Well, You're Not Gonna Believe This. (But You Can)

   Well, all of my life I've been accused of being "so nicey-nice"...and it was said in a not-so-nicey-nice way, either.

    I guess that title went out the window one day when my Mom and I were rushing around the kitchen like mad women, trying to get a special dinner ready for company that was expected momentarily (from church, no less). As usual, my five kids, two of them mouthy teenagers, ("NOOOObody tells ME what to do; I'm an individual!!! If I don't want to help set the table, I'm not going to...so THERE!") were making things even more crazy, like shoving the squalling dog down the laundry shoot,  not ducking when their brother threw a boot at them and it went through the kitchen window, having to comfort little Joe, who came screaming into the kitchen, "Thom stepped on my ear!!! BAW!!!"

   The next thing I knew, Mom, standing beside me said, "Peggy Ellen Ganoung! I never thought I'd hear you say that word, even if you had a mouth full of it!" 

   She wasn't more shocked than I was. 

   I think as I get older my patience has worn thin and seems to have gotten thinner with age, but I'm not praying for more! I have learned that one. The Bible says, "Tribulation worketh patience", meaning a ton of trouble can so overwhelm you, I guess, that after a while,  you just don't have the wherewithal to fight anymore, so I guess all's you are left with is 'patience'. So, if you ask for patience, you will get what causes patience...tribulation aka TROUBLE. We already all have enough of that.

   All that being said, lately, I find myself being impatient over the least little thing, not so 'nicey-nice'. Cappy, poor guy, has borne the brunt of it...despite being the cause of it (in some cases). In our tiny house it's hard to move around without bumping into the other person. Racing up the hallway with a tall load of laundry and turn the corner, I'll run smack into him, while he's standing there quietly praying. He's done nothing wrong, but I get all irritated. Then, being a burn survivor, I want no-one in the kitchen while I'm cooking, but all of a sudden a hand will reach around in front of me to get a glass of water and I involuntarily "spazz out" flinching and shrieking. I'm not proud of this at all. I don't like being jumpy and/or then taking it out on Cappy. No wonder he's been praying for me so much lately. 

   Last week, I was busily rushing around with Christmas. Cappy had been ill the week before, so going to the doctor, he learned that he had a slight case of pneumonia (again). Even when he's not ill, I dote on him hand and foot, because it's what I like and need to do. 

   He insisted that I go to church the next day, while he stayed home, trying to get better. That was the plan, but this particular night, the night before church, I wanted no interruptions to hinder the huge list of holiday things that I wanted to somehow joyfully accomplish. I didn't even want to stop for one of the many hugs that Cappy insists on during the day right in the middle of everything. (He is so sweet, tho'!)       While I was hurrying, I found a pair of sandals on top of the dryer that I needed to take to the bedroom and put away, before I scrambled onto my next needed task. I grabbed them and was on my way when I spotted Cappy patiently standing there in the kitchen smiling at me and wanting another hug..."Noooo!" I hollered and angrily stomped into the bedroom and plastered my bare foot onto the big thick, solid wooden foot of the bed leg.

   I heard the bone break, I felt the bone break and seperate, the sandals went flying. I fell onto the bed. This was not like the other times I had bashed my foot into this bed leg. This was sickening. This was bad. My howling brought Cappy right in, of course. He had to help me get anywhere that night. Saturday night...Christmas Eve, Eve. I did not want to go to the ER that night..."the road is already dangerous and tonight there are probably a lot of drunk drivers out celebrating, I'll wait until morning (Christmas Eve morning) and go then."

  I had a terrible time sleeping with my foot hurting so badly. Morning was worse with my foot swollen and black and blue. Cappy helped me into my chair in the den while we figured out our next course of action to get me to the ER, with him sick with pneumonia. We knew that our neighbors were mostly all out of town. Hmm. What to do. We called our pastor to ask for prayer and to explain that we wouldn't be there that morning and that we were on our way to the Emergency Room. 

   I had to ask Cappy to bring me this, bring me that, do this and do that. I hated asking him to do all that and him not well. I'd hate asking him to do all that even if he were well. How were we going to manage all this for the next who knows when? I have never done well with crutches, either. Lord please Help us!

   Cappy brought me a walking stick so that with it, he could help me get to the bathroom to clean up, etc. before we left. The pain was so bad that it made me sick to my stomach. He left me sitting on the potty and brought some clothes, then went out into the den to wait for me.

     While I was sitting there I dreaded the thought of the doctors manipulating my foot and the excruciating pain that would probably cause. I wished that I could just sit there on the toilet and go to sleep and wake up and everything would be fine again.

   "Lord," I prayed, "I know that you are not a liar; what You say is True. Your WORD says that 'signs and wonders follow those who believe', well, we are Your kids and we believe!" I told my foot, "Be healed in the Name of Jesus, by The Power of the Holy Spirit!"

  I could hear Cappy out in the den, "Google, muh sugar..."

    I wondered what in the heck was he googling sugar for? 

   Alright now, how was I ever going to get into the bathtub with my foot in such pain? Sighhh...was I going to have to ask Cappy to help me in there? Then I was sure he'd look at me. (Women of a 'certain age' do not want anyone looking at their unclothed body; not even their husbands.) 

   "Google...what is 'muh sugar...' something or other," I kept hearing from out in the other room.

  It was going to be bad enough to have to get up and stand there by the sink to brush my teeth.

   "Google, muh-sugarrrr..." 

    What in the world was he doing out there when I needed him in here to help me?

    I felt it was time. I 'felt' "it'll get easier with each step". 

    Really...?

   I struggled to get up with the stick and made it to the sink.

   Huh? What? No pain? None? Nothing!?? I stood there and felt like 'somebody' said, "Go ahead and stomp with it."  

    Seriously? I lifted my foot and (still no pain at ALL) lightly "stomped" it...shocked...it felt normal. Wait...how was that possible?

