“Counting Every Blessing”

I really enjoy the music of Rend Collective.  Their music personally speaks to me and their message of “Counting Every Blessing” puts things back into perspective for me when I find myself having doubts.

From Ice Skates to Prayer

I have been trying to sell my daughter’s ice skates for the last five years.  They were only worn about 3 times and then she outgrew them.  I had a few inquiries, but the deal was never sealed.  I recently reposted them and someone finally wanted to buy them.

The mom, who I had been corresponding with, said she was blessed to be able to get them for her daughter.  I was selling them for $20 as they were in mint condition.  I decided to surprise her but she had sent her husband instead.

I let him know that I was gifting the skates to his daughter and appreciated all he was doing.  He said he appreciated me.  I should mention, the father is currently serving in the Air Force.  As an Army mom, I do what I can to help out our military (past and present).

Later, I received a text from the mom.  She said her entire family was moved by my generosity.  Her daughter was so excited with her “new” skates.  I simply told her that I was recovering from a serious illness and I had been blessed with a lot of support and now I am able to pay it forward.

We traded a few more texts.  I told her it was meant to be, as I had held onto those skates for so many years.  She asked if she could pray for me.  I thanked her as prayers are always welcomed and appreciated.  I extended an invite to Simple Church, in case they didn’t have a home church.  God works in mysterious ways.  It was a blessing to be able to give a little girl a pair of skates and in turn, I received something much greater.

Updated: God in my life

I’ve been reviewing some of my previous writings.  I thought with June looming around the corner, it would be a good time to reflect on God in my life.  I wrote the original, “God In My Life” a year ago.  Since then, I have been diagnosed with Stage-3 colon cancer and my youngest sister, whom I’ve somewhat reconnected with, has been diagnosed with Stage-2 breast cancer.  While I am fighting cancer with everything I’ve got, I never went through the “why me” phase.  I truly trust God has a plan for me.

I am still with Simple Church and they have been beyond supportive.  I know I was led there before my cancer diagnosis was brought to light. For that, I am eternally grateful!  I am thankful for everyone who has prayed, and continues to pray for me.  Prayer really does work.

 

I Believe

I believe in the power of prayer.  Today, I received more bad news; not about me though.  I am asking for anyone who prayers to lift up a prayer for my son.  I am feeling helpless and there’s not much I can do.

He knows what it’s about.  I just pray truth and justice are brought to light.  This family has had far too much to deal with lately.

Thank you…

Christian Youth Group

Last night I attended a parents’ forum for the Christian youth group my daughter goes to.  While, we don’t attend the church the group is held at, all are welcome. Most of the parents know each other from church, but several introduced themselves to the “newbie” (aka me).

I enjoyed hearing about what my daughter and the other kids were learning about.  There was a discussion on how we can communicate with our children and keep them in the faith.  I even learned about a Bible app that can connect us, but also we can pick topics to read and discuss.  I was excited!  I now what we will be using for our Bible study next year in our homeschool.  My daughter knew of the app, but chose not to tell me as she knew I would use it for our school.

Our forum ended right when they were doing the evening meal (they feed the kids dinner each week).  It was nice to sit back and watch my daughter and her friends chatting, while eating together.  I was also able to observe other kids and their parents.

We listened to the weekly message and then one of the leaders and three of the students played and sang worship songs (that anyone could join in on).

I take pride in being actively involved in my tween’s life.  I have access to her email, review her phone regularly, am on her Bible app, and her Instagram account (set up to show off her artwork).  I monitor what little social media I allow her to have.  She knows this and it’s not an issue.  I am proud I know the parents and kids she hangs around with.  I know they are positive influences and I don’t need to worry when she is around them.

The youth group is a weekly, two-hour blessing that I am grateful my daughter can be a part of.  That is her time with other kids who follow Christ.  Such a positive, safe and wonderful place for tweens and teens to get together.

IF Table

Yesterday, I attended my first IF Table. It’s a small group meeting through church. A friend actually invited me to go with her. I don’t attend her church, but it’s nice to get together with other women of faith. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into, but I wanted to see my friend and figured this couldn’t hurt.

The IF Table has some cards with questions on them. They provide discussion opportunities for those who attend. While, this group was new to me, the concept wasn’t; as I attend a small group at my church and we have a similar setup.

While I didn’t share, and actually broke down into tears at one point, it was a really nice time. I listened to the other women and their responses, which surprisingly, provided comfort.

