My favorite time of day is any time I can take fifteen to twenty minutes, put my feet up a little, and read. I usually don’t find this time until right before I go to sleep at night, but once in a while on a weekend I might even take a half hour in the middle of the day to read.

Here’s what I just finished:

I could hardly put Snow Flower and the Secret Fan down. My friend Diane recommended it because she had the opportunity to meet the author.

Because this book was so amazing, I have reserved another by Lisa See at the library and will read this one soon:

Sometimes I have more than one book going at the same time. Right now I’m also reading this one:

My friends Kay and Carole told me about Jon Hassler, a very prolific Minnesota author whose writing has been compared many times to Sinclair Lewis. I’ve never read anything by Sinclair Lewis, but I thought you might like to know that Hassler has been compared to him.  🙂

And here’s a book I honestly feel every Christian should read:

This was one of the most comforting, refreshing books I’ve ever read. Why doesn’t God answer our prayers the way we want sometimes? Why, when He could so easily fix the mess we’re in, doesn’t He? Almost all of Yancey’s books have answered huge questions for me.

And here’s another one along the same lines:

If God is all-powerful and all-loving (which He is), why does He allow so much pain and suffering? I vividly remember reading this book by Joni Eareckson Tada one summer, and lightbulbs were going off over my head constantly. One of the most well-written and profound reads of my life.

When I was young I loved anything by Carol Ryrie Brink. I feel so blessed that I’ve been able to read many of my favorite childhood books out loud to my children, and now to my grandchildren.

This one is a favorite:

When I read The Pink Motel to my grandchildren, Clara was so thrilled with the book that she was literally jumping around in the den as I read, laughing and trying to wait patiently to find out what was going to happen at the end. **Smile**

The book that surprised me the most was this one:

I tried to read At Home in Mitford three times before finally “getting it.” The first couple of times it seemed to be such a yawner and I was perplexed by the constant stream of recommendations it was bringing. When it made the New York Times bestseller list I thought I’d try again. What a lovely surprise that perseverance brought. The whole series touched me in ways I never expected. I have tried to get my daughters to read these and I do appreciate the block they’ve had as they try to understand the (deceptively) simple and meandering read these books are. I am almost to the point where I’ll bribe them to read the Mitford books. $100 a book – what do you think Sharon, Carolyn and Sara? That’s how amazing these books are.

Here’s a book I read that I wish I hadn’t:

Nothing is quite so irritating as pushing through a long book because you keep thinking it has to get better, but then never does. So many people have loved this book, I thought there would be something redeeming in it, and I kept going. And going, and going. When I turned the final page and closed the cover, I threw it in the trash. There are so many reasons why, and I’ll save that for another day.

I often give this book as a gift:

I’m not a huge fan of Christian fiction, even though I’m a Christian and I love fiction. Christian fiction often seems too tidy, too predictable to me. I have read too many surfacey stories that have such delightful endings because someone says the sinner’s prayer and then lives happily ever after. (Vinita Hampton Wright’s Christian fiction is not like that – check her out if you haven’t before.)  Penelope Wilcock’s The Hawk and the Dove is amazing…some of the best Christian fiction I’ve ever read. It grips you from the first page, and I promise it’s like nothing you’ve ever read before. I have two copies on order right now, one to replace my own which I’ve given away, and the other for a friend in California who used to play basketball for my dad. 🙂

Here’s another book I read out loud to Clara and Elijah, and at the end of each and every chapter I heard them both plead, “Grandma, will you puh-leeeeeeeze read another chapter? Please?”

Those words are music to a book-loving grandmother’s ears. If you ask Clara today about the words “cerulean blue,” she will smile and tell you right where they came from:

Where will a lie get you? Down a road of big trouble, and Irma’s bad times really illustrate this in an unforgettable way.

Here’s a book I plan on reading soon:

I read Miller’s Blue Like Jazz and cried and laughed and gained understanding about those whose political leanings are so different from my own. I look forward to reading  A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.

Here’s a book I read every three or four years, and hope to continue rereading until I die:

Keith Green’s life and music have impacted my husband and me in deep ways. His music seems timeless to me. His love for Jesus and what God did in his short life continue to convict and inspire me. I wish I were more like him.

What are you reading these days?