    Welllll....I marched right out into the den like a majorette, sans a baton, and paraded back and forth from the den to the kitchen several times while Cappy sat there speechless staring. 

   He said, "I need to tell you something...I was in here intensely praying so hard for you, then I knew you were in such pain that I asked, 'Lord, is it that you don't want to heal Peg's foot? And right away I heard the word, 'muh-shoo-gah-lah'. Plainly...very plainly. I never heard that word before, so I googled it several times and it means, 'ridiculous, foolishness'...the answer to my question. Like The Lord was saying 'That's ridiculous that I wouldn't want to heal her foot.'"

   I looked it up, but spelled it wrong. Mahshuga is Hebrew/Yiddish for things like, "Are you crazy?" That's a good one, Father!! 

  So, that's the truth. He still does perform miracles. He is our Loving Father. 

   As far as me, his daughter, and His teaching me (we are never too old to learn) that night, there was a slight twinge in the area of my foot (that I know was broken, but was now completely healed) as a "reminder to hold your temper". 

   With Your Help Holy Spirit, I will try to stay your "nicey-nice" daughter.  Amen  

MERRY CHRISTMAS 2023 AND A BLEST AND HAPPIER NEW YEAR. OUR CARD FOR YOU!

 

Getting Claw'd

     Cappy's cat, Claw'd escaped and found himself on an adventure. Usually when he gets out, he meanders back into the house within a few minutes. He'd been gone about four hours and we had begun to worry. Our neighbor let us know that a black cat was treed in his fenced-in yard with his two excited German shepherds who were running back and forth, urging him to come on back down. Was it our cat? 

   The lady who lives next door owns two house cats who never get loose said that there was another black cat identical to Claw'd who she'd been feeding, thinking that it was Claw'd having gotten out, because it let her pet him. But wasn't Claw'd. We had to check the times he'd gotten out to make sure it wasn't our boy. Plus, a few weeks before this the neighbor with the dogs had come to see if Claw'd had been out the night a pure black cat had been taunting his dogs. Nope, Claw'd had been inside for days and not that particular night, so we know there is a duplicate of Claw'd prowling around the neighborhood.

   When our neighbor with the dogs said there was a black cat trapped in the tree in his yard, Cappy and I followed him back over to his house, where we heard the most pitiful, terrified mewing going on way up in the branches of one tall tree. 

  The man brought out two different types of ladders in an effort for Cappy to climb and try to coax the cat down.

   Claw'd always wears a reflective breakaway color with a bell on it.

    I called up to Cappy, "Is that cat wearing a collar?" Cappy couldn't tell because of all the branches. "Do you think he recognizes you? ...think that's him?" He couldn't tell that either. So, for now it was "Schrodinger's cat"...we just didn't know.

   When finally, after almost an hour, the cat gingerly lowered itself for Cappy to get within reach of the poor thing...whether it was our cat or not, it wanted down! Would Cappy be able to hold onto it, or would it frantically struggle to get free and fall into the waiting jaws of the two happily anticipating German shepherds?

    Scary moments!

    I hollared up, "Is it Claw'd?" 

     The dogs' owner yelled, "Yeah, don't let it claw you! Don't let it claw you!"

    I yelled up again, "You think it's Claw'd?"

    "Yeah, don't let it claw you, don't let it claw you," loudly warned the guy again. "You don't wanna get clawed!"

     "Oh, yes I do wanna get Claw'd" Cappy squawked, standing on his toes on one of the upper steps of the ladder, the feet of which were not firmly planted. 

     Profusely sweating and holding onto the ladder with one hand and finally able to grab the snarling yowling cat with the other, he rasped, "I still don't know if it's Claw'd or not, but it's not wearing a collar." 

    The cat wrapped his back legs and his front legs tightly around Cappy's forearm, while the neighbor and I kept yelling about not getting Claw'd or clawed. The cat had no collar and until Cappy put him into my arms, we still weren't sure, but it was obviously relieved to be there. As frantic as the cat had been, wrapped around Cappy's arm, Cappy did not get even one scratch. So, he did get Claw'd, but he didn't get clawed.  (sorry, I hadda do it)

   Well, we got him home, where BeauxBear confirmed, yep, that was his cat, whom he dearly loves and had missed him.

   Now we need to be extra diligent on door patrol. None of us enjoyed that adventure!

  Driving home from Baton Rouge yesterday, I spied a few horses grazing in a field and mentioned to Cappy that poor Claw'd will be hard pressed for any kind of excitement from now on, cloistered in the house. I remembered our other Bichon Frises, SparkyBear and MarkyBear used to love seeing cows and horses because we'd slow down, or park next to the fences and let them all peacefully and quietly, nose-to-nose get acquainted, which both the dogs and the horses seemed to enjoy. I said off-handed to Cappy, "I wish Claw'd could see a horse, too; I think he'd enjoy that."

   A half an hour later, after getting home to our quiet little neighborhood, with the paved lanes, Claw'd sat in his hammock in the window wistfully gazing out onto his lost kingdom, when Cappy suddenly said, "There's a horse and buggy slowly going down our street! Claw'd sure seems all interested and is enjoying it!"

   "What? A horse? What's a horse doing on our street??"

     Well, to me, it seemed like the Lord was saying, "And, you're welcome!"

Momma Went Home With a Rock Star

There's no two ways about it; my Mom was beautiful. Her smile lit up any room, she was highly intelligent, witty, silly, sweet, fun, and above all, hard working. She was a chef and dietician, considered "the best cook in the family". 