The group meets once a month. Depending on my work schedule, I’d like to attend again. In May, I will be working seven days a week, as I was able to pick up a part-time job. I won’t be working both jobs forever, but as donations are down to a trickle, I need the extra income. So, until I have been “cured” of cancer or it kills me, I’ll be busy instead of idle. I need this second job to help keep me busy and focused.

I encourage you to step out of your comfort zone and if you’re invited out or you feel like exploring, please join a small group. The small groups allow you to connect and grow in your faith.

I hope everyone has a blessed week.

Angels Walk Among Us

I honestly believe that angels walk among us and they take the form of friends.

A few weeks ago, I was lost.  I was having daily meltdowns regarding how I am going to pay for my cancer treatment and medications.  I was shutting down and beginning to withdraw.

I had a long-time friend invite me over to her home after church.  I was such in a bad place, I didn’t want to go.  I told her I would think about it.  She tempted me with seeing their Siberian Husky.  I have unofficially adopted him…well adopted him in the sense he is my main focus when I get to visit him; and his owners.

I relented and asked when we should be at her house.  I grabbed a toy for Kona (the Siberian).  I love that dog; even if he’s not mine.  I get through church, take a much-needed nap (thanks to my meds) and woke up in time to leave.

Standard greetings took place and then it was time to see Kona; who is normally outside – he loves it outside.  I walk out, hear a guy’s voice, who I just assumed was my friend’s boyfriend.  When I say, I go to see the dog, I’m not kidding.  I was so dog-focused, I failed to realize my son was the one holding onto the dog’s leash.  Right next to him, was my daughter-in-law and granddaughter.          

It’s been six years since I’ve seen my son.   He’s in the Army, so visits are few and far between and he’s stationed across the country.  Another one of my friends used air miles that would expire before she could use them and flew them all out to see me.  I had yet to meet my daughter-in-law or meet my (now) eight-month old granddaughter.

To say tears were flowing would be an understatement.  I was beyond surprised.  Several people were in on it.  They kept me going til the surprise took place.  They knew how difficult life had become and brought a beacon of light to brighten up my world.

I have had the pleasure of having my oldest and youngest together for three weeks.  We did a few low-key tourist things, but mostly stayed near home.  I still have had to work while they have been here.

Walking through my front door and to be greeted by my smiling grandbaby brings joy like nothing else.  Cooking dinner every night has been great.  My daughter-in-law LOVES mashed potatoes!  It may seem trivial, but my husband is Asian and we eat a lot of rice.  I had another person in my corner for side dishes.  My son did good marrying her.  LOL

My granddaughter celebrated her first Christmas in my home.  My daughter and son were able to celebrate their birthdays together (New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day).  I was able to bring the “kids” to church and introduce them to my church family.  My son isn’t big on attending church, but he did so for his mom.

I will be sad when I have to take them to the airport tomorrow.  Tonight will be the last night that I will sit on the sofa, holding the baby, and giving her a bottle.  She can hold it herself, but each evening, we’ve had our little bonding time.  I will miss it greatly!

I am blessed that I have angels walking among us and I get the privilege of calling them friends.

Simple Church

Our church is rebranding.  This is new for me, because growing up, we went to the same church my entire life and it never changed.  I even was married in that church.  With the rebranding, we are establishing ourself apart from another church that we have been getting confused with.  I think it’s a great idea.  Without change, there cannot be growth.  I am from a small country town.  Even though I moved to a city, I still like my church small, but we all have room for growth.

God’s message is simple.

After years of searching for my “home church”, I have found it.  I’ve been at Simple Church for about six months now.  In that time, besides being allowed to drink all the coffee I could want, I have met people who are becoming like family.  I’ve even been asked to help with providing refreshments for fellowship after church.  This was a blessing, because I enjoy cooking and feeding others and providing a snack or meal, appeases that particular need.

Having moved 3,000 miles from where I used to call home, restarted my life, remarried, had another child, gone through some really difficult trials and now battling cancer, knowing there is a place, where I am accepted in my jeans, my tattoos and all my other short-comings, brings a sense of peace.

Every week, the message comes from the Bible. It’s straight-forward; can’t get any simpler than that.  Prayers, contemporary music and singing fills the room as well.  There’s a song, “Old Church Choir“, by Zach Williams that sums up my feelings.