A few years back I was curled up on the couch very early in the morning, with a little fire burning in the hearth and my Bible open in front of me. I was reading from the first chapter of John, preparing for a lecture, and something lit up on the pages. I read that in the earliest days of Christ’s ministry, Andrew and John spent many hours with Jesus. Whatever it was they discussed with Him, it must have been so profound, because the first thing that Andrew did was run to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah!” The first part of verse 42 says, “And he brought him to Jesus.” In the Greek, the word brought suggests that Andrew grabbed his brother by the arm or the hand and pulled or tugged on him. And he brought him to Jesus.

As I was meditating on this verse, another one came to mind. It’s in Matthew chapter 14, and is the story of the feeding of the five thousand. After a long day Jesus told his disciples to give thousands of people something to eat. The disciples were stunned, wondering how they would ever procure an amount of food so great, but one of the disciples, Andrew as a matter of fact, found a small boy who had some food, and Andrew told Jesus what he was able to come up with — five loaves and two fish. Hardly enough to feed five people, much less five thousand.

What was Jesus’s response to that meager discovery? He said, “Bring them here to Me.”

And when the humble offering was brought to Jesus, He gave thanks and began to break the food apart so the disciples could distribute it. Thousands of people were fed, and leftovers were collected.

As I sat on my couch reading this in the morning dark, I pondered what this could mean to all of us. Who doesn’t have great needs in their lives? Do we find we only have loaves and fishes provision yet a massive crowd kind of need? What lack or emptiness or great gaping needs do we face? I have some desperate needs myself right now, as I’m sure most of you do as well. That is life.

But in that moment on the couch, all three of my cherished daughters came to mind. Just like anyone else, they each have different needs, but they’re things that I can’t give them anymore. When they were little it was so easy to fix a snack when they were hungry, put on a bandaid when they had fallen, and show them how to spell a word or to correctly figure an equation. Now they’re grown women with grown up lives, responsibilities and pressures, and a cheese stick, a bandaid or a well-done math problem can’t help.

My eyes filled with tears and I sensed the Lord speak so compassionately to my heart about my three beloveds: “Julie, bring them here to Me.”

And I pictured Jesus Christ, the mighty One about whom Isaiah prophesied, the Lamb of God that John the Baptist announced, the Messiah that Andrew and John dropped everything to follow, sitting right across from me in my living room. And I pictured Him huge. Full of power and love.

In my mind as I prayed for my daughters, I brought them to Jesus, one by one.

My oldest daughter is 33 years old and 6′ 1″ tall, the mother of three and so creative, yet in my mind’s eye I picked her up like I used to when she was a sleeping toddler, and I brought her to Jesus and laid her in His lap.

“Bring her here to Me.”

And in my mind’s eye I picked up my middle daughter, who is 5′ 10″ tall, 31 years old, the mother of four and so creative, and I carried her to Jesus and laid her in His lap.

“Bring her here to Me.“ And in my mind’s eye I carried my 28 year-old daughter, who is 5′ 7″ tall, beloved auntie to many and so creative, to my Savior, and placed her carefully on His lap as well.

It was big enough for all three. It was big enough for the whole world — for all of your loved ones, all your problems, and for every single one of you.

Andrew brought his brother Simon to Jesus and he was never the same. Andrew brought a small bit of bread and fish to Jesus and a multitude of people were well fed.

“Bring them here to Me,” He still invites.

Sometimes, most times, I don’t know how to pray. But I remember those comforting, commanding words:  “Bring them here to Me.”

And knowing He is there and that nothing is impossible for Jesus, I pick up all those who are precious to me, and one by one I bring them to Him. My husband, my daughters, my sons-in-law, my grandchildren, my friends….

Chances are, in my mind’s eye, I’ve even picked you up and brought you to Jesus.

And until I draw my last breath, this is what I’m going to do.

Sara has worked in a local upscale flower shop for a few years now, and we are continually reaping the benefits of her knowledge and creativity. She really knows her flowers (and probably your flowers) and she helps Michael in the yard with our various gardens. I’m one of the few Minnesota women who don’t enjoy gardening very much. I love the results of someone else’s hard work, but I’ve never had much of a green thumb.