  True, she had her bad days, but don't we all. Putting up with "us kids", my brother, sister and me was a regular riot, not knowing what to expect next with us guys. I'm thinking maybe it was me who unexpectedly threw her for a loop the most. One nice evening, when I was about three years old, she had tucked my brother and me into bed...he was still a baby; a year  younger than I. She and my dad, having gotten a babysitter, were going out for a nice quiet evening of dinner and dancing. My brother's and my shared bedroom was on the second floor, where they had left the window open with a light breeze coming in the screen window. Before they left the house, I started pitching a fit, screaming that I didn't want them to go. Mom kept putting me back into bed and finally, maybe even popped my bottom to shut me up. With the babysitter downstairs, I heard our old car start up through the screened window and started screaming out the window. They kept a-going, leaving me to the babysitter, who must have been deaf. 

   I guess I'd never screamed before, so I guess I kind of liked it. I kept it up and kept it up for quite a while. Just standing there screaming at the top of my lungs out the window into the dark night. Suddenly there was a light shining in my face from down in the yard. A police officer was shining a flashlight all over the house. There ended up being two police officers who had been called by the neighbors. My Momma and Daddy's nice evening out ruined. Like the time the little boy who lived right across the street from us held my hand and walked me around the block when I was two years old without telling either of our mothers where we were going. They were both in tears, panicked, about ready to phone the police when we turned the corner, still hand-in-hand. Or the time I was three years old and helped my two year old brother up the coal gravel hill to play with the pretty stones on the railroad tracks. 

More seriously, when I was four years old, having a fun visit at my mother's parents' house while my mom was at work, my dress caught fire and I was so badly burned that the doctors left me to die in peace in a back hall of the old town hospital in Port Allegany, Pennsylvania. I actually did die and went to be with Jesus for a little while. When He sent me back, with me bawling that I didn't want to go back, I saw my body below in the hospital bed with a pale yellow blanket over me. Sitting down there on the bed next to me, near dawn was my poor exhausted Mom bent over almost asleep, praying. Suddenly I found myself back in the bed with a jolt that gave her a start...she hadn't even known I'd been 'gone'. 

   It's a wonder my mother's hair hadn't turned snow white in her twenties. 

Then, there were the teen years. My oh my, didn't I give her a run for her money then. Even though I had been raised with my bottom sitting in a church pew, I went through the mouthy, yelly, know-it-all stage. Still, I couldn't get away with anything...somehow she always found out and gave me the dickens for it...well deserved. One day I went riding in a car with a boy...I guess he was 19 and I was about 15. It was a beautiful day; perfect for a long drive way out in the sunny, hilly farm country. I think he just wanted an excuse for me to sit closer to him, so he offered to let me steer the car. I scooched over and grabbed the steering wheel, thinking I was doing a pretty good job, easily avoiding the one car that we passed coming toward us. No problem. The rest of the afternoon was pleasant and uneventful when he dropped me off at my door. Inside Mom was waiting for me, hands on hips, tapping one foot and glowering. That one car that had whizzed by had been driven by her best friend, Emma. Now how in the world had she seen me? Who looks at other people in oncoming cars? Well, Emma, obviously...20 miles out of town, yet.

Poor Mom...trying to find some peace and solace, one Sunday evening at church with her mom where they were having an enjoyable mother/daughter time with each other, so rare what with Mom having to work so hard and having very little down time. In the middle of a beautiful song, Mom's smile was interrupted with the shocking news that I had been in a bad car accident and was being transported to the hospital. I had been riding with some boys...friends of my brothers. We were at their house way out in the country for a picnic, when the older "kid", 21, decided to show off in a jalopy with no top that he had made. Racing up and down the dirt road with me sandwiched in the middle with my feet propped up on the dashboard, we crunched over a sluice pipe, severing the brake line, headed down toward the "devil's elbow" curve at 70 mph! Trying to avoid that scenario, he tried to steer into a field, but hit a 20 foot tall tree head on. Because my feet were on the dash, I was catapulted up and over the tree. Strange thing happened. With time slowed down, I remembered reading about drunks surviving crashes because they were all relaxed. Looking down into the branches of the tree, I let all my muscles go, and the next thing I knew, I was somersaulting end over end over end in the middle of the dirt road. I was in the hospital for a month with a crushed vertebrae and a few broken ribs. My brother said that him, sitting in their yard, watching me sail over the top of that tree was the worst thing he had ever seen in his life. (The other two in the jalopy, the driver and his brother both dove out into the grass just before we hit the tree. They were uninjured.) Sitting with me all night in the hospital once again, crying and praying, was Mom. 

When I was eighteen I married into a very bad situation and began having children right away. My mom was the best grandmother ever. I don't remember my kids giving me as many fits and worries as I had given her over all those many years. Just when I thought I was making progress as a responsible adult and not creating stress for her, she and I were at a baby shower together at church listening to the usual stories about how much trouble toddlers could be. Some mothers were saying, "Hah, you think two years old is bad, wait 'til they are four." Trying to be a wise guy, as usual, I piped, "Hah, you think four is bad; wait 'til they are in their teens." Mom put in, "Hah, you think teens are bad," smirking at me, she added, "Wait 'til they're in their forties." Well, true. She had come to take care of the house and kids and me, because of the many health issues that seemed to inundate my life in my adulthood, which we surmise had to do with the residual deep burn scars, etc. In '95 I almost died from celiac disease. After getting out of the hospital, she stayed with us and nursed me back to, which took ~18 months before I felt as though I might actually live. Her care, knowledge, wisdom, humor, prayers and tears pulled me through, once again.

When I was finally strong enough, Mom decided that we should attend a women's retreat at Elim Bible Institute and College. A good way to thank the Lord for my recovery and maybe keep me out of trouble, if only for one week of fun and relaxation in the company of godly women. 

We were loaded into a large van with a bunch of our friends from church for the hour long drive. The whole way there, Mom was making everybody laugh with all her wisecracks. A sign along the road advertised, "LOTS for sale." Mom said, "Boy, I don't know what they're selling, but they've got plenty of 'em!" That night in our small shared dorm room, she kept us (one of our friends and me) awake until midnight giggling out of control. One of the students, whose room we were assigned had left a political poster on the wall, "Free Jews Worldwide". Mom chortled, "I'll take anything as long as it's free!"