If you’ve ever been to a church with a choir, you know they can project a lively happiness with an upbeat tempos and their voices.  You are drawn in, want to be part of and appreciate the energy they are providing.  Memories are created through the music.

Stepping into Simple Church gives me that feeling every week!  Even when I was brand new to the church, I was welcomed.  It just wasn’t an obligatory, “hello” by someone assigned to meet the ‘new people’.  It was a genuine welcoming and caring that you were there.

It’s a church where I feel comfortable bringing my daughter.  Having a tween child brings it’s own challenges.  Knowing she is making friends, likes the children and their parents and wants to go instead of fighting me not to, says a lot too.

If there are little ones to consider, there’s a nursery for them to play and relax in during the service.

All in all, if you are looking for a small, community-based church, that offers genuine caring and compassion, with what I like to call a ‘come as you are’ mentality, then Simple Church might be the place for you.

If you are in the Solano County area, come check out 10:00 a.m. service.  We’d love to meet you!

God in my life

Disclaimer:  This blog post will probably be lengthy, however, I feel it’s time to share how I’ve seen God in my life.

I wasn’t born into a wealthy family.  My father only had an eighth grade education and my mother only went as far as to graduate high school.  I was the oldest of three daughters and often had to help raise my younger sisters, while my mother worked two jobs and my father worked what jobs he could.  My dad was also an active alcoholic during my childhood.  He chose to get help when my mother kicked him out.  Then he sobered up and stayed that way. However, my sisters and I spent many nights playing in the a church room, while my mom attended Al-Anon.  We were pretty shielded about why she attended. I will say through all our hard times, my parents never accepted government assistance, although looking back, we more than qualified; at times.

My mother was the foundation of our family.  She made sure my sisters and I went to church on a regular basis.  Back then, it was what was required.  We didn’t always go willingly, but we went.  We grew up in the United Methodist Church where we attended Sunday school, were confirmed in the faith, joined the youth groups and choir.  It was the only church I ever knew and it was the church I set the standard for my future adventures in faith.

Was I devout?  Not, in the least.  I believed in God, but rarely said grace before meals, prayed or reached out to anyone in my church.  I was missing a connection.

I married at just 18-years old.  I had no support, but my family went through the motions of my marriage anyway.  Needless to say, they were right, along with everyone else, and my marriage was doomed to fail.  One thing I did take seriously, was my marriage vows; esp., ’til death do you part’.  Little did I know, that vow almost cost me my life.

That quick foreshadowing was meant to segway into how my (now) ex-husband was extremely abusive.  There were two separate times he actually tried to kill me.  In the six and a half years we were together, we had four children.  I was a typical abused wife, caught up in the cycle of violence.

I believed if I had dinner ready on time, I wouldn’t have gotten yelled at.  If I wasn’t so tired, from being pregnant, the house would be cleaner and I wouldn’t have gotten hit.  I believed him when he said he was sorry.  “It won’t happen again.”  If there were ever famous last words, those were it.

We attempted counseling.  It was couples counseling, in addition to individual sessions. When your therapist tells you privately, “have a bag packed and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice”.  Go ahead; it’s ok to read into how serious the danger level was.

Yet, I had two small children and I had no place to go.  No one knew of the abuse; esp. not my family. My mom didn’t even find out until I was pregnant with my fourth child and we woke up to our house on fire.  We ended up staying with my parents again; which my ex-husband made for a less than amicable time.

I had been journaling about the abuse and hid the notebook under my mattress.  When we moved out, I forgot about it.  Months later, my mother found it, read it, and called me crying asking if I was being abused.  I broke down and admitted everything.

I had attempted leaving before, but my ex-husband convinced me to come back; esp. after he cleaned out our bank account and left me financially broke.  I had little choice (or so I thought).

I will spare the rest of the details I can remember. I used to cry myself to sleep asking God, “what did I do to deserve this”?  The abuse only escalated.  It got to the point, I ended up having to leave my children behind, in order to survive.  My youngest son was only six months’ old.

I left and ended up staying with a guy I barely knew.  I had no job because my ex-husband told the restaurant I worked at that I abandoned my children and they felt the need to tell me to go home and be a better wife and mother.  Wow!  I was floored.  I felt like enough of a failure without my boss and coworkers passing judgement on me.

One day, when hopelessness was overwhelming, I made the decision to just end it all.  I went and bought a bottle of sleeping pills.  It was the easiest way; just go to sleep.  Little did I know God had other plans for me.

