verbal but always it was scary. Those people are long gone in the physical world but somehow they still have a hold on the life that she has now. A life that is so vastly different from the one of her childhood. This was the night to put them all to rest once and for all.

As she sat there reminiscing, she didn't concentrate on just the negatives. There were good times too but somehow they got overshadowed by the trying times. Tonight, yes, tonight there was going to be a turning point. She no longer wanted to be a slave to a past that she didn't have any part of creating but was just a victim of.

Slowly she sipped her hot chocolate and one by one, she remembered all the hurt and pain inflicted on her through the years. She took those memories and as she finished with them, thew them in the fire and then turned to the person emblazened in her mind and forgave them. Some were easy and some took a little more time. But one by one she faced them all between the tears flowing down her face into her lap and the burning in the pit of her stomach. As she came to the end of the list of people, she felt a peace she hadn't known in a long time and she paused when she was overcome by it... somewhere off in the distance, she swore she heard bells and hoof beats and the faint sound of Ho Ho Ho and Merry Christmas to all. She smiled and she knew once and for all that she would be ok. Some say that Santa doesn't exist, but for a mother who has faced battle after battle all her life, she knows better. Oh he may not be the fat man that the cartoons portray that comes down the chimney, but there is a spirit of hope. A spirit that convinces the soul that all will be ok. A flicker of hope that is deep inside the recesses of your being. Yep, she still believes and that belief has treated her well. Without believing as a child, she would have been crushed under the weight of the circumstances.

Today, she has gotten closure and no longer needs to look to Santa as the one that will save her. She has since learned that there is a real Saviour that was born this day to save her and her tormenters from their sin. The same Saviour that has shown her that forgiveness is possible and is not about the other person. She believes with all her heart and there is still the little girl inside of her that remembers the days when Santa was the star of the day and was an anchor in a rough sea of life. So if anyone asks her if she believes in Santa, she smiles and replies, why yes, I still believe....

Merry Christmas and remember to have compassion and understanding for those who believe differently than you do. The real reason of the season is all about love, and that was sent to the earth in the form of a babe who came to rescue a hurt and dying and dark world. How can we do any less?

Merry Christmas!

It's a few days before Christmas. Stores are bustling with people trying one last time to find that perfect gift for Christmas. Lists are being made, scratched off and made again. Preparations are being made for feasts from one end of the globe to another. Church services are being planned hoping to have just the right take on words to finally get through to some of the hardest of hearts. Clothes are being ironed and freshened so everyone can look their best. Beauty salons are trying to work their magic on young and old alike. Cookies are baking, trees are being decorated, children are wound up in anticipatioin, songs are being sung, etc. Ah, the week of Christmas....

Then there is the flip side. For some it's a lonely time, a sad time, a time of remembering Christmas' past when visions of sugarplums danced in heads and a time to cry. 'Tis the season to be jolly - unless of course, you're not. Some will be facing the holiday alone for the very first time. Some will be looking at an empty chair and wishing that there was "one more time". Some will be looking at empty chairs, wondering if their missing loved one is all alone in some far, distant land. Some will just drink the week away, as if to wipe it off the calendar in some sadistic ritual. Some have been alone so long that it just doesn't matter. Some are facing insurmountable obstacles this Christmas season. Some are in financial ruins, some are facing their last Christmas on earth, some are too sick to remember what day it is. There are even some who are lost in the vast recesses of their minds, hardly recognizable to themselves or their loved ones.

And then there are those stuck between the two worlds, with a foot on each side, not sure which one will pull them in as the clock ticks down to Christmas day. They're facing battles of their own and staring down the demons within that are tempting to choke the joy right out of their souls. Yet there is still that little glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there will be a miracle or two for them this year. Bravo for those who can still let that single tear drip down their cheeks and find that little bit of twinkle left in their eye. That is exactly what Jesus was born for. To give that little glimmer of hope to a lost world.