The next morning, our pastor's wife "tsk'd" to Mom, "Did those girls keep you awake?" (HAH! She was the ringleader.)

We slept well that night and quietly so. 

The next morning I was so sick! I was vomiting and feeling terrible, so I spent the day in bed while the other girls AND my Mom went and had a ball! So many activities and fun. I insisted Mom go with them, so she did, and I was so happy for her. She deserved to have fun for a change, of course, tho', in the back of her mind she had to be thinking, "Oh NO...not again!" 

By the next morning I was feeling fine. After breakfast, we filed into the massive auditorium for songs, worship and some kind of message. 

I don't know how many seats that auditorium holds, but it seemed like thousands. The place was packed, and I cannot describe the music that filled the room. Heavenly is the only word that I can think of. After each song, the women each and all began singing lilting praises of their own, which intertwined with one another, almost visually colorful. Gorgeous...no one melody, but a glorious, living embodiment of beautiful music offered up to God! And, as the Scripture promises, "The Lord dwells in the praises of His people", He showed up. His Presence was so Sweet and REAL! Just Heavenly. 

   The next part of the program dealt with testimonies of what The Lord had done in people's lives. Ladies were welcomed to come up on stage and speak about what the Lord had done for them, or if they had a word from the Lord for the audience. "Oh, that's nice," I thought.

    Then my heart started racing.

    "Why is my heart racing?"

    I was suddenly strongly impressed with the Scripture, "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water". 

     "Oh, that's nice," I thought again.

     One lady went up one of the long aisles, climbed the stairs, went right to the microphone and began speaking great and wonderful things.

     My heart was racing hard and I kept 'hearing', "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water."   

     "Uh oh" I thought,...I remember this happening at church when I was called on to say something to the congregation, like something that the Lord had done that week...or give a small announcement or do a reading.

    One after another ladies went to the microphone and gave wonderful testimonies, but I couldn't much hear what they were saying with my heart racing and now my body shaking and the phrase, "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water."

    I thought, "Lord, I CAN'T....I can't go up there...I've got nothing!"

     "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water!" I kept 'hearing' loudly. 

   I twisted in my seat..."Nope...not gonna happen."

    The pressure was so strong now. 

    Someone from the podium was asking, "Is there anyone else? Anyone?" 

     "Nope!" I told myself and hoped the Lord heard my thought, too.

       "Alright," I thought, looking to the right at the row of ladies sitting there, my Mom beside me. I thought I'd get up, get along in front of the women seated there, get to the aisle...make the Holy Spirit THINK I was going to go up there, but make a bee-line to the back of the church to the ladies room. 

   Shaking, I did that...I got up, apparently startling Mom, "Where you going?!" she whispered harshly,  "Where you going?"

   I delicately pointed my pinky finger toward the back of the church and inched my way along toward the aisle, where I think I made it!

   Standing now, staring up at a big round silver microphone, I saw my hand reach up and pull it down to where my mouth could speak into it. There was a huge dark audience out there, my Mom probably thinking, "Oh no...NOW what's she up to?"

   I think my heart was calm, but I was thinking, "I've got NOTHING to say...how did I get up here??" Then remembering, I recited, "The Bible says,' Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water...." My voice became clear and decisive, "But first, let your praise come up out of your being, flowing up to the Living God and He will Flow down and through you, enlivening you, teaching and growing you, then...THEN, shall your have rivers of living water flow out of you to nourish and feed others who desperately need the living water to live and grow, too. Do not stop praising Him, lest it be that the living water will be like a block of ice in your throat, stopping the flow. Praise Him, Thank Him, the Lord Most High...." perhaps more...maybe.

    I remember hearing my Mom's voice go, "Hmm!" in approval. 

    And then I was finished and trying to find my way back off the stage and safely back to Mom. Where was she anyway...okay, five rows back on the right...seven women across. Carefully stepping down the stairs that I had absolutely NO memory of climbing up, walking up the carpeted aisle that I don't know how I got to the stairs on, sidling in, in front of the seven ladies who were smiling into my face, I thought, "Don't smile at me, I had nothing to do with it...God pulled fast one...it wasn't me."

   I sat down next to Mom, drained. She squeezed my hand. 

   They moved on to the next agenda while I sat there dumbfounded...how did I get up there? I tried to pull a fast one on the Lord, but He ended up grabbing me and plunking me up there without me knowing it, 'til, there I wuz. But, ya know, what came out of my mouth, I really needed to hear that.

   And to think it was "Mom approved"...well, icing on the cake.

   Over the next few years I tried not to shock her with my crazy goings ons. She was my best friend. We took long drives and as usual, she sang me the old standards, which I still love and comfort me, remembering how she'd harmonize with them. She was so smart, that one. She'd give the Jeopardy answers before the contestants. I kept trying to talk her into going on that tv show, but she kept telling me "No". And the Lord never plunked her up and PUT her there, either. 

    Then it was time for me to take care of her and nurse her back to health. It was as though I was in a tug-of-war game with the Lord. She had moved three hours away, so when she became ill, I'd go pray with her and she'd revive. I'd drive home, she'd become ill, so back, I'd go. Sometimes I'd spend nights in the hospital twisted like a pretzel in the half couches. I was making myself ill with no sleep. She'd get better, then I'd drive home, some nights in blinding snow for the three hours. Back at the hospital in a day or two, she began calling, "Mama!" and was terrified to fall asleep. I told her I'd sit and watch her sleep, so she could sleep. I sat in a hard straight back chair 'watching' her. She angrily growled, waking me up! I was exhausted, eating potatoes that I microwaved in the hospital cafeteria because of celiac and fear of getting even more ill, if I'd gotten ahold of wheat or gluten. I was getting weaker, losing ground in the tug-of-war with the Lord. He was kind to me, in my tears, crying, "Please don't take her, please don't take her." He let me gracefully, gradually begin to lose, "I love her, too, please let me take her" was His gentle plea.