I carried out my plan.  I didn’t leave a note.  Got a large glass of water and began swallowing three pills, at a time, until the bottle was empty.  I laid down on the floor, with a pillow and blanket, and planned to go to sleep forever.

I fell asleep and then felt convulsions.  It was like I was having a nightmare and I couldn’t wake up from it.  I heard in my mind, “you’re not going to die today.”  I continued to have convulsions, as if a doctor had paddles to my chest and was yelling, “CLEAR!”  I have no idea how much time passed.  It was dark outside, I woke up, still alone and thought, “I can’t even kill myself right”.  However, after that ordeal, I did believe I wasn’t supposed to die that day and never attempted to take my life again.

Long story short, I ended moving to California.  The state I grew up in had horrible domestic violence laws.  They didn’t have anti-stalking laws.  I had no protection.  Once my ex learned of my change in states, he chose to give the children to my mother and followed me.  I lived several years looking over my shoulder.  I even arranged for someone else to check my post office box, in case he would be waiting for me one day.

Skip ahead years later, and I remarried.  My children were still with my mother.  I would call and speak to the kids, but they wanted me home and it wasn’t possible.  Anger and resentment festered from them.  I was losing my children and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  I admit it.  I was a bad mom.  I wasn’t strong enough to stand up for myself and it cost me my children.

I did have one more child.  My second husband had no children and I had to prove to myself I wasn’t a horrible mother.  With the abuse factor removed, I didn’t suffer the severe depression I had with my other children.  I wasn’t hospitalized for postpartum depression, as I had been twice in the past.

My mother and I chose not to tell the children about their half-sister.  They resented me so much already.  I knew them thinking I just left to start another family would be first on their mind.  I knew this because that is what their father had told them.  He eventually left California and returned to my home state to get custody of our children.

Meanwhile, when my youngest was 5-months’ old, I started looking for a church to go back to.  I was missing something.  I was so alone.  I found a United Methodist Church, close to home.  I took my little one with me and walked into Wayside UMC for the first time.  I figured, if it wasn’t for me, I could use the baby as the reason I had to leave.

We stayed and I eventually became a member of the church.  Even though the church reminded me of the church I grew up in, I still hadn’t made any close connections.  I went through the motions, but it wasn’t 100% what I was looking for.

In June 2007, my father, whom I’ve always had a strained relationship with, was diagnosed with Stage-4, stomach cancer.  He was given three to six weeks to live.  I called to speak with him while he was in the hospital.  He had forgotten he had an older daughter; he thought I was my sister playing a joke on him.  After five agonizing minutes, he finally remembered who I was.  We spoke til he got tired.  It was the last time I was speak with him.  He died exactly three weeks from diagnosis.

A few years later, I reconnected with my sister.  A sister that I didn’t speak to for 10 years.  Yet, after all the abuse and loss I had already experienced (which I glossed over quite a bit), my 37-year old sister was diagnosed with Stage-4 breast cancer. Diagnosis: less than a year.  My mother and I prayed, but we were also facing reality that her breast cancer was aggressive and odds of recovery were slim to none.

After her passing in June of 2012, I was lost.  I had survivor’s guilt.  I stopped going to church.  No one called to check up on me.  I didn’t feel missed or cared for.  I flew home to bury my sister, flew back to California and had to pretend my life was fine.

Let’s add insult to injury and have my youngest sister call me one morning while I was at work.  Seems my mother was rushed to the hospital with food poisoning.  After some testing, it was determined it wasn’t food poisoning.  She had a bowel blockage and required emergency surgery.  My mother never made it out of surgery as she died on the operating table because she didn’t have a small blockage; all of her intestines were dead. She couldn’t be saved. My mother passed away one year and 13 days after I buried my sister.

To say I was angry with God was an understatement.  Nothing made sense.  I was being punished and I didn’t know how much more I could take.  My older children, except for my first born, didn’t want anything to do with me.  If I didn’t have my youngest at home, I don’t know what drastic steps I would have taken.

I became guardian to my two youngest nieces.  They were my sister’s children, whom my mother was raising.  Life was turned around.  There was a huge struggle to bring two children to California.  Resources weren’t there, but I felt this is what I had to do. Raising two more children, trying to mourn my sister and mother and a family who had a huge adjustment factor, was more than I could handle.