This has been a hard few years for us. Things are looking a bit bleak this year and I have found that the things that have brought me such happiness in the past, seem insignificant at best this year. It's hard to get into the Christmas swing of things when you just don't have the funds. We go to the store and it takes every bit of willpower I have not to cry as we stick closely to the preplanned grocery list, not daring to look towards the other side of the store. The thrill of finding that one truly unique gift is lost this year because, quite frankly, if we did find it, we couldn't do anything about it anyway, so in many ways, it's just easier not to look. With no job on the horizon and no certainty of what tomorrow will bring, we have to just hunker down and pray for better days - soon.

Healthwise this has been a roller coaster ride of a year for me. Oh, I'm in far better shape than I was last year. After all, last year at this time, I was laying in a hopsital bed with a fresh scar from an open lung biopsy. Alone, scared and not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Oliver in one state, me in another, and no idea of when that would change. It was while in that lowest point that our house finally sold and that glimmer of hope was reignited in our lives. And there was Igloo, sweet, sweet Igloo. Oh how that dog could make me laugh, in the pits of my despair and in the freezing cold of Chicago winters, I could find reason to giggle as he would just do his Igloo antics. We had a future and a hope.

This year, while not catastrophic in the grand scheme of things, is difficult still the same. It's been hard on us to have Oliver lose his job and not be able to get one response from the hundreds of resumes he's sent out and appllications he's put in. I have to admit that sometimes the battle in my mind has become overwhelming. This year was supposed to be better... and after very careful and difficult evaluation, in many ways it is. There are blessings to be found in the midst of our lack of Christmas chaos. We miss Igloo but yet, at least Oliver and I are in the same place at the same time. We have been spending time together (ok, maybe a bit too much time... lol) We have wonderful friends who have truly become our family. We have a great church and home that we love.

And then there is the stillness that I never knew existed this time of year and believe it or not, there has been a gift in it. Because of circumstances, we have had to re-evaluate our traditions and ways of "doing" Christmas. Not by choice, mind you, but merely by circumstance, we have been forced to set aside the trappings of the season and just "be." We don't know what tomorrow will bring, or the day after that. We don't know if we'll still be here in the home that we love so much, or if we'll lose this home or just have to move because Oliver gets a job in yet another place. With the market as unstable as it is, we don't even know if we'll be able to sell if it comes down to it. We don't know if this will be my last Christmas or not. The latest reports from the doctors were not promising and yet, they still aren't quite sure what we're dealing with. It becomes very frustrating. The medications are not working and they make me feel awful and I'm caught between trying to decide to keep on fighting with this course of treatment or just begging off of it all altogether. The struggle marches on daily.

There are days we're up and days we're down. There is no way of knowing how far things will spiral out of control before they take the anticipated upturn. I can't even say I have peace in the midst of this storm. Oh I know it will all be alright, I just can't define what "alright" is. And yet there is still this little flicker in the depths of my heart that remind me that this is the season of miracles. Just as miracles have been happening for so many, many years before us and will continue for many years after our demise, there are still miracles to be found in this day. That is what keeps us going. Knowing, without a doubt, that there is a future and a hope for us. A plan predestined long before we were born. I don't know what form that will take, but I do know on whose birth I can pin that hope... and that is what ultimately this time is all about. The birth of Jesus. Whether you believe or not the rest of the year, within all of us there is that glimmer that starts to flicker at the least little stimulus of airflow. Do you feel God blowing on your heart today? I know I do and it's that hope that will carry me on - no matter what the future holds.

So don't bother to wipe the tear off my cheek. I wear it as a badge of honor because it's proof that hope still springs eternal and that there are brighter days ahead, just as there have been in the past. And in many ways, that makes this the best Christmas ever... no package strings attached. Merry Christmas.

Following in the Pastors Footsteps

Ok, I do understand that we are supposed to receive the Word on Sundays and take it out into our "real" lives outside. I even appreciate a good story to go with the Word to help drive a point home, but I gotta tell you, sometimes you can follow in your Pastors footsteps a little too closely...

Case in point... tonight we invited some friends over for a nice, quiet dinner and their sons were going to go up into the attic and bring down all the Christmas boxes for me so that I have time to sort through them before the time comes to set them up. We had a wonderful spaghetti dinner with salad and animated conversation going. Oliver was supposed to just show them where the stuff was and let them do it. They're two strong, intelligent young men.