   He is our Strength...He is our Rock....He is the Bright and Morning Star. He made Mom...she was sweet, she loved Him back.

    May 27th 1998, I had just barely made it home from the long 3 hour drive, managing not falling asleep, when my daughter called, who was sitting with Mom...her Grandma. She said that Grandma had taken a bad turn for the worse that afternoon and didn't think she'd make it through the night, that I'd better start back immediately. I said weakly, "I can't...I just can't...I'll need a couple of hours of sleep first." 

   I started back that night around one o'clock in the dead of night. The sky was crisp and clear. I sang, I talked to the Lord...I had no cell phone. I just wanted to get there and pray for my Momma to revive some more and maybe be healed for good this time. Totally alone on dark and winding roads way out in the country of Pennsylvania.

   Suddenly from the direction I was headed came a shot of light that flung itself toward the northeast, like a rubber band that had snapped and "I LOVE YOU, MOMMA" bellowed out of my throat before the light was out of my sight...gone. I knew it was her going. I looked at the clock...3 a.m. sharp. 

   The lonely drive to the hospital, knowing she'd already gone was fraught with anguish and tears...I should have been there.

   Arriving at the hospital, I learned that, yes, they had 'called it' at 3 a.m. sharp. 

    The tug-of-war was over. 

   I hope she is THERE, dancing and singing. She taught me how to dance in the kitchen when I was 9. How she loved music. I'm sure she still does. 

   So, yep, Momma went Home with The Rock Star, and I got to see her go!

Christmas Card 2022

 

Having Words

 I've learned that words really do mean something. They really do. Look at the world around us; the earth, the sky, water...all created by WORDS, like "Let there be"...and there they are. 

    When Jesus was sleeping in the boat and a storm came up, his buddies got scared and woke Him up. He was like, ("Oh come ON!") "Where is your faith??" Then He essentially told the storm to "shut up!," using the words, "Peace be still!"  From that I took it that, since He asked them why they hadn't done it, He apparently had expected the disciples to have done the same thing and not woke Him up. So...if those guys could have done it, why couldn't we? Where is our faith? So, for years and years (and years, now), I have been doing the same thing. I go outside and yell at loud storms, "Peace be still, in the Name of Jesus!" (hoping the neighbors can't hear their scare't, ditzy neighbor.)   I'm convinced that, as a result, the things we see on the weather radar when we do that is downright amazing. I've had to print out some of them to show family and friends. The storms either stop, or actually part and go around on either side of our neighborhood, then go back together when they get past us...every time! I have an image on my computer of a perfect heart shape in the middle of one really bad storm, which gave me much peace.

  So, I've been taking "speaking Words of God" seriously, and they work! Storms of all sorts, as well. 

  A long time ago I remember hearing about an old lady, who had been informed by her husband that he had spontaneously invited a group of people to their home for supper. She was shocked and let him know that she didn't have enough food to feed such a large, unexpected crowd. Waving off her protests as he left the room, he stated that it wasn't his problem; cooking were her worries. Now, this little old lady was a devout Christian woman, but according to her non-believing husband, she was a little too vociferous in her joyful living for the Lord.   

   Soon, from out in the kitchen, he heard her loudly singing praises and giving thanks to God, "Fishes and loaves...fishes and loaves," and singing in a Heavenly language, as she stirred in her pots and pans. 

  "Crazy woman!" the husband yelled, "She's a crazy woman!" 

  Their guests arrived, were seated and fed all they wanted and there were even several leftovers! She knew that if Jesus could feed the multitude with so very little, just a few small fish and a couple of loaves of bread...He's still with us, so He still can; and He did!

 This also happened with me! One day when I hadn't had time to get groceries that week, I learned that our friends, Mr. Ed and Mrs. Jean, were on their way over for supper! I had completely forgotten they were coming.  As it was, I was scrounging around trying to figure our what to cook for supper to feed five big hungry teenagers. I only found that I had a handful of spaghetti, but then (!) remembering the "crazy woman," knowing there was absolutely no way it was going to feed Mr. Ed, Mrs. Jean, and our family, nonetheless, I stirred the pitiful spaghetti around in the big pot of too much water, and began singing my own made up song, "Fishes and Loaves, Lord, fishes and loaves, please!" and words that only The Lord and I could understand.

  Well, my faith kinda shaky, (of course) I managed to put some bread and butter on the table, a small bowl of salad, and the bowl of spaghetti strings with sauce. For some reason, nobody seemed to notice because they were all talking over one another having a wonderful conversation. They all passed the dishes around, filling their plates with the usual mounds of spaghetti, while enjoying each other's company. Hard to believe, but I, myself, caught up in the conversation, didn't notice until later as I cleared the table, (I hope you believe me)...there was the same amount of spaghetti in that bowl that was in it as when I had first placed it on the table before anyone had taken any out! This is the truth! "Fishes and Loaves." I put all the leftovers in the fridge. 

   Mulling this over, I came to the conclusion that speaking those words might be applied to other situations where there was a need for things to go farther than they should. A lady from our church was about to undergo surgery and was naturally concerned. Meanwhile, she had a dress that I was altering for her. As I was whizzing along on my sewing machine, I noticed that the white thread was about to run out on the bobbin. Not wanting to stop and mess around finding another bobbin or winding up more thread on this one, I started asking, "Fishes and Loaves, Lord? Fishes and loaves, Please?" I kept sewing, waiting for it to run out, but was shocked to see that it had indeed run out, but was still stitching along in gold thread. Gold thread? What?! For those of you, who do not know, bobbins do not...cannot re-thread on their own! What in the world was going on here? 