I am thankful for my friends on Facebook.  Ironically, they became my only support system.  Some were friends I knew personally; others were strangers.  They were the only beacon of light, during those dark days.

I would attend church sporadically.  Everyone was nice, but no one really tried to know me other than the polite exchanges we had before service. There was still a disconnect. My nieces eventually returned to my home state; without my consent.  That’s another story, for another time.  With the way the events played out with my nieces, it ended my relationship with my youngest sister; my last relative in my nuclear family.

I began to look for other churches to attend.  I tried to stay within the United Methodist community.  It was all I had ever known.  I also tried some non-denominational churches and even went back to Wayside a few times.  I joined another local church; but that lasted about a year.  It wasn’t the right fit.  Nothing was right.  Nothing made sense.  I gave up.

A couple months ago, I began another search for a church to call home.  I had exhausted all the options within the local United Methodist organization.  I Googled some local churches and found one within a couple miles of my home.

What caught my attention was they spoke of relationships and not religion.  They also offered hot coffee.  Ok, was it wrong, I was drawn in by coffee?  I figured, I could use a free cup of coffee, listen to the message and just leave if it was like all the rest.

I was pleasantly surprised.  I’m used to a “welcoming” committee, but it seemed everyone who first saw me, made an effort to say hello.  After the service, I several people came up to me and wanted to get to know me.  It wasn’t what I expected.

I returned week after week.  I even joined a weekly Bible study group.  While I don’t share much at church or within the study group, it’s been nothing but a positive experience.

With this June being the fifth angelversary of my sister’s passing and the fourth angelversary of mother’s passing, I don’t feel as alone this year as I have in previous years.  I can attribute that to attending Simple Church.

Again, I left a lot of details out of the struggles of my first marriage, the abuse, the nightmare of family court and the memory loss from the abuse.  However, I believe there is a purpose for all of this.  While I don’t know God’s plan for my life, I trust in Him.

 

 

A Place to call “Home”

About a month ago, I was searching for local churches.  With the cost of gas, driving back and forth to our old church isn’t really feasible.  While I adore the pastor there, I still don’t feel like I did when I attended the church I grew up.  Mind you, I’ve been attending this particular church on and off for 11 years.  I started attending when my daughter was only five months’ old.

The problem I was encountering, was I wanted to stay within the United Methodist community, yet I had been to all the surrounding churches, heck even joined one, and they just aren’t for me.  What was I to do.  I feel a calling to go back to church regularly.

Facebook, with its, “suggestions”, based off my Google search, showed me nearby churches.  There was one, very close to my home, awesome reviews.  It promised to have coffee (don’t judge me on my caffeine neediness), fellowship and to feel welcome.

Sounds like a lot of churches, but I thought, heck, it’s just me.  I can walk into church, grab some coffee, and listen for a bit, right?

Well, I did just that.  However, I was greeted by several people.  Lord help me and my horrible ability to remember names.  I’m just awful about that.  Yet, they showed me to the coffee, SCORE, introduced several people to me, and were genuine.

It sounds silly, but that’s what I needed.  Not just pleasantries, but a sincere welcoming, caring about you being there.

My other concern was a traditional service.  This was a non-denominational church and I’ve had some experiences with them and had been less than impressed.  I’ve spent over 40 years singing hymns in church.  Contemporary elements were for special services, normally by the children.  Yet, the music they play is what my daughter is being exposed to at her private, Christian school.  Another comfort level met.  I know some of these songs.  I hear some on the radio too!

Just to interject, I’m becoming a huge fan contemporary Christian music.  I can say, Chris Tomlin, is my favorite singers.  His songs speak to me.  My current “addiction” song that he sings is, “Amazing Grace:  My Chains Are Gone“.  It combines one of my favorite hymns and a contemporary twist.

Last Sunday, my daughter joined me for service.  She actually joined the kids’ group during the service; virtually unheard of.  You’d think she was a fly and I the paper.  She had a wonderful time.  I stayed with the adults, of course, and heard the Message (aka, Sermon).  It’s relayed in such a way that it follows scripture but can be applied to modern times.

I now look forward to attending service every Sunday.  I am making local friends and I feel like a truly belong.  It’s almost silly.  At my old church, I typically the only one with visible tattoos.  I felt I needed to keep them covered as much as possible.  My new church, there are several people with arm tattoos and it’s just another level of welcome; in my eyes.

I am blessed to have found Harvest Community Church at this time in my life.  I believe it’s where I am meant to be.