So my friend and I cleared the dishes and loaded the dishwasher and Oliver went off to show the boys what needed to be done. As we were sitting back down at the table and started talking to her husband, we heard a bit of a commotion coming from the general direction of where the boys and Oliver were. Lisa called out and asked if everything was alright. We heard two say "fine" and a muffled grunt from the third - then dead silence.

Both of us being mothers with boys, we just knew the dead silence was not a good sign. We got to the garage door and one of the boys was in the garage, one was on the ladder and Oliver was.... well, let's just say he was trying to come down from the attic in a new way - the same way Pastor Rob did a couple of months ago. Through the ceiling. Mercifully his tush didn't let him come all the way through and he caught his shoulders on one of the rafters where it stuck, along with his pride, I'm sure.

Ok, maybe he didn't follow the exact same path that Pastor Rob did, after all Oliver came through the laundry room ceiling and not the kitchen ceiling as Pastor Rob so eloquently did. I appreciate Oliver's enthusiasm to really try and follow in his Pastors footsteps and really practice all that's been preached to him.... um, I just wish he wouldn't do it so literally.

So if any of you know who can patch a ceiling, let us know. We'll be busy cleaning up insulation for the next year or so. That stuff is worse than Easter basket grass. And Pastor Rob, I beg of you, can you please find something a little less dangerous to get into for a while? I'm sure Tricia will stand with me that you should both be banned from the attic.

And yes, Bubba is fine. His shoulder and his ego are a bit bruised but he should make a full recovery on both counts. Everything, and I mean everything, is out of the attic and there is no earthly reason for him to have to venture up that way again. Lord, I pray that Pastor Rob doesn't take up bungee jumping anytime in the near future.

Saints and Sinners

I was cleaning out some stuff yesterday and I came across this tattered old piece of paper that was once part of Ann Landers column. I've had that paper for so long, about 40 years, that I didn't even remember why. It's pretty worn out and will have to go, but before I dispose of it I wanted to share what it was that made me keep it all those many years ago. Enjoy!


Saints and Sinners
by Veda Ponikvar

When some fellow yields to temptation
And breaks a conventional law,
We look for no good in his makeup,
Oh Lord, how we look for the flaw!

No one asks, "Who did the tempting?"
Nor allows for the battles he's fought.
His name becomes food for the jackals,
The saints who have never been caught.

I'm a sinner, O Lord, and I know it.
I am weak, and I blunder and fail,
I am tossed on life's stormy ocean
Like a ship that is caught in a gale.

I am willing to trust in thy mercy,
To keep the commandments thou'st taught.
But deliver me, Lord, from the judgement
Of the saints who have never been caught.

Halloween...

I imagine I'm going to get some rhetoric about this one. Halloween... the mere mention of that one word can divide people in so many ways. There is the one camp that believes it's a day to honor all sorts of evil and their day to shine. There is another camp that believes if you hide and just ignore it, it will go away. There are other camps that believe it's just a fun day and no harm done. There are some that are on the fence and can't decide what they're going to do or what they should do. And then there is the camp that I belong to - the one that refuses to give one more day to the devil than he already has.

I am not going to light a fire under a cauldron or worship dead people or skin animals alive or even give any mind to the sorts of evils that will merge from their dark holes tomorrow and try to recruit. But then again, I don't do that any day. Why should tomorrow be any different?

Like it or not, Halloween is not going to go anywhere anytime soon. We can either roll with it and use it to our advantage to further the Kingdom or we can stick our tails between our legs and hide. I am not a hider. I am not one to cower away from the darkness of this world. I don't go looking for it but I certainly am not going to run from it if it shows up. I know more about it's existence than most people do because I've studied it. Not because I want to be a part of it, but like any war, I want to understand my enemy so that I can come up with the best strategy to fight. And mark my words, we are in a war. We are in a war for souls, young and old.

Ok, here's where I'm really going to hear about it but here goes. I actually like Halloween. I like the fun side of it. I like to see the kids out and about and coming to my door. Some years I even dress up. I've been a myriad of things from Tweety bird, to a tube of toothpaste, to a pumpkin, to a clown, to a puppy dog, to Elvis, you get the picture. Does that make me a sliding saint? Perhaps in the pious opinions of some. I know my heart and God knows my heart and quite frankly, that's all that matters to me. I've been there as there have been connections made with children and adults alike because of a costume I was wearing. I've seen God use it to touch a troubled soul.

