Wednesday, November 14, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, November 12, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
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?
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.
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.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
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.
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.
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