It seems like whenever Sara stops over, she first grabs a few blooms of whatever happens to be growing outside, then without us even noticing she puts together a few small arrangements and sets them out around the house. I might come downstairs in the morning and see this on the kitchen table:

Our lilacs are in bloom on the west side of the house, so Sara cut a few stems and arranged them with maple and hosta leaves, phlox and a tulip. It brightens everything up! (All photos can be enlarged by clicking on them.)

We used to have a huge aloe vera plant years ago that we used for medicinal purposes. Sunburns and bug bites usually feel better after aloe gel is gently applied to the skin. Today I noticed this new little aloe plant below, in a kitchen window. Sara bought it last night and potted it in a drinking glass as a little gift for Michael. It looks right at home with our Delft pigs, a windmill that plays the Dutch national anthem, two egg cups and a delightful ceramic sculpture Carolyn made of the house we lived in from 1984-2008.

Last night Sara went with Sharon to buy paint for the kitchen in Chris and Sharon’s new house. If you like, you can see a few photos by clicking here.

Their large yard is bordered by huge white lilac bushes, and Sara cut a few of those blooms and leaves, some fern and also coral bells. This morning when I came downstairs to start breakfast and pack lunches, this lovely little arrangement was sitting on the coffee table in the living room:

Last summer some friends gave me a plant I had never heard of. Sara potted it in a black and white vase so it would look nice in our master bath, where we have black and white toile curtains. This is a peperomia plant on the side of the tub, and it’s in full bloom right now:

Aren’t those blooms creepy unusual? Every day a new little white spiky flower with a blood-red stem unfurls. I have really enjoyed this plant, even if its blooms aren’t as typically beautiful as lilacs, roses or irises. Hey, you bloom whatever you can bloom. And this peperomia can only bloom pointy spikes. I think that’s better than not blooming at all.

Everywhere I turn, there are little pockets of nature’s beauty in our home.

Thank you Sara…

“Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson and Albert Einstein.”

H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

I usually don’t have any trouble falling asleep at night. Getting up between 5:00 and 5:30 a.m. helps with this – by 8:00 p.m. I’m yawning and starting to turn into a pumpkin. I’m usually propped up in bed by 9:00 with something to read, and the hypnotic effect of my eyes tracking back and forth, back and forth across the pages of my book usually puts me to sleep within ten minutes.

What has become an issue for me is staying asleep. Women readers past the age of forty-five will most likely have experienced this. Most doctors call this middle-of-the-nighttime wakefulness “menopausal sleep disturbances,” and while it’s nice to be able to call it something official, it’s still unfortunate to be dead tired and awake, and unable to go back to sleep at 3:30 a.m.

I’ve tried various things to help myself go back to sleep. One: sometimes I pray. But often I then start thinking about all the things that are heavy on my heart and lying there in the dark of night silently talking about them isn’t conducive to good slumber. I know that prayer should bring peace and that I’m supposed to be leaving my concerns with Jesus when I pray, but somehow when I’m exhausted and listening to Edith the Schnauzer snore and I know I have to get up and function well in a couple of hours, prayer just makes me more wakeful.

The second thing I’ve tried is scripture memorization. I have tried going over the verses that the SAGs have worked on together, and I like this activity and feel it’s a productive way to fill a few sleepless hours, not to mention that it’s the way to renew my mind. But sometimes I want to make sure I’m getting the passage right, and then I feel the need to take the tiny flashlight in my nightstand drawer and look at the index card the verse is written on. Sometimes I can do this without waking Michael, other times not. So I haven’t tried this activity in quite a long while.

Sometimes when I can’t sleep I just get up and go downstairs and read the morning paper online. Or I might write a blog post on sleeplessness, Schnauzers or stuffed baked potatoes.

Sometimes I’ve resorted to taking pills. I heard a long time ago that many people just take Benadryl when they need a little help falling or staying asleep. It’s an allergy medication that makes you drowsy. I tried it and it worked. But since I don’t need the allergy medication, now I just buy the pills that have the drowsy-making medication and not the allergy ingredients. Here’s what I occasionally take and it works well – rarely do I wake up and stay awake if I’ve taken two of these.

For the past couple of months I’ve tried another tactic and while it’s a long and meandering path back to sleep, it’s simple and can sometimes be pleasant. I try slowly counting my respirations, beginning at the number seventy-three, going backwards. Don’t ask me why I start at seventy-three — it was just the number that popped into my head one sleepless night as I was trying to figure out what to do about being awake yet again. I guess seventy-three was better than a hundred, in my mind. You might think ninety-one or sixty-four is the number you should start with when you’re lying wide awake at night, and I totally support you in this.