I've looked into the eyes of an abused child and shown them kindness and love as they've stood on my porch steps. I've gone to hospitals dressed up and gotten permission to go room to room to brighten somebody's day. Have you ever seen the look on somebody's face when you come into a room dressed as Tweety bird saying "I tawt I saw a puddy tat... did you see my puddy tat?" I've seen the look of confusion turn to a smile and a despondent, depressed person suddenly feel better. Is that the work of satan? I think not.

There are some that argue that it's disrespectful to God to have a sense of humor and a heart of compassion all at the same time. Are the horrendous things that happen to people, especially little children, something to laugh at? Absolutely not. But can God's love shine through and touch someplace inside of them and bring a smile into some of the most desperate situations? - you betcha! I hate to break this to you but Jesus actually had a sense of humor Himself and if we're to be like Jesus, well then by golly I want to embrace that side too. Here's just one example... Remember the story of the blind man that came to Him wanting to see? Jesus picked up some dirt, spit in it and put it on his eyes. Now do you honestly believe that there was some power in the dirt? Was it the spit that did it? No, it only took the word from Jesus to make it so. The rest of it, if you think about it, was really kind of funny.

I am not going to get into Theological debates with anyone on this or any other topic, because I admittedly am not as educated in that area as I would like to be. I'm still learning and will continue to as long as there is breath in me. Tomorrow is Halloween and even though I'm sure I won't have near the people coming to my door as in years past (because we're in the country) I will not hide away and ignore anyone who happens to ring my bell. I will open the door wide, smile and find some kind word to say to them so that Jesus' light can shine through the darkness and hopefully touch a still hidden place in their hearts.

So pardon me if I feel like looking like a pumpkin, or Elvis, or whatever, or nothing at all. I will stand straight and I will stand tall and I will stand up to the enemy who is trying to steal our kids and I will say "get thee behind me satan." I refuse to let him have any more power over me or anyone I come in contact with than he already has. Not tomorrow - not any day. Is there a dark side to Halloween - without hesitation I acknowledge that yes, there is. But I know there is light to be brought in and shone in the darkness and I will carry THAT torch tomorrow as much as I do every day.

I like Halloween. The more the enemy tries to come out of hiding, the more Jesus' light can shine on it and cause it to cower. The more the enemy shows his slippery hands, the more information I can garner and prepare for the battle. We all know there are spirits of darkness roaming around our cities and towns. If tomorrow draws them out of hiding - wonderful. We'll know where they are and be able to pray accordingly. Don't fool yourselves. They're all around us and amongst us. I ask you to stand with me - stand tall and do not hide away tomorrow or any day. Put on your armor (now there's a costume for ya) and be ready to withstand the onslaught. It's gonna happen... are you going to look away and pretend it's not coming? Are you going to hide in your homes with the lights off and let the enemy get a hold of one more child? I don't intend to.

Lord, use me to touch somebody, somehow tomorrow and every day that I am alive. May Your light shine through and even if only one person is touched and given that glimmer of hope that they too are loved by You, then I will take all the verbal and critical abuse of the saints that come my way. You know my heart so let's get this party started.

If I've offended you, I'm sorry. If I've riled you up - fantastic! The more riled up against the enemy we get the more ground we can gain for the Kingdom. I do not celebrate, nor have I ever celebrated, the dark side of Halloween, but I have embraced the "light" side and I've seen God move and I'm not about to stop witnessing it now. Oh yeah, Happy Halloween! ; )

Learning to Receive

I was born with a servants heart. I am a giver by nature. I truly would think nothing of giving someone my very last cent, believing that they need it more than I do. God has always come through for me... not that it's always been easy. But the hardest thing for me to learn has been how to receive. Not that people haven't been there for me and not that God hasn't used people in my life in a number of ways through the years. It's just when it comes to receiving, I'm not very good at it.

