Three Days in D.C.

This Fall brought me new adventures. . . a  three day trip to Washington, D.C. with my sister to visit my niece. I haven't flown since 1989 so this was a very new experience. I've never traveled with my sister. I rode the Metro, took my first taxi since 1994 and rode in a car rented by the hour.

We flew from Tulsa to Dallas and then on to D.C. (a non-eventful trip!) Picked up at the airport by a friend, we arrived at my niece's apartment just before she got home from work.

The next three days were spent laughing, eating, walking and talking. I saw my niece as a grown up and not just as the little girl who used to stay up late watching movies. I acted like a tourist with my niece as my guide to monuments, memorials, the National Cathedral, Arlington Cemetery and more. I wanted to see everything and took pictures everywhere I went, at times taking pictures for others or asking them to take one of all of us.

We ate burgers and fries at Good Stuff Eatery, (I had a Toasted Marshmallow Milkshake), chili dogs and a half-smoke at Ben's Chili Bowl, home cooked fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, and home-made meat loaf (cooking lessons that ended well), a lunch at the Old Post Office food court, and one night we finished the day with dessert at Kramer Books and After Words Café (I had the Dysfunctional Family Brownie. If you knew my family, you'd know how funny that really is.)

Our trip home  (D.C. to Dallas) was a little bumpy as we diverted south to skirt around storms. The clouds looked awesome from above! We landed late in Dallas, but so did everyone else. Delayed an hour, we arrived in Tulsa just fine.

I spent the night at my sister's house. The next morning I woke early, ready for the drive home and I arrived at my house before noon.

The days flew by. I wasn't quite ready to leave the big city excitement for my rural lifestyle so it took me a few days to get back into the things that are my routine, but I finally settled in and got down to business.

I look at the pictures (nearly 200 of them!) and remember the great time I had. I give thanks to my family for their understanding, taking up the slack and making do while I was gone. And most of all, I thank God for the privilege of traveling to our nation's capital. Everyone who can, should go see what our forefather's created for us. Everyone should see the war memorials and the thousands of white headstones at Arlington that stand as reminders of the men who gave their lives. 

The names on the Wall brought tears to my eyes at the sacrifice of so many in Viet Nam. A lump formed in my throat as I watched the precision of the Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown. So many lives given; so much sacrifice.

Yes, it was good to go and see.  It was good to spend time with my wonderful sister. It was good to know my niece as an adult. All in all, a great three days in D.C.

Thanksgiving, 2010

This Thanksgiving, we spent the holiday at home; alone.

Both of our sons and their families went to their in-laws for the day. We missed them, of course, but realize that we must share them. Others love them, too.

Friday was almost a normal day. Both sons had to work, so we (my husband and I) were on our own again.  That is until supper time. Our younger son and his wife share our house with us so they were home at the usual time. Then our older son and his wife arrived and the "party" began. We laughed and talked and caught up on all the news. We played cards until late. We went to bed happy to have them under our roof for a time.

Saturday started early. Coffee on and showers taken, the cooking began. The men went to pick up our grand-daughters from their mother's house while we started dinner. The turkey in the oven and details delegated, I felt I could take a few minutes to rest. So, I fed the baby a bottle and cuddled with him.

I watched the road for the first glimpse of the car. "Where are my men folk? Dinner is ready and they are not here yet. I need to see my girls!" My girls are teens now and no longer little girls. I enjoy talking with them and learning all about what is going on in their lives. 

Finally, they came up the drive. I put the rolls in the oven and greeted them with hugs and kisses. 

Dinner was ready. I called the family to the table and we gave thanks for the many blessings in our lives. I fought to keep tears in check.

There around the table, I remembered why I am alive: I am here for this family. I love them. I serve them. I share my faith with them. God has a plan for my life; even when I'm not clear on what that plan is, I trust Him and follow Him.

  

It has not been that long since I had to remind myself daily that I am necessary and needed. I kept a Gratitude List in my journal so I would never forget. The Father has shown me that these people, these eight souls, depend on me for my unique outlook and contribution to their lives. Who would take my place with them if I were not here?

My Family~~The Guthrie Gang

The Holy Spirit whispered to me that no one else can minister to them in the same way that I do. No one else can show Jesus to them like I do. They will become who God desires them to be and I am a part of that. 

These days, I look forward to seeing what He is doing in each life. I look to see how my sons are growing and maturing in their faith. I watch my grand-daughters for signs of God's touch on their lives. I look at my daughters-in-law and am delighted with their love for my sons and how God is using them. I look at our grand-son (6 months old!) and hope and pray for his life. My husband shines God's love on me, and on our family.