  A thought sparked in my heart and I knew what to tell my friend. When she next called and began stressing about the fears she was having about the impending surgery, I told her, "If God loves you so very much that He would perform some kind of miracle to have your dress sewn with golden thread, how much more does He care about you, than your dress? Any time you doubt and fear, look at the seams in your dress." (She breezed through the surgery and successfully healed quickly, Praise God.) At times I still pray fishes and loaves over even little things, like bobbin thread.

  So now, whenever I get in a pinch of too little having  too far to go, (and not taking God for granted, being lackadaisical) but, sincerely having accidentally gotten myself backed into a corner, I'm convinced that He's got my back. 

   Knowing this has given me faith to tithe. One Scripture says...and it's true, even of me: "I've been young and now I am old, and I have never seen the righteous (His people...those who love Him) forsaken, or their kids having to beg for bread (food)." So, He makes $ go farther than it should. (We often pray this as we leave our driveway, to ask God to, "Please make Your money go farther than it should." And He does.

  I pray for Fishes and Loaves for my faith to be increased when mine sometimes seems lacking. And...since last Christmas, we've had plenty of things happen to test our faith; Cappy nearly dying in the hospital, identity theft and mail fraud, thus we never got our new tax bill for our home, so someone bought it out from under us without our knowledge. (Thank God for our neighbor, Judge Jude, who saved it for us.) Our bills had been diverted to another address in NYC, by fraudsters, which caused a lot of problems with the telephone, electric co., and all the other businesses with which we deal. So MANY problems popped up from that episode. We pray we've seen the end to that. 

  Then, one by one all the appliances began breaking down, washing machine, dryer, kitchen stove, dishwasher.

  Cappy and I both got some kind of flu whereby, taking turns in the bathroom got rather tenuous, to say it best. Good thing we had a little white curly-haired nurse to curl up with us in bed while we suffered between bouts. 

  Mice and rats took over our walls and attic. This happens every year in our neighborhood when the cutting of the sugar cane fields surrounding our little community begins. And the cat, Claw'd, was no help  whatsoever. This year they got into the kitchen drawers.  Lord, help us. We could hear them in the walls, and attic. Cappy was still too ill to climb up there and take care of the situation, other than to toss poison up there and behind furniture. Oh, the lovely scent of dead rodents emanating from the walls. 

   We began to wonder if we had somehow gotten ourselves cursed. We kept praying as things kept getting worse. During one week when we felt things might be calming down, the hot water heater up there in that yucky rodent-overrun attic exploded, sending down smelly "rain" in the computer room and bathroom. 

   That night Cappy had wearily dragged himself off to bed while I stayed up seeking peace and quiet. As I walked through the hall to go check on the laundry in the bathroom, passing the dark computer room I heard something "tapping" in there. I turned on the light to discover it was raining in there! The cat was sitting on one of the 'shelves' in his cat tower, glowering at me, as 'rain' fell down in front of him from one of the padded seats above.

(Like it was somehow my  fault.) There was an inch and a half of water deep on the floor! I checked the bathroom and sure enough, the whole ceiling was also 'raining' and water was deep on the floor in there, as well. 

  Waking Cappy, he immediately knew that the hot water heater in the attic had burst, so, sick as he was, he weakly trundled up the ladder and turned off the water. 

Getting someone out here to access the situation and begin the remediation took some time.  Meanwhile, on top of everything else going bad, the house began to take on the smell of mold. Not sure if everyone is aware of this, but I am a burn survivor, so this was not healthy for my lungs, so I stayed in our camper for a month or so in the extreme heat of summer, while Cappy and the pets "roughed it" in the house. I did have A/C and despite the hot sticky, humid air outside, some days I ventured onto the patio or visited my shade garden in our rustic "courtyard" area. 

   Life at our place was like living in a storm of chaos. One thing after another breaking down , as if the appliances and circumstances in general were tag teaming us. The day we finally got the new dishwasher put in, the sewer pump in the back yard burned up, creating a stinking watery swamp between the house and shed, and Cappy's beloved cat went missing. My iron stopped working, so we bought a new one and the day the new sewer sump pump was installed, the brand new iron broke. The next day the brand new dishwasher began acting up by not draining and spewing nasty water all over the kitchen floor. The cat came back a week later in fine shape, despite the heartache and worry he had caused, but that night my #1 appliance, the blender fell over and shot shattered glass all over the counter-top, ironing board and floor. 

  Alright, enough already, you get the picture and you have probably been going through a lot yourself. I just say all this to let you know that during all this, despite my Faith, I was not in the best of moods. I knew God was, despite all of our prayers, letting all this happen for a reason, but waiting on finding out what that reason or direction might be, some days was overwhelming. While most days I basked in inexplicable  peace, knowing that God has a plan for a good outcome for all this, still, I admit at times I lost it, crying or acting crabby. 

  I felt so badly for Cappy, who, also going through all the turmoil himself and despite not feeling well most of the time, tried his best to deal with people over the phone and put things to right. He arranged for me to be able to cook our meals outside on the patio.       Everyday, two or three times a day, he carried everything outside, pots, pans, silverware, utensils, ingredients, so I could cook, and then after the meal, he dragged everything back into the house and cleaned up and washed the dishes by hand. 

   He deserves a medal, and not what he got next.

   Being the tugboat captain that he was, living on the boat for weeks or months at a time with engines roaring the whole time, and things shifting or sliding around on surfaces, he put things down with solid purpose. Although he's retired now, he still unconsciously places things very soundly. 

   The patio table is made of tempered glass with a metal edging. With everything else breaking around us, I was nervous about this table top shattering, too. Well, poor guy, his nerves were also bad, so perhaps he placed items onto the table a little harder than usual. So, of course, I "had" to tell him to stop "clunking" things down onto the table so hard. Several times, this one particular day. 

  His plan was to finish his favorite leftovers in the house, while I'd cook some "expensive" gluten free spaghetti for myself on the patio. (...alas, Cappy is married to a mess. Burn survivor and "celiac", who cannot have wheat or gluten. TMI=too much information, I guess...sorry.)