I am always taken aback when someone says or does something nice - for me. I'm the kind usually looking over my shoulder to see who they're talking to if they pay me a compliment. I'm still learning how to just say "thank-you" without that complete look of wonderment on my face and sometimes I just can't even pull that off. God's been working on that with me especially in current times. Have you ever had one of those times when He brings something from your past up into your present situation and uses it to illustrate how stubborn and prideful you really can be? That's happened to me very recently. Let me share....

As most of you know, we're in a bit of a pickle. We moved to Tennessee last January and moved into our dream house. It's a lovely ranch that was newly built and truly seemed to have been built just for us. Our things fit in here perfectly and we didn't have to do one thing except move in (and sign a bunch of papers, of course.) Then at the end of July our perfect dream world began to show cracks. Our beloved dog, Igloo, was hit and killed by a car along with our neighbors dog, Sadie. I cried and cried. Somehow the excitement of living our dream just didn't quite seem the same, except that the people from our lives really stepped up to console and comfort us.

We had people from our church willing to make us meals, which at the time I thought really odd - it wasn't like Igloo was our main cook - and while I appreciated the offers, I declined them. We were fine, just a bit broken-hearted. I poured my heart out in my blogs on Facebook and Myspace and had friends from all over touching my heart with their kind words. It was a bit ironic how one year ago, when I needed people, all I had was my dog. And now when I lost my dog, I had all kinds of people there for me. The difference wasn't in the people, the difference was in me.

That difference was that I was able and willing to share what was going on in my life. Before I was always thinking that I didn't want to burden others and have the yucky things going on in my life touch theirs. If they had giving hearts, well, I figured there were always people more needy of their attentions and efforts than me. It was just easier for me to deal with it than have to deal with it AND worry about what others were thinking.

Recently Oliver lost his job. I put that out there as well. It came as a shock and we really don't know what the future holds for us. We're taking things one day at a time. There is the "old" part of me that wants to put up walls and retreat into my own little world until the storm passes and withdraw from people and life in general. Then there is the "newer" me that can put it all out there in a blog. It's a daily, sometimes hourly, struggle to keep those walls from going back up.

A week ago I got a call from an old friend from high school. We had been in the same youth group at church, seemingly back in the day when the Bible was still on stone tablets. We're talking almost 35 years since we last spoke. It really touched my heart that he and his wife called to offer encouragement and prayers. Funny thing is that when I first went to request them as friends on Facebook, I wasn't sure they would even remember who I was. Seems silly in hindsight but that's honestly what I felt. It was my own fault that we fell out of touch. My mom had died the day I graduated from high school in January, 1974, and most of my friends weren't graduating until June or some until the following year.

All of a sudden my world had changed. I was a young 17 year old all on my own, with my own apartment and the very grown-up responsibilities of life and handling my mothers estate. My friends were still in high school, worrying about what to wear on Saturday night and where to go after the prom. How could I touch them with the realities of my world?

As I talked with my friend a week ago, I was not only surprised that they remembered me, but that they remembered so many of the details from 35 years ago. I was surprised to learn that they always thought that I was "cool" because I had my own apartment. They were surprised to hear that I didn't abandon them because I thought I was "cool" but that I didn't want to burden their worlds. God showed me that although they couldn't have change one single circumstance of what I was going through, they could have been for me then as they are now - offering encouragement and prayers. Huh. Never even thought of that.

Today we were invited to a dear friends house for dinner after church and as per usual, I asked what I should bring... "nothing" was the reply and for the first time ever, it was ok with me. See? I am learning. Funny thing is that for all my life whenever I have invited someone over, I have never expected them to bring anything and yet because of the "way I had been brought up" I couldn't begin to think of going somewhere empty-handed. God has been showing me the double-standard by which I had been living.

At church, another lady came up and dropped something in my purse "to bless us with" and I graciously said thank-you - admittedly caught off guard and a bit puzzled. Yet God reminded me of how many times I had slipped little somethings in peoples pockets or purses through the years or had a special treat for someone on their porch. Sad to say, but I'm just now, at 53 years old, learning that without people to receive, then giving wouldn't be so special and that by refusing the gift, nice comment, a meal, whatever "it" may be... that you are actually refusing to let the giver receive their blessing from God.