What happens when I start silently counting backwards is always a surprise — I never know where I’ll end up. The only sure thing (at least so far) is that I will fall asleep before I ever get to “three, two, one, zero.”

It goes something like this. I wake up again after a few hours of good, solid sleep. But it’s 2:42 or 3:17 a.m. and I don’t want to get up yet. And I would like to sleep a little more, so I’ll have the ability to be somewhat friendly in the morning and throughout the approaching day. So instead of counting those proverbial sheep, I begin to count my breaths. Slowly inhale, exhale — seventy-three…seventy-two…seventy-one, seventy, sixty-nine, sixty-eight…hmmm…1968 was the year I was in sixth grade and Miss Nancy Curry was my teacher…I remember that kelly green knit sleeveless shift she used to wear, the one with the bone colored stripes up the side of the dress, and how she wore a bone colored bow in her hair too. I remember she wore cinnamon colored nylons which was the trend then and you don’t see anymore. She taught us about South America that year and she pronounced Venezuela Ven-soo-AY-la….sixty-nine…wait, was I at sixty-nine or sixty-eight? I can’t remember, better start back in the seventies so I’ll make sure I don’t skip a number…seventy, sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-five…oh, that was the year my brother graduated from high school – he was eighteen and I was eight — I hope he’s okay right now – Lord please touch him and help him…sixty-five, sixty-four, sixty-three, sixty-two, sixty-one…I cannot believe Michael is sixty-one years old. It seems like just yesterday he was my handsome 32 year-old groom and now next year we will celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary…thirty, twenty-nine, no! wait! I was in the sixties I think…. which number was it? I’d better start at sixty-nine again. Sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six, I always seem to forget what number I’m on as I breathe in, breathe out, but it’s relaxing and I’ll probably fall asleep again before I get to zero.  Oh yes – our thirtieth wedding anniversary – where should we go to celebrate? I would love to visit the Alpine countries – I would love to hear cowbells on Swiss slopes and listen to some yodeling, or even visit Salzburg where The Sound of Music was filmed. I love that movie – I wish life was more like that movie. I wish I could be more like Julie Andrews – kind and gentle and innocent and lovely. I would like to sing and dance with my daughters in front of the villa like that too. Sigh. Sixty-one. Oh where was I? I think it was sixty-six. Breathing slowly – inhale, exhale. Sixty-five, sixty-four, sixty-three, sixty-two, sixty-one, oh I remember now I’ve counted to sixty-one because I thought about Michael. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, I think that’s when Lorna was born…fifty-seven, isn’t there a classic Chevrolet with fins from 1957? I think the Langs next door had one. I know my parents never drove Chevrolets and always preferred Buicks. I remember the beige colored LeSabre station wagon we had – it was a 1963 model and its license plate was black and yellow, and that was before California went to the dark blue and yellow license plates. I remember our first blue and yellow license plate but that was on our 1970 Buick LeSabre – the green one that wasn’t a station wagon. Fifty-six, fifty-five. It’s so strange that I can remember the license plate from that green LeSabre – 889 BIX. My mom even drove that for a while after she moved to Morro Bay. And I can recall part of my grandpa and grandma’s license plate on their 1960 black Cadillac – JBP but I can’t remember the three numbers to that one. Larry’s little blue VW he brought home from Germany eventually had a California plate that said TRF 043. Fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two – I can’t believe I’m fifty-two years old…oh yes I can when I look in the mirror. Fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine, wasn’t there something about a gold rush in a year that ended in 49? I’ll have to look that up. I loved living in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in Gold Country. I wonder if our little three-room trailer on the Yuba River in Smartville is still there? It was eight feet by forty-eight feet and I played Fleetwood Mac all the time and ironed lots of military uniforms in it. I’ll look on Google Earth tomorrow to see if I can find it. Where was I? Inhale, exhale. Fifty-nine? I know I was in the fifties. There was the two-tone car with the fins…maybe I’m in the forties. I’ll start at fifty again to make sure I don’t miss a number. Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six, forty-five, forty-four – wasn’t that Jerry West’s jersey number when he played for the LA Lakers? I think so. And I wonder why they call the Boston Celtics Celtics with a soft sounding C instead of the hard C that we always use nowadays for the word Celtic. I wonder if Michael and I should go to Ireland for our thirtieth anniversary? He would love that. We need to spend more time there this time and see more than just Dublin. Oh, that Bed and Breakfast in Dublin was so cold…brrrr. Thirty, twenty-nine – no! I’m in the forties! Was it forty-seven? Probably not. Forty-three, forty-two — I hated that movie, The Summer of Forty-Two — just too sad….Inhale slowly, exhale slowly…