  I can imagine that in all the aggravating shuffle going on with the house and all, and my constantly chiding him about the glass table top, he might have been a little annoyed, and who could blame him. He brought my pasta out and (my perception) slammed the box onto the table.

    I thought, "Oh no...it's fragile uncooked pasta, so now it's probably shattered." I absolutely promise you that I did not react negatively...no eye rolling or complaining, because I am tired of hearing myself nagging or grumbling during this whole house crisis. Besides, it's not a nice quality. I weakly smiled and said, "Thank you," but I guess by then he's had it with me and deliberately "pocked" the big tablespoon hard on the table. 

Well, prissy me, "Not a nice quality?!" I lost it! I sprang out of my chair, thinking,"I'll show him how to slam something on this table! My favorite spaghetti is ruined anyhow." I growled and grabbed the box of spaghetti with both hands, raised it up over my head, intending to hit the table on it's metal edge and scare some sense into him. It never made it to the table; as I angrily swung the box forward, the whole thing shot out of my hands, the clear cellophane wrapper inside burst open as did the box, and dried spaghetti flew everywhere all over the patio bricks!

  I stood there frozen. 

   Cappy asked loudly enough for the neighbors on the next block to hear, "Why did you do that? Why did you throw that expensive spaghetti all over the patio...look at it, it's everywhere, now why did you do that? What I want to know is why did you throw that spaghetti everywhere?" 

   Well, that made me laugh. It was all so absurd. Seems I just can't get away with anything. I can't even throw a successful tantrum. He didn't appreciate my laughing and stated, "Now, see there! You threw a hissy fit for nothing and that's what it got you. So then, what are you going to have for supper? Why did you throw that spaghetti all over the patio, is still what I want to know." (still giggling here)

   Then, he spied the cellophane wrapper with a few strands of spaghetti still in it. I picked it up and said I'd have that with some pasta sauce. I wish I had taken a picture. There were maybe 7 strands left.  The pasta water was boiling on the outdoor propane stove, so I put them in and...well, First, I had to apologize to Cappy and told him that I didn't know the spaghetti was going to fly everywhere like that. (Then I apologized to God for acting like an angry brat.) 

   While Cappy was inside eating his supper, I looked at my few pitiful strands of spaghetti and remembered the "crazy lady." And, knowing that regardless of everything, I'm confident that I'm still God's child, so I began stirring the pan of water, with the few spaghetti strings around in it and sang "Fishes and Loaves, Lord, please" and in my Heavenly language. Silly me, I also love dancing around in the kitchen, so I did that too, dancing and dancing and easily managing not to grab my crotch, not even once, like everybody seems to be doing these days, leastwise on television, anyhow. Then I drained the dismal little pile of limp noodles, put some sauce and grated cheese on it, dumped it into my bowl and began eating it with gratitude that I had anything at all for supper. As I ate, I watched the breezes rustle through the tree branches and listened to the birds singing and flitting about. It was really pleasant. BeauxBear came and joined me, wanting some of whatever I was having, so I fed him strand after strand after strand, thinking what a lovely day it was outside since the weather had cooled a little.

  Presently, I noticed that I was full. I only had a little more in the bowl, so I kept eating to finish it off, but after a bit, I realized that I was positively stuffed and that I couldn't eat another bite! I had to give the rest of it to BeauxBear and after a while he even left a few noodles of it in his bowl!

   I'm still amazed, thinking about this. God's Words are sure powerful!

   So, now, a month and a half or so later, what with the Christmas Season upon us, as Cappy said the other day over the phone, "As gorgeous as the lovely black garbage bags are that y'all put us up for ceilings, we are wondering when your guys are gonna come back and finish the repairs."  The man does have a way with words.

    We are hunkered in this tiny house with the insides looking much like a hoarder's den, but we know...we TRUST, like Cappy's beloved, cantankerous, wonderful "Aint (aunt) Gussy" (God rest her sweet ol' soul) used to quote, "This, too, shall pass." And so, our Faith and Joy intact, we are believing that these are Words to live by. And Lord Willing, so we shall.   

Christmas Cards Past Two Years; Where Have They Been?

We profusely apologize that we neglected to post our Christmas cards for the last two years. While starting this year's card, I, Peggy, was shocked to realize that fact. In fact, if you would like us to mail you one of this year's cards, please let us know. Since we have also been lax in checking our listed email here, please send your request to Cappy at: captainrayr@yahoo.com  (He checks his email daily)

  Here are the Christmas cards from 2 years past: 

Cappy Lowers the Doom

   I'll tell you, it wasn't easy when Cappy was out on the boat and I had to learn to be the "man" of the house until he got back home to resume that role. I had to deal with mechanics who didn't care one whit that I had gone online and thoroughly researched the problem I was having with our SUV, and what part I thought they should repair.  
   "Uh yeah, (little lady) we'll take a look at it for ya," with exchanged looks and eye rolls at one another, they hoisted their britches and clipboard in hand, headed back into the dark recesses of the mechanic's garage where a sign boldly forbade any customers from entering. A couple of times, I happened to be right, much to their chagrin. They had one of the "gals" who worked in the office come and tell me so, and that they were going to replace that particular part...and when they did "voila!" it worked great. Still, it was always a daunting process, dealing with those guys.
  Plumbers coming to the house, same thing. I might investigate the problem, but it didn't always work; they always seemed to talk over my head, "Well, yeah, I'll have to get a double-whirrled purple slath-branger ratchet to finish the job...might cost you a li'l extra, but if yer wantin' the thing to work, an' all...we can fix it."