I am greatly blessed. I am deeply grateful. God has brought me through the dark valley into the light of His love. 

The day passed. We ate and laughed, played dominoes, watched some football, (the girls) drove the tractor, told stories and loved on each other. Then it was time for them to go. I watched them load their things and start down the drive.

I miss them already.

The Cross

Rugged wood
Full of splinters made by nails driven into His flesh
Blood soaked from His wounds
The odors of dried blood and human misery
Darkness overcomes the day
The veil is torn
Forsaken; alone

Separated from the Father by the weight of my sin
Glad obedience to the will of the Father
Deserted by friends and followers; only a few there with His mother
Gasping for air
Giving pardon and hope
Offering Himself in my place
“It is finished!”

Taken from the cross
Wrapped in cloth
Laid in a borrowed grave
Sorrow  and fear among the disciples
The women arise early and go
An empty tomb!
Where is He?

Run and tell
Looking in wonder
Waiting. . . Waiting
Suddenly He is with them again
More teaching, more miracles
Glorified body
He goes to the Father

News spreads
Followers gather
Miracles happen
Persecution and death to His followers
The Church is born
A new covenant created
Time passes

The gospel covers the world
Non-believers scoff
The eastern sky splits and He returns
He gathers those who believe and follow
He destroys evil
His bride dwells with Him in peace
Everlasting worship in His presence

I look at the cross, see Jesus there
And repent
Forgiven, I see the hope of glory
Tears of gratitude stream
I see the cross, empty, and know I am His
Whatever He asks, I will do
Now and forever

Success

At my 13 year old grand-daughter's church, the youth leader recently asked the group, "Who is the most successful person you know?'

Her answer, "My grandma."

The next question was, "Why?"

She said, "Because she knows about everything."

When my son called to tell me this story, I had quite a reaction. I felt pleased that she thought so well of me and disbelief that she chose me. I wondered if she knew very many people from which to choose. I denied I was successful.

Then, I thought about it for a little while and began to define success. I usually think, as most usually do, of success in terms of money or things. But success is really much more than that.

I think I have decided that success really means, at least for me, to believe in Jesus Christ as my Savior, listen and obey Him, and share Him with others. In doing these three things, joy and blessing follow. If I am filled with the joy of the Lord and others see that in me and want to know Him because of it, that is success.

I know that all knowledge and wisdom come from God so if I learn from my mistakes, gain wisdom and then share what I've learned with those around me and they learn also, that is success.

I will count my life successful when I hear my Lord say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."  

Until then, I bask in the glow: a grandmother proud of her grand-daughter's praise. She is a delight to my heart and a joy to our family.

Seriously Tempted

I recently read an excerpt from the poem Seriously Tempted by T.L.Cooper. (http://writewithtlc.tlcooper.com)

Christina Katz, The Prosperous Writer, (http://christinakatz.com) defined caring as being “concerned or solicitous towards, to make provisions for or to look out for, and to have an affection or concern for.”

Would I describe myself as caring? Or am I habitually care-taking?

She defined habitual care-taking as “an addiction to niceness, people-pleasing and an overwhelming desire to control the impressions of others in order to be perceived as good.”

I too often find myself trying too hard to please others and have them think me a good person.

In the last few years, though, I have come to know myself better. I see the person God created and. . . I like me!

I don’t care so much what others think of me. I no longer want to be a people pleaser. I want, instead, to be a God pleaser.

When I first read this poem, I thought how much I am like that: easily becoming what someone else expects me to be.

Reading it again, I begin to pray:
    Holy God,
    Let me be
        “your heart’s desire
        What you want of me”*

    And I want to be
        “merely a shell of me
        An empty vessel filled by you.”*

*from the poem Seriously Tempted T.L.Cooper (http://writewithtlc.tlcooper.com)

Memories

Memories of my life and my family are important to me.

They are all I have,
All that is just mine.
No one can take them from me.

Memories of my mom,
And of my dad,
Of the life we lived,
Bring me a certain comfort.

Memories of my childhood
And my growing up years:
My older brother drawing a playhouse for me in the dirt,
Later driving me to movies or home from football games.

Memories of my dear sister
And me playing in the creek
And on the bus or riding horses with cousins;
The days of sharing a room, clothes and secrets.

Memories of young love
And early married years filled with babies.
Then watching boys grow
Into young men with families of their own.

Memories bring me joy.
Even the hard times are good to remember
If I can look at them, learn their lessons
And become better.

A better listener
A better doer
A better partner
A better parent

A better follower of Christ.

I always want to be better
But seldom am.
I fail miserably at learning the lessons.
I can only be who and how I am.