And I don’t think I’ve ever gotten down to the thirties yet before I’ve fallen fast asleep once again.

So if any of you need a practical method to help you fall back to sleep at night, try counting your breaths backwards, starting at seventy-three.

Let me know how this works for you.

Michael and I need like to get away every several weeks so we can have some quiet time, some sleeping past 5:30 a.m. time, some reading in front of a fire time. A few weeks ago we went in the middle of the week to someplace we’d never been before, where we rented a cabin right on the brink of Lake Superior. It wasn’t far from home but it seemed like a world away. We turned off of Highway 61 when we saw this sign, and drove down a dirt road toward the big lake.

We were pleasantly surprised when we saw that our cabin was perched among some trees, right on the edge of Lake Superior. Less than a stone’s throw from the water. Closer than that, even. Close enough to sneeze on.

That afternoon and most of the night, the rain poured from the sky and the wind whipped up the lake and brought huge, crashing waves on the rocks below our windows.  In the morning the clouds began to lift and we could see the sun in the east over Lake Superior.

It was wonderful spending the day inside. Michael found something he loves to do but I don’t have the patience for:

And I found something I love to do that Michael doesn’t have the patience for: these are my relaxed feet propped up on the arm of the couch, and that is my Kindle, which can hold one thousand books.

We loved being in our cabin with a cozy fire crackling in the fireplace. We treated ourselves to a couple of these little bottles too:

We took turns in this gliding rocking chair by the window. Did I mention that right outside was the biggest fresh water lake in the world?  We love that lake. We live close to that lake. We’d like to live even closer someday.

A photo of favorites — favorite socks, favorite shoes, favorite man.

When the rain stopped the next day, we went to Gooseberry Falls and the visitor center there. I bought some bird bookmarks and two CDs, one of which I am now playing compulsively (but quietly) each night in our bedroom as we go to sleep. At the Gooseberry Center is a huge, stuffed Timberwolf. We have lots of these in our part of the country:

Michael explored the rocky shore right outside our cabin. He has always loved to hunt for agates.

Our last evening there we ate dinner at the Grand Superior Lodge, which is quintessentially Minnesotan in every way possible.

The menu was full of wonderful meals made with Minnesota things, like pink lingonberry butter to spread on dense homemade wild rice bread, fresh-catch walleye, and venison. I ordered apple brandied chicken stuffed with Brie, sprinkled with fresh herbs, pecans and cranberries, and maple syruped sweet potatoes. It was unique and eye-rollingly delicious.

Michael loves walleyed pike, one of the best tasting fresh water fish in the world. He fishes for walleye whenever he can, “winter, spring, summer or fall, all you have to do is call, and he’ll be there, yes he will, he wants a walleye,” and orders it often when we go out for dinner. His walleye came with Minnesota wild rice pilaf, and everything was cooked to perfection.

Michael wanted dessert and ordered a frozen chocolate mousse with raspberry coulis and sprinkled with ground pistachios. He loved it; I had a bite and thought it was okay. I would have been fine with a few miniature Reese’s cups.

When we were getting ready to head home I asked Michael if he thought he could live in a two-bedroom cabin like the one we stayed in. He didn’t take more than a half-second to say yes.

Where do you go when you need to rest and refresh?

I asked my friend Tauni if she would share something for the blog and I think you’ll be blessed by what she sent me yesterday. Tauni lives by the ocean in Southern California, is married to Curt, has two grown children, Shannon and Jared, and a darling toddler grandson named Ben.  Enjoy…

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Tauni and Curt

The way God works in my life never ceases to amaze me. Day by day I have learned to open my heart to His wonders anew and truly allow myself to be blessed, even in the dark and twisted places where I sometimes find myself. However, it has not always been this way. A brief encounter with an acquaintance at work forever altered the way I choose to live my life.