  Yeah, well, so "I" managed to get the job done, dealing with them.
  I don't even want to talk about electricians or A/C installers or yard workers, etc., etc., etcetera...sigh...it was rough. It got to the point that I'd rather let things hang,'til Cappy got off the boat, which was not always a pleasant "surprise" for him to come home to, when all he wanted to do was relax. So I'd muster up my courage to muddle through the doom and gloom and try it again, sometimes with success and sometimes, not.
  Well, now he's home for good and I'll tell ya, he has really lowered my stress level when it comes to home repairs, etc. Presently, we (he) is handling the bathroom plumbing situation, talking with people who know he means business...and we are planning a trip to Lowe's.
  AHA! Going to Lowe's now is a fun experience...not the dreaded groveling forages into the cavernous aisles I had to endure. With Cappy it's always a fun adventure.
   That reminds me of a couple of stories we had posted here on our blog about just this very thing. Enjoy!

                 But I Don't Wannnna Be a Cowboy
                                                    (originally posted 8/26/2006)  
   Well, now that I've been feeling better, I've tried to get back on track with everything again. Since finishing the den, I've been camping out in the computer-"slash"-guest room, having torn the bedroom apart in preparation for 'de-constructing' and remodeling in a style totally different from Cappy's den, which I love, but want something more light in color and open in feeling, if not in fact. (We live in what Cappy refers to as a 'shoebox'.)
   One of the first things I had to do was purchase storage racks and baskets for the clothes in the closet, because the closet is the first thing on the list to be torn apart.
   Cappy and I usually go together when we shop at the big home improvement stores, but him being out on the boat, I put on my big girl overalls with a tape measure hung on my pocket, list in hand, and swaggered across the parking lot like John Wayne. Too bad there weren't swinging doors; I coulda barged into the place like I owned it, doors flapping behind me. I was gonna look those guys dead in the eye and let 'em know I mean business, not let them double-talk me about pneumatic explosive nail drivers or double hung stud finders....none of that stuff. I pretty much knew what I was looking for, all I hadda do was find it.
   I mosied to the back of the store and found what I needed, but dang if I didn't come up short and needed to ask for help.
   A tough-lookin' gal in a red 'get-up' said she could help, but then called a guy to come answer my questions.
   I steeled myself. I pushed back my shoulders, stuck out my chin and waited. Waited some more. Waited some more. Relaxing a little, I looked around wondering where everybody went...did all the mens dive behind the bar when I strode through those front door with a chip on my shoulder?
   Just when I was about to give up, some 'dandy' pranced down the aisle toward me, all smiles. (I think they hone their timing 'til they see the customer begin to wilt and are more vulnerable...then they pounce.) I've gotta say he was pretty witty and entertaining, but he couldn't answer my questions, so he called another dude on the phone to come help me. As he was flitting away, he turned back and said in a mock provocotive tone, "...Ya know...I could hang around here with you and wait til the other guy shows up?"
   I musta taken off my tough guy exterior when I wasn't looking. I clinked my spurs together, stiffened my spine again and said, "No, but thanks for offering."
   Just then a deep voice behind me said, "Well, I can hang    around with you and wait 'til the other guy gets here, too."
   I turned and saw an older man sitting on one of those motorized scooters, leaning back on one arm, his other arm extended over the steering wheel as though it were a hot red convertible, complete with a 'hubba-hubba' backseat.
   I smiled and was about to joke that his shirt had lost a few buttons, but then decided it might embarrass him. I told him the same thing I had told the 'dandy', "No, but thanks for offering."
   He drove on.
   While I was muttering to myself that I'd probably be waiting forever on this next store helper, a man looking to be in his 50's strode around the corner and jokingly asked me what it was I was looking for anyhow. (anyhow??) And this man had his pale green shirt unbuttoned almost halfway down his front, exposing his hairy grey chest like the guy on the scooter.....oh WAIT...it was the 'scooter guy'... walking around.
   He said, "I reallly will wait around with you 'til the guy shows up."
   Suddenly I got the feeling that this was his 'supermarket'...his 'bar'...and he was a 'lounge lizard', cruising the back aisles of the hardware section looking for gullible females.
   Well, by that time I was totally disarmed and disoriented. I humored him a few minutes with chit-chat about remodeling, etc., then high-tailed it outa there with the shelves and baskets I had already found, unanswered questions flying in the breeze behind me, quickly paid for my purchases and slinked back across the parking lot without what I'd really come for.
   Next time I'll up the ante; I'll go back as Arnold Schwarzenegger.
         And another post of how things are when Cappy lowers the doom (my stress level) at Lowes: click the link here and enjoy the fun...   http://cappyandpegody.blogspot.com/search?q=hummingbird+gumbo

Well, This is a New LOWE's, I Must Say!

 

   Well, this should be interesting: the new stove was supposed to be delivered the next morning between 8 A.M. and noon, so we set the cuss-ed broken down, cantankerous, not working, or worse BURNING while my back was turned old one out in the yard to have it out of the way, and for a friend, who gathers scrap metal and wanted it.

The next morning (Tuesday) no stove delivery. An empty cavern in the kitchen waiting for it.

"They" messaged that it would, instead, be delivered, not from the local store where we ordered it, but from one of their stores 20 miles further away, and to expect it next Friday, again, between 8 A.M. and noon. WHAT?! four days with no kitchen stove/oven?
Well, we made it.
   So today, Friday, we stayed put waiting, but no stove, again. We called several times, only to have to listen to horrible muzak, busy signals, then discovered we'd been dropped.
   FINALLY, at long last, Cappy listened to a very chirpy, happy lady recording, letting us know that our stove is expected (EXPECTED??) to be delivered, now, NEXT Friday. Another week from now.
   I've been cooking, using my Ninja pot and toaster oven, and I'm JUST THIS STUBBORN (ask my kids) I'm going to WAIT this whole next week, just to see what's going to happen,
   Oh we WILL get a new stove whenever. I know, I know, I should probably cancel the order, but I'm not! We'll just see what we get and see what "they" get for customer reviews.
   I'm thinking major discount, as well, for me/us, but darn it, I'm thinking that we should be "grate-FULL" by now, but I'm not!