Nathan

Terry and I wanted to have two boys close in age. I never used any birth control and never had any periods between Matt and Nathan. When Matt was about 7 months old I got preganant. We were very happy but others made negative comments about the wisdom of having 2 so close in age. Both Mom and Kathy Sacry encouraged me though. They were definitely for close in age kids. When I called Terry's Mom she said, "You're kidding!" (negative tone)
I had a good pregnancy. I'm sure I had the usual symptoms but don't remember much. I did get very sick with bronchitis. I refused to take any medicine or even go to the doctor at first. When I finally gave in he told me I was near pneumonia. He was angry with me and told me I probably did more damage to the baby by not taking medicine that if I had. Of course I felt awful. I quickly recovered after that.
I also had lots of allergy problems with both boys and since I couldn't take anything had a constant sneezing dripping time. It was during Nathan's pregnancy that I became allergic to cats and I have been ever since.
I gained 30 pounds with Nathan, the most I ever did. I couldn't tie my shoes so Terry did it for me. The doctor figured I was due about the end of May so Mom and Diane came the end of May, stayed 2 weeks and went home. Then Terry's parents came for 2 weeks and left. Then Karen Woods (now Garber) came 2 weeks and then left. (During that time Grandpa Carroll died. I couldn't leave as it was June and Nathan was due any day! I heard about the funeral. All my siblings were pall bearers and on the way to the cemetary the processon went through a cattle drive. Grandpa loved cattle drives so we thought that was neat.)
I must have thought Nathan would never come because on July 11 I was in charge of Church school worship, Terry was preaching and I was in charge of a baby shower for someone else. Our friends took over and we went to the hospital. I got up early and finished a cake for the shower between contractions.
Dr. Yardy assured me that this one would be easier. I was all loosened up now and things would be fine. He went on vacation that Saturday and Nathan was born on Sunday afternoon. The doctor who took over for him was an OB. I did fine until the pushing came. I said to Terry at one point, "Kill me. Don't let anything happen to this baby but just kill me." It was a hard day for him. I could hear the doctor down at the end saying things like, "Yeah that Yardy told me this would be an easy one. She'd already had a big one to make the way." and "Come on Buttcus(sp?) get out of there." (Terry explained later that Dick Buttcus was a large football player.) Nathan had the cord around his neck and the doctor had to use forcepts like Matt. He looked a little better than Matt did when he came out. Not a long an narrow head, just a smaller hematoma and red eyes. He had a large head and was 8#13oz. He was so developed that his fingernails had grown over the end of his fingers and they made him wear little mits to keep him from scratching himself. He was a beautiful baby, so round and quiet and even then he seemed gentle. I remember holding him in the delivery room but not feeding him. He didn't seem hungry. His cry was more pathetic than mad. Like Matt if he cried hard he would pass out, even in the delivery room. It must have been an emotional time for me. Unaware of post partum depression, I sat in the sits bath and cried wondering why I felt sad. The next day I went home and in a week we moved to Kansas City where Terry started medical school.
Children were not allowed then to come into the hospital so Terry brought Matt to the hospital and I looked at him out the window and waved to him down below. He seemed so big.
I had wondered if I could love another child the way I loved Matt. I was amazed at how instantly I loved this child. Terry's parents took Matt to Independence and we left the next day. Nathan was in a little bassinet and as we prepared to leave, saying good-bye to all our dear friends, I started to close the door without picking him up. Bill Gardner still teases me about almost forgeting my child in Illinois. Looking back I think it must have been a very emotional time for me. Loosing Grandpa, our friends, moving, having 2 children close in age, the trauma of the delivery. But at the time I just remember being focused on my children's welfare. Worrying about being separated from Matt and centering on Nathan's needs. We left a home of great joy, spiritual learning, lots of friends - a very simple life. I had no idea what lay ahead!