In June 2003 I was struggling emotionally, physically and financially. I found myself fretting, worrying, wondering and many times feeling very angry and depressed because of my circumstances. It was really hard to see God’s hand in anything, let alone working in my life.

One day I requested one of the employees at work to come to my office as I had a question on the time sheet I was processing for her.  She stopped by, we discussed the issue and she left closing the door behind her. A few minutes later there was a soft knock and as she opened the door asked if I had a couple of minutes because she had to share something with me. She shared that God had told her to talk to me over a month ago and she had kept fighting it, had been “arguing” with Him if you will. When she left my office after our work discussion she felt convicted about ignoring Him and she knew she could not avoid it any longer so she came back. She told me of a vision and a prophesy God had given her specifically for me. In summary, she shared with me that God wanted me to know that He has a plan for my life; that the plan was to prosper me. She told me that Jeremiah 29:11 was His message to me. That He would bless me immeasurably, that I would indeed be very prosperous. I was overwhelmed with all the things she said. As I think about it now, if felt like a whirlwind blowing through my office around me and then out the door. I shared briefly what I had been recently going through and thanked her for coming back. She stated, “That is not all.” I took a deep breath and said, “Ok.”  She then shared that God also wanted me to know that Satan had asked to “sift” me (see Luke 22:31) as wheat. That no matter what my circumstances were, I was to give Him (God) praise; to stand on His promise and remember it. After a few more minutes of talking together and a prayer she left.

Since I had never had someone prophesy to me, about me, over me, I was a bit skeptical about the whole situation. And, while I was really excited about the “prosper” part, I was not so excited about the “sifting” part. However, the more I pondered the encounter the more confident I felt that God was indeed talking to me.

One might think the “sifting” part would be the most difficult thing to cope with in this situation, at least I thought it would be. However, I found through the years that the “prosper” part has brought the biggest challenge. When the “sifting” began I learned how to recognize it for the most part and praised God. It is now so automatic I don’t even think about it. It has taught me to slow down, take a deep breath and watch God work, and work He does; in some of the most amazing ways.

God continues to lead me on an interesting journey to the prosperity part. In the beginning I found myself looking at everything from the perspective of potential prosperity and was always met with disappointment after disappointment. As time goes by, God has used those disappointments and His Word to open my eyes to the limitations of my human comprehension and the fact that He is limitless. Examples of how God works beyond human limitations are found throughout scripture, in the lives of Job, Joseph, Moses, and Saul of Tarsus, for example. But the example that most resonates with me is Sarah, Abraham’s wife. I can understand Sarah’s frustration of not conceiving a child after God told her she would. Often I found myself wanting to “help” God, much in the way Sarah “helped” him when she offered Hagar, her maidservant, to Abraham as a way to give him the children God promised him. In other words, not fully understanding God’s ways led her to believe she had a better way, which turned out disastrous. I have had many “Sarah moments” in my life, feeling the need to do something, anything, out of sheer frustration at the waiting, and having it turn out disastrous.

I have discerned some recurring themes through this journey. The first is the waiting time.  Scripture tells of years and sometimes decades (even centuries) passing between the time of God’s initial promise and the ultimate fulfillment of that promise. I understand the depth of doubt people fought as year after year went by without the promise fulfilled; doubting the integrity of God and doubting the love of God, wanting to just take control because God seemed to be taking so long.

The second is the growing time. Scripture also speaks of the process of growing integrity and character through events that occur. As I look back on my life over the past seven years I see how my integrity and character have been challenged to grow through each event that has occurred.  Coping with consequences of my choices has taught me to examine and evaluate my motives and how my actions affect the people I love and others around me. Third, through the waiting and growing times, God is still there. He speaks, I have to be still and listen. And finally, God always keeps his promises.

One step at a time I am learning how to deal with my “Sarah moments.”  At the time of this writing I have not yet seen the fulfillment of the promise of prosperity; on the contrary, I am struggling more now in many ways than in June of 2003. But it has ceased to be important. Recognizing that God sees the whole parade and I see just what is in front of me, I am focused on God’s process, listening to God’s voice and learning His ways, making the most of the waiting and growing times so that when God’s promise is fulfilled in His time, I will have the integrity, character and humility to handle it as a King’s kid, all the while praising Him!