Those that have been there for us - now and in the past - are going to be receiving blessings from God that I couldn't even begin to repay. It's all His to give anyway. He has used me in the past to be the giver and now He's showing me that there is no room for false humility in refusing to receive. It's been a humbling experience to say the least. I'm still learning how to not act so completely surprised that people think about us enough - because God has put us on their hearts - to even care about us. That's going to take a little more time.

We know He has a plan for us and we know that He will supply our every need, no matter what season of life we are in. We know that as sure as we breathe. And we thank-Him that He is teaching us how to receive in our hearts the love He has for us when He uses people to bless us in so many ways. We will not be down forever... When we are back on our feet, we will be continuing to give - that's how we were created to be - but next time it will be with a new understanding of the person on the receiving end.

May the blessings of God continue to pass from hand to hand, around from person to person, on this awesome planet we call earth. Oh yeah, and thanks God for allowing me to continue to learn something "new" everyday, even if it's something you've been trying to teach me my whole life.

Now excuse me while I go sweep up the dust from some of the bricks that have been falling from my walls. Thank-you and God Bless you...

Times have changed....
We all know that times are changing. There's no doubt about it. Today was a reminder to me at just how much things in my life have changed through the years. Oh, it has nothing to do with the economic conditions, the president in the White House or even some theological rantings from a political puppet. Nope, it hits closer to home for me....

Today, while I was doing the mundane, but relaxing, duty of watering my plants outside, I heard gunshots fairly close by and didn't even flinch. Not one eyelash fluttered. I just went on about my business. We do live out in the country after all and we can hear guns go off for any number of reasons, but mostly during hunting seasons. Don't think we're in an active one right now, but you never know around here. Gunshot sounds are commonplace.

A few minutes later, a small plane flew overhead and quite frankly made me jump and I dropped the hose. A small plane. I had to chuckle. I grew up a mere few blocks from O'Hare International Airport where we would hear on a consistent basis all kinds of planes and jets. I may not have known what a bush hawg was when I moved to Tennessee (I do now) but I could tell you whether it was a Boeing 727 or 747 taking off and on which runway, which type of fighter jet was on maneuvers or whether it was a Piper or Cessna coming in for a landing, back in the day. Most kids would count sheep to try to go to sleep... we could count planes and they were really there.

I've only been down here less than 8 months. A lot has changed for me. Just 8 months ago, it would have been the gunshots that would have stricken fear in my heart and sent me running for cover. Certainly not the sound of some little plane flying overhead. We don't get many plane in these parts. I think this is only the 2nd, maybe 3rd, time I've even heard one since I've been here. A far cry from the constant sound near O'Hare and Midway airports. As a matter of fact, we don't even hear the constant drone of traffic. Oh occassionally, like maybe once a week or so if the wind is blowing just right, we might actually hear one of the trucks go by on the road about a mile down.

Nope, the drone sound we hear these days are the tree frogs and when the weather was cooler in the spring, the sound of mockingbirds and their mating calls. We hear birds on the loose and every once in a while, I'll hear the two little boys playing outside with their dad at the next house over, but that's only if I'm out in the yard.

We live in a town where the police chief was turned down for the funding to get a part time officer because our crime rate is too low. Quite the change from the town we lived in where a retired police sergeant is in jail for killing his third wife and suspected of killing his fourth. I even had to chuckle last week when the youth leaders at church were freaking out because one of the boys brought in a ring snake, a tiny little thing, in a box to show everyone. It actually was kinda cute so you can imagine how unintimidating it had to be for this Chicago girl to be in the same room with it. I think I have bracelets bigger than he was. Far cry from the youth groups up there where we had to be concerned with guns and knives being brought in.

Yep, things are changing.... and not one bit of it is due to any stimulus packages or political rhetoric coming out of Washington. It's been by the grace of God that we are where we are and we couldn't be happier with these changes. Life is slower, people are more laid back (ok, that takes some getting used to) and priorities in lives are family, friends and loved ones. We love this land and the people in it. A long way, baby, from the streets of the Bronx where Oliver spent his hey day and the streets of suburban Chicago that once held my dreams and aspirations. Quiet, tranquility, peace that has no words. Yep, times have changed... Thank-You Jesus!