First and Second Grade

I was one of three students entering first grade at Cardwell Grade school when I was 6 and a half. Gay Armstrong, Barbara Ballard and myself. (Susan was one of three also and when someone asked her about her class she said she was second to the dumbest!) Gay and Barbara were cousins and I never thought they liked me. (Barbara told me later in high school when we were friends that she didn't like me because I would always come with my granparents to the cemetary looking all beautiful with long golden curls and a dress on and she was there in her grubs.) I don't remember playing with anyone or caring if I did. The life I enjoyed was at home and I could go there after school. I did like school and did well. I only remember the wonderful smell of learning. The Dick and Jane books. I loved to learn and loved to please the teacher. First and second grade were in the same room and I believe Mrs. Crian was my teacher. We got to have a carton of milk after recess in the morning and one person was chosen to go get it each day. Each blue plastic carrier was full of just the right amount of cartons with only a few chocolates. We had to take turns having chocolate. I LOVED it when my turn came both to pass out the milk and to have a chocolate. Sometimes we got to be picked to clean off the chalk boards with a special longer eraser that made it look nice and clean. I remember that Norman Tebay wet his pants during class one day. I can still see his pee slowly running across the hardwood boards toward my desk. I felt a mixture of sadness for him and horror that he would do such a thing. At Christmas time one of those years Mrs. Crian sang, "O Holy Night." Her voice was incredible and perhaps I had never heard an operatic type voice because the feeling in my chest as she sang is clear to me even now. I sat in my chair transfixed.

Firsts

It is certainly true that most parents do not love any of their children more than the other. It is also true that there is nothing like your first. I don't love Matt more but I remember more the "firsts." Listening to the first heart beat; feeling the first movement; the first time he kicked Terry in the back when we were sleeping like spoons; the first time I looked at OUR child; the first time he sucked; the first time I got covered with poop. And I remember the wheres like people remember where they were the day Kennedy was shot. Daisy Matthews, our pastor's wife gave him his first bath. (though she said he wasn't very dirty!); Matt rolled over for the first time on Jim and Cindy Woodly's floor on a braided rug covered by his blanket. He sucked on a straw for the first time at a McDonalds when we were traveling. His first step in our living room at 8 months. The first time he had a tummy ache and Terry counted the times he walked him around the table in our dining room. His first laugh when I sneezed. The first time I left him with someone and was gone for an hour. His first birthday as he and Katie sat beside each other in high chairs with their cupcakes and made a mess. The first time I gave him a ride in the back of my 3 wheeled bike. His first day of kindergarten when the bus forgot to leave him off. The first time you realize he is his own person, quite apart from you. His first kiss. His first mistake. His first day at college. His first love.
The umbilical cord is cut but it is like there will always be an invisible cord connecting you even after death. I have come to believe that same cord connects us each to God. It's hard to imagine a God that big. Amazing enough to stay connected to billions of people age to age. Maybe that's why we sometimes stop believing. It seems so impossible. So beyond our capacity to understand. I suppose that would be why we call God, God.

Matt

It was 1974. We had been married almost 5 years. We had been living in Columbia, Missouri. Terry had just finished his respiratory therapy degree there and he had accepted a position at Parkland Junior College in Champaign, Ill. as an instructor.
Time to have a child? I wasn't sure I was ready. Terry was excited and I figured it was time. So we went off the pill that I had been taking since we got married.
We went off in May and moved the end of the month. June 1 we were in Urbana (twin city to Champaign)and I felt awful. I "knew" I was pregnant. Terry was sceptical. He thought the whole thing about women being sick was ridiculous. I was TIRED like no other tired. My breasts hurt, everything made me nauseous. A no brainer! I think then we had to go to the doctor to find out. No quick tests. And then the news came. We were going to have a baby! Terry's whole attitude changed. He was gentle, caring, sympathetic. And excited!
The sickness didn't last too long. The tiredness stayed. I am embarassed to remember that we went to a party at someone's home for his work. Maybe Christmas time. After some visiting (which I hated), I was so tired I went into the bedroom where all the coats were on the bed, scooted them over and went to sleep. I didn't care what anyone thought.
We lived in a 3 bedroom, fairly large apartment that was attached to our church there. Our home was the center of activity alot. There were 7 young couples who we did things with. Especially the Gardners, Bill and Barb. All the couples had a baby that year. We were first and Lynn and Christy Misselt were the last. The Gardners baby, Katie, was born 3 months after Matt in May. What a fun and exciting time! Being the first to deliver, everyone was watching and waiting and excited for our delivery.
On February 25th, early in the morning I felt rotten. My whole lower stomach hurt.
I went to the bathroom and was standing at the door of our bedroom. Terry woke up and asked me what was wrong as I leaned against the doorpost.
"I feel awful. My stomach hurts."
Excitedly, "Maybe you are starting labor!"
Angerly, "I am not in labor. I'm 2 weeks early!"
"How do you know? Lets time it."
Reluctantly, "It just hurts all the time. OK."