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Very soon, my dear childhood (and adulthood) friend Tauni will be a guest blogger here at Just Julie. Tauni and I have known each other for over 45 years now, and you can read a little more about her right here.

Another dear friend was a guest blogger a while back too – I would read anything Diane Aro wrote, and if you haven’t read this yet, you’ll appreciate “Pride Cometh Before a Zip.”

Tauni flew from Southern California last summer to visit us here in the north woods. I was so inspired by our time together. Perhaps no other person I know has taught me more about forgiveness, humility, and guileless living as Tauni has. Just by her example, I am constantly challenged to walk out my Christian life in truer, kinder and more loving ways. Every time I talk with her on the phone or exchange emails with her, I come away having learned something new, or having been encouraged in practical ways. So I asked Tauni if she would be my second guest blogger, and she graciously agreed.

In a day or two I’ll be posting whatever she has decided to share, and I know it will be a blessing. Don’t miss it!

Peace,

If you know what a neti pot is, you probably either love them or they disgust you so thoroughly you gag when you hear the words neti pot even uttered.

For the few who might not know what a neti pot is, here is a photo and a definition:

Historically, neti pots were used in India, to assist in clearing the nasal passages. The neti pot was introduced to the West approximately thirty years ago, and today many people in the West have taken up a modified type of neti practice called Jala Neti (water neti) using a neti pot.

The use of a neti pot requires mixing up a saline solution that will be poured through the nasal passages. A typical saline solution is a mixture of around one pint of water with a teaspoon of salt. In modern times, saline nasal irrigation (SNI) has become more widely accepted as a home remedy to relieve conditions such as allergies (hay fever), colds and mild sinus infections.

If you’re curious you can see a demonstration of someone using a neti pot by clicking right here. Also essential to neti pot basics is keeping your neti pot clean.

Anyway, I know people who have used neti pots with great results, and I myself have used one; once I got over the initial feeling of drowning (which goes away after you’ve used it a couple of times and understand what’s happening to the water) I found the clear-breathing feeling afterward quite refreshing.

My son-in-law Jeremy has allergies and I thought he’d be a perfect candidate for a neti pot, so I bought him one. He used it now and then and did get relief.

Here comes the part of the story that is not for the faint of heart. In fact, if you gag easily you might want to just move on now to the next blog you planned on reading today.

Not long ago Jeremy felt like he was coming down with a sinus infection. Having used his neti pot in the past with good results, he decided to nip this issue in the bud and try irrigating his sinuses as a first line of defense.

When Carolyn found out that he had done this, she winced and said, “You probably don’t want to know where that neti pot has been.”

Oh dear. Guess where it had been?

Before I tell you that, I’ll show you the Neti Pot Culprit. This is 2 1/2 year old Audrey. She is the sweetest little girl. She loves to call Michael Bocka instead of Grandpa. She used to call me Backa instead of Grandma, but now she expertly says Grandma. So when she comes over, she runs into my arms and squeals to us both, “Hi Bocka! Hi Grandma!” Bocka and Grandma: not what I had thought we’d be called, but we’re good with it.

Audrey is an inquisitive, busy child who loves to explore. She likes to smear cold cream on upholstered furniture, enjoys breaking eggs by the dozen on the kitchen floor to see what they’ll feel like under bare feet, and thinks water is the funnest thing to splash and play in.

Audrey found Daddy’s neti pot and thought it would be so fun to scoop some water into it and pour it out on places in the house that badly needed watering.

But here’s where the Auds got the water to put in the neti pot:

Are you gagging yet? I truly hope not. I would hate to have my blog labeled The Blog That Makes People Gag.

But now you know what happened, don’t you? Jeremy used his neti pot to irrigate his sinuses, after Audrey had used it to scoop out some water from a place other than the sink. And in no time, Jeremy’s sinus infection got worse. Alarmingly worse. Ragingly worse. The infection quickly traveled up to his eyes, the appearance of which gave new meaning to the word bloodshot. Of course he saw a doctor. Thank God for antibiotics – he’s well now.

Audrey, Jeremy and the Neti Pot Adventure notwithstanding, have you ever used a neti pot? If so, what were the results?

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.

Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians chapter 13

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This is what I’m thinking and praying about today. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever truly see these words worked out in my life.