Sure enough. 10 minutes apart. (I didn't think it was supposed to hurt this much.)
We called the doctor and he told us to go to the hospital. For some reason that walk to our old rickety garage is a vivid picture.
At the hospital we found out I was only dialated to a 1. But because I was in so much pain they kept me. It was about 7 in the morning. Sometime later they started a drip to get me going. I have no wonderful, glorious feelings about that day.
We had taken lamaze classes but I felt so unprepared. I never screamed. Just alot of moaning. They gave me demoral(sp?) once but it only made me sleep until the contractions and then I was not mentally prepared for the next contraction.
Terry was by me constantly. He never even left to eat. At one point he gently patted my hip and said I would be alright. I kicked him. He and the nurse laughed and it made me mad.
Finally it was time to push. In lamaze they told me this part was usually about 3 minutes. It took forever! At one point I passed out and they had to revive me.
Another thing I remember is Terry pushing on my stomach trying to help. They used forcepts.
When Matt finally arrived around 7 in the evening,Terry thought he was dead so he put his body between my face and Matt. When I finally saw him his head was long and narrow, eyes black and blue and he had a large hematoma on his head on top.
I remember thinking I should love this child or be excited or something. Instead I was just hoping they would take him away so I could sleep. His apgar score was very low at first but then by the morning it was ok.
I was black and blue to my knees which made my mother furious - at someone!
Dr. Yardy had been a missionary doctor who had delivered many babies in the "bush."
He was used to women suffering.
Matthias Vernon Reiff was 8#2oz.
The next morning I was able to be happy and thankful for my little boy. In fact, I was thrilled! We had wavered between Todd and Matthias. Matthias was a family name in the Reiff family. Vernon after Terry's Dad.
Our friends came two at a time, most of them pregnant, to visit me. I went home the next morning because we had no insurance. It cost us about $2000.
Mom, Dad, Diane, Randy, Terry's parents and Judy all came to stay for a week.
I spent most of that time in bed.
I remember Matt sleeping in the cradle at the end of our bed. One time I was needing something and Mom came to see if she could help. I appreciated her but I wanted Terry. Before Matt was born my loyalty seemed to always be with my family of origin but going through that with Terry changed all that. I felt connected to Terry in a new way. We were a family.

My man

 
 
 

love

I did not love Terry when we got married. I loved the way he was always clean and neat and the way he smelled each day when we met. I loved his passion for life and enthusiasm. I loved his openness. I loved his love for me.
But I did not love him. I didn't even know what love meant.
I married him based on three ideas. I wanted to marry someone who shared my faith. I would not marry anyone who drank. And I knew whoever I married would be my partner for life. No matter what. The rest was attraction.
But I did not know that there would be times I would wonder why I made that decision. I did not know there would be times I would believe he was selfish, mean, ignorant and the worst person in the world. I didn't know love was about working to understand why he acted that way so I could truely love him. About praying for him when I would rather hit him.
I did know (believe) that God was faithful to His promises. One promise was that God says He will not let us be tempted without giving us a way to be free from that temptation. So when I was tempted to give up, God brought me a book, a friend to listen to me and advise, a class to take. And I grew and changed.
I believedGod would always be a faithful partner in my marriage. And God has always been.
I have lived my life based on scripture. When things have been rough, I have read, prayed, worked to keep my relationship good with God. And God has always been faithful.
This morning and many mornings,I have laid in bed with tears in my eyes. Tears of gratitude that God gave me this good man to marry. I have offered up so many prayers of thanksgiving - daily - that this is the man I chose.
This man who has prayed with me for my children, cried with me when we have suffered loss, held me and listened to my worries,this man who chooses to learn how to be a better husband and then puts it into practice. I am so grateful for this man who will read with me good books. For a man who comes humbly to me, seeking my forgiveness, not because it's easy but because he believes God wants him to do it.
This man who almost every day tells me I am his best blessing. This man who has provided for me so I could be a stay at home Mom and so I could volunteer to serve God in ways that doesn't bring in money.
God knew what love was and that if I put my trust in Him, I would love this man and I would be more happy than I could imagine.
Terry heard me tell my mother yesterday that I loved having the Christmas tree up early because then when I have my prayer time in the morning I could read by the lights. This morning Terry got up early to go to his men's group. When I got up the tree lights were on, waiting for me. He knew I would love that and I did.
God is so faithful.

Thanksgivings

My favorite Thanksgivings were at Grandma and Grandpa Sacrys. Grandma would let Susan and I help her set the table. I loved it. I never felt like she was worried we'd mess up but she was careful to show us how it was done with the fork on the left, napkin underneath, the spoon and knife on the right. We got to fill the coctail glasses with shrimp with sauce over the top; the glasses with ice for the water or juice and the fruit glasses with a fruit salad or jello. We'd put butter on plates and salt and pepper shakers on. When she served the meals the table was overflowing. We all joke about her "side dish" because we always had to have one and I'm not sure now what it was. If the mashed potatoes got too low she'd go out and start peeling and make more potatoes in the pressure cooker. There were always left overs. I remember more about the preparation than the actual meals. It seems like there was lots of laughter and fun. We all loved being together. I think there was lots of teasing too. The meal ended with Grandma's cranberry pudding with sauce over it. Or other desserts like pumpkin pie. Her butterhorn rolls were the best. Everything was good. The kids ate in the kitchen most of the time at the kitchen table. That was a fun place to be too. But as we got older we loved being with the adults. When the meal was over we kids would go outside and play while the women cleaned up. I don't recall what the men did. I never even thought about it being unfair. I'd still rather be inside with the ladies all working together, visiting and being together.

 
 
 
 

Loved

Struggling with my faith. In fact, seeming to have none. Believing sometimes that God is not involved and when God is, He sits in judgement of me because I'm not too good at obedience. Finding myself empty and wanting to be more obedient but discouraged. I decide to memorize some scripture. The one I chose would help me with obedience:

As for mortals, their days are like grass.
They flourish like a flower in the field;
For the wind passes over it and it is gone,
and it's place remembers it no more.
But the steadfast love of the Lord is from
everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him.
And his righteousness to children's children.
To those who keep his covenant
And remember to do his commandments. Psalms 103:15-18

Driving down the road, working on the verse I come to the part,
"and it's place remembers it no more."
And suddenly I remember.
Another time when I was discouraged. Walking into
the dark morning of my living room. I see lights in the valley.
I realize that our home is also one of those lights.
And that someday, someone else will own our light, and
we will be gone from this earth.
I ask (not expecting an answer), "What is my value? If I
am here today and then gone. What difference does it all make?"
More clearly than any words I have ever received,
"Your only value is in the love I have for you."
Both then and now. I realized I was not valued because of all the
things I do. Like the value of a child in the eyes of her/his parents,
I am simply loved because I am God's child.
I feel hope like I have not felt in a very long time.
I remember that I obey because I am loved, not loved because I obey.
Today, I feel like singing, praising. Thank you, God.

Rain

Though Grandpa struggled with his faith, I think of him as a man of faith. I remember once he shared with us that he wanted to obey God and not work on Sunday. The hay was ready to be put up and it was due to rain. All his neighbors were working all Sunday to get the haying done but he decided he shouldn't. Monday it rained. He said it rained all around him but it didn't rain on his crops. I know sometimes he worked on Sunday and I know God does not always bless us by changing the weather to suit our desires, but I believe, and Grandpa believed, God gave him that blessing to strengthen his faith and reward him for his righteousness.

Driving the car

When I was an early teen my Grandma Cora always let me drive when we went anywhere together. I didn't have my license. One day, going over the cattle guard, out the front gate from the Ranch I got too close to the right side of the gate and took off the strip from her car. I frieked! I felt so bad! She acted like nothing had happened, "That's ok, don't worry about it," She calmly said. It was the last I heard about it.
It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. I had 3 cups of caffeine today. When I am awake in the night I pray God will help me not drink caffeine, but, yesterday, I was driving to the little place where they make wonderful Vanilla Chai.
I wanted that Chai. I could just taste it and reasoned that I allow myself one cup a week. I thought about prayer as a way to not drink it but I didn't allow that thought to stay. In fact, I hardened my mind against thoughts of even checking in with God. I did not want Intervention at that moment!
This morning as I started to pray again about my caffeine enjoyment, I couldn't because I knew I would just do it again. I talked to God about how I could listen better to God's leadings. And I remembered something I had heard from Apostle Sukini years ago. He was from Japan and had many thoughts on mind control. He told us we should be, as Christians, like when we first learn to drive a car. You know how, as you know how to drive well you go on automatic? Sometimes you can drive through town with thoughts other places and don't even remember the trip? But as a new driver, your attention is always riveted right on the road. That's what our goal should be toward God. To keep our attention always on God's will. To constantly be drawing on the Holy Spirit for guidance, assurance, grace, understanding, and, yes, for help in resisting temptation.
And even though God is like Grandma and forgives us instantly and completely, I want to have integrity in my prayer life, doing my part to make it happen.

Grandpa in bed

One wonderful memory was when I was pretty small. I'm not sure how old or how often this happened. We spent the night sometimes with Grandpa and Grandma Sacry. We would climb into bed with Grandpa in the morning. Grandmpa would bring us a tray full of coffee. Of course, if was not much coffee: about a 4th coffee, half milk and a 4th sugar. Then we would sit on the bed and drink it with Grandpa and Grandma.
When I remember this I feel delightful laughter.

One day Grandpa and Grandma were in bed. He always kept a pistol in a holster on the bedpost where he could reach it. He said, "Cora, hold still." He laid his weak arm over her and shot. The mouse that had been sitting on the top of his dresser fell into her open underware drawer. Boy was she mad! It was a good story we all laughed about for years. Even Grandma laughed later.

The hardest part of Grandpa in bed was when he was sick. I knew from earlier stories that Grandpa had almost died before. I don't know how many times. Once with a perferated ulcer. He said when his fever was so high he dreamed of the creek up the South Boulder canyon and had a hard time passing that stream without stopping to get a drink for years after. Toward the end of his life we would come home for vacations. One time especially, I thought he would die before I returned. He was very sick and I was told he might not live. But, he had escaped death so often that no one ever knew for sure. I would gently kiss and hug him, feeling and smelling this man I loved so fiercely as he laid in his bedroom. Then climb in the car and cry alot of the trip home. And he would live. And I was glad. I still feel his presence in the front bedroom of the Ranch house.

Carroll Forest Sacry

I learned from Grandpa Sacry that people are not "good" or "bad" but a mixture of both. I learned it, not because he said it for both he and Grandma Sacry spoke often of the "good guys" and the "bad guys" as if you could spot their color by seeing them walk down the street. (appearance really did seem to have a lot to do with it!) I know it because Grandpa was such an enigma himself. I can't imagine another person so full of qualities I respect and qualities I hate. And yet, to think of him brings such lonesomeness and longing to have him back that I can hardly stand it. When he died in 1976, for the first time I NEEDED to know about heaven and hell. For a long time I pretended he was just up in the pasture so I could handle his death. I wanted to know I would see him again.
Grandpa was "crippled" most of his life. I knew him first walking with a cane. But most of the time I knew him in a wheel chair sitting in the kitchen by the wood stove, in his silk sheeted bed or driving his truck. I can still feel the stubble of his beard on his cheeks, how it felt to kiss his lips (we were all lip kissers then), the soft squishy lump at the end of his elbow and his very bony arms and legs. Mostly, I felt warm and loved in his presence.
Grandpa was mean sometimes but I never remember him being anything but kind and loving to me. To share about my life without sharing about him would be impossible. He was my namesake and I always felt connected to him. I can remember the feeling of my chubby little legs toddling down the sidewalk between my first home about 50 yards from where he and Grandma always lived when I knew them. They looked forward to our coming (Dennis, Susan and I). Iknew it by the warm welcome we always received. We seemed to be the joy of their lives.
I understand that now that I have Grandchildren. It is largely because of them that Iknow how to Grandparent.
I realize I am not following my theme of enigma. It's because there is so much I want to share about Grandpa. I think I will post all week about him.
The mean part. One day all of us kids were told to pick rock out of the upper field. I was sick so I just rode in the truck with Grandpa. The others were in the field. Sitting there with the sick stomach I heard Grandpa scowling and complaining about Jim being lazy and not working very hard. I was very close to Jim and watching Jim with my sick stomach I realized that he was sick too. Grandpa rolled down the window and began yelling at him about being lazy and telling him to work harder. Right then, Jim fell over. I can't remember anything else about that day.
Another time Grandma and Grandpa were babysitting us when we were about 10 and 12. Grandpa was in the wheel chair in his dining room. He was mad at Jim and took his cane that was hooked on the wheel chair side and started whacking Jim with it. Jim grabbed the can and started hitting him back. I was in agony believing Grandpa was inappropriate but loving him fiercely and loving Jim too.
Looking back, I realize so much of the "mean" stuff Grandpa did, he did out of his own weakness and feeling out of control. There were so many things he couldn't do. Like put Jim in "time out." And how he had to rely on others to do his work and even get him out of bed for the day. When Dad was first married he worked for Grandpa on the ranch. He said it was hard to get any money out of Grandpa and he finally had to go into electrical work just so he could be free from that stress. Grandpa went through the depression doing everything he could to make ends meet.
I remember him constantly in new pursuits, buying and selling pigs, antiques (he had his own store for years), fruit, etc. And he was known as "stingy" all ofhis life.
He was a gentle man. It seemed he constantly had company because he loved to have people visit. Coming to the Ranch meant being able to visit with Grandpa. People would sit in the kitchen and talk for hours. And I would listen. He could argue without causing tension. Missionaries who came through made sure to have time for him. People came to hunt alot. He would go with them, driving them up into the hills and shooting (and hitting) out the front window. I can still see him hoisting the rifle tothe window, barely able to lift it as his muscular distrophy got worse.
He got out of bed every day unless he was really sick. He always wanted to go to town (Whitehall or Butte). He was a people person and didn't let his disabilities stop him.

Journey

When I go to the Ranch I feel at home. I walk the creek and I know each rise and fall of the earth. All my senses come alive as I smell the smells I have known all my life; hear the silence like no other place I have been. Each place I see can bring up a memory from my past, both good and bad, but mostly good. The place I grew up. The place I learned and understood. And each time I return it seems like even the rocks can talk and tell me how far I have come and, sometimes, why I have come on this journey. The Ranch brings with it the peace of "knowing"
myself better.
I wonder sometimes where and when my spiritual journey began. Was it as I played with lambs and other animals and lived close to nature? Was it as I listened to Grandpa Carroll struggle with his faith? Was it when I overheard him talking on the 9 party line with his friend Harold about if it was possible to not lust after women? Was it when I sensed his fear of Hell? Was it as I listened to the many missionaries who stopped at the Ranch and shared their experiences of God answering their prayers in marvelous ways? Was it as I sat around Grandpa's living room, basking in the presence of the Holy Spirit as my family and others prayed and shared testimony? Was it the faith I saw and continue to see in my Mother as she went about her life believing, confident God is with us?
I remember being in church when it was at the town hall, willing with all of my heart, to focus my attention of the words being shared from the pulpet. Wanting, above all else, to know and understand God. Even in high school when others were intent on their activities or boys (not that I didn't also enjoy these!), my greatest desire was to please God, understand God's ways, do God's will. I thought when I was grade school age that I might be a nunn. Not realizing, of course, that it was not an occupation that was consistant with the church I attended. I just knew that these women had an inside track to what I wanted most.
When I was driving home one night after a date with my "first Love" he told me he believed i was "the one" the girl he would marry. I told him that if God told me to marry someone else, then I would. He didn't like that very well. He thought I was crazy. But I believed God would lead me. And God did.
Looking back, I wonder why I was so intense about this. Why did I, early on, desire God so much?

finding peace

I think the dark mornings are my most difficult hurdle. If I can even get up to turn on a light I feel better. This morning I got up, ate, did my lesson for Bible Study and then went outside.
It's a wonderful fall day. Stepping out the door brought me joy. I knew I needed to move so I began getting in wood, emptying the ashes, compost, peelings to the cows. Walking in the leaf covered grass was nice. After a half hour of work I sat in the swing and listened. Peaceful.
Noise behind me and I saw several small birds in the lilac bush. Watching them was so centering. "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. All things were made by Him and without Him was not anything made that was made." Words from John made me wonder how God knew what we would love. Or if God created us to love the creation.

Abba

This morning I woke up grumpy. I think it's because of a little white dog moving around in the night but I can't swear to it. Anyway, when I got up to have my prayer time (needed it!), I thought how I wanted to just be close to God. Sometimes I'm tired of asking God for this and that and to help my kids and all my requests. So this morning I decided to just breathe in and out the word, "Daddy." which is the meaning of Abba. Jesus called God "Abba." I started doing that and it was delightful. Like coming to a loving, accepting, wise and caring Father who loves me no matter what and knows me better than I know myself. I realized I could just bring all my problems to Him (though part of the time I thought about it being, "Mommy" and that was nice too.) So I was talking to "Daddy" about how I was upset about something and then I began to laugh because some of my problems sounded so silly. And I could sense God laughing with me. Not at but with. I did share some of my fears and worries, not wanting God to fix but just wanting to share with my "Daddy." It was a delightful time. I didn't want it to end even when I had to leave.
Some people believe it's not appropriate for us to call God our Father since so many people have rotten fathers and they can't get away from that image when they pray to a heavenly father. My Dad is not perfect but he listens good. He cares about my well being. He hates to see me hurting. He makes me feel loved and special. He's gentle and kind. Maybe that's why I can pray like I did this morning. Dad's a good Dad to unload on and so is God.
One of my greatest blessings is knowing I am a blessing to my parents. I wonder if I am a blessing to God? I hope so.