It is only as I truly empty myself
And let the Holy Spirit live through me
That I ever become a
Better version of myself.

Memories of who I was
Replaced by reminders
Of who I am. . .
A Child of the King.

The Book of My Life

"At times, all of us may wonder exactly how God wants to use us. If we just offer ourselves to Him, God will take what feels like random letters and spell beautiful words through each of us. Just by being yourself, you reflect God's beautiful design." ~~ Margaret Feinberg in Being Yourself. 

My prayer asking God to use me to "spell" something beautiful with my life:

Holy God,
When you write the book of my life, may the words come from the letters of my heart.
May your Spirit fill me moment by moment so I share your goodness, grace and love.
May the gifts you've given me be used to serve and encourage those around me.
May I live a life of obedience. 
May I be real and authentic; my true self.
May I worship you in all I do and praise you for who you are. 
May it be that I am a follower of Christ.

Time for a New Beginning

Dearest Friends,

It's been a long, hot summer but Fall is just around the corner.  School is back in session and it feels like a New Beginning.

I've spent the summer visiting family in Oklahoma and Arkansas, loving on my new grandson, and trying to keep up with my life. Now, I'm ready to begin writing again.

I missed these times with you. I doubted I had anything of worth to share. I felt myself sinking back into depression and alone-ness. God showed me I need to write here. He has given me a gift and I must use it. 

It doesn't matter what I think or feel about this gift. It only matters that I obey Him and share my thoughts and prayers. I must share my God through my words.

I don't know where He will lead me in this. I only know that I will follow.

Get ready. The fog slowly lifts and I see the View From My Window again.

He Makes Me Laugh

Who makes you laugh? For me, this is most often my husband. We've been married almost 40 years and nearly every time I get upset or we start to argue, he comes up with something to make me laugh. (It's tough to argue when your are laughing!) Also, when I feel bad about anything or am just in a blue mood, he says or does something to make me smile so I'll feel better. He is a clown at heart and always has a movie line, song lyric or Bible quote to fit any occasion.

Some of his jokes may seem old or corny to our kids and their families, but to me they just showcase who he is and how he has always been. Sometimes I don't catch the joke; it just goes right over my head. That makes him sad. He says it's no good to tell something funny if I don't get it or he has to explain. He feels that takes the fun away. So I try to listen carefully so I can laugh with him. That's easy to do because I love him and he's wonderfully good to me.

He can't stand to see me sad or down. If I cry, he's done for. It's a good thing I don't cry on purpose to manipulate him. He'd give me the the world and the moon if he could because he is kind and generous to a fault. But, if he gets angry, his brown eyes flash with fire and the air around him snaps & pops. Lightning flashes seem almost visible. He seldom gets angry with me, but injustices in the world ignite his fire within.

I can't believe I'm the lucky girl who caught him. He's the greatest! Not only is he cute and funny, but he is kind and generous and full of love for me and our sons. I'm grateful he married me all those years ago. I'm glad he still makes me laugh.

A New Daddy in Our Family

On May 27th we welcomed the newest member to our Guthrie Gang and in so doing we acquired a new Daddy. Our younger son is the proud papa of Levi Jackson, 7 lbs. 1 oz. 20 inches long.

Our son has always been good with children and, as Uncle Steve, he is loved by his nieces and the children of his friends.
The new Momma is also doing well -- except for the typical new parent lack of sleep. She's up every two hours to feed and care for the Little Man. Daddy helps as much as he can and all the family is ready to lend a hand.







As I stood at the nursery window, I thanked God for the baby's safe arrival, his health and perfection. I asked for continued blessing on this new life; guidance for the new parents; wisdom for the grandparents.
Grandpa is proud of the new baby, too.


Uncle Jason, Aunt Heather, and Cousins Courtney & Sydney fell in love at first sight.

I am thankful, so very thankful, for those who already love our new arrival. I feel confident this small one will grow up knowing he is wanted, loved and valued as a member of our family. He is and always will be a blessing to us.

A Memory -- Canal Swimming

We lived in California from my 1st to the 5th grades. While we lived there, Dad mostly worked on a dairy farm and we had a lot of afternoons free. The summer days usually found us somewhere in or around the water.

We often swam in the irrigation canals. Ditches lined with concrete, the water ran clear and clean. Spaced throughout the irrigation route were gates to direct the water's flow. On the afternoon that I clearly remember, my mom, dad, brother and younger sister were playing in the water. Dad did all those water games with us: races, wrestling, dunking and splashing. After awhile, my brother -- he's 3 years older than me -- and I swam down to the water gate. This gate allowed the water to rush through to the next level and onward to the fields. Some other kids were playing there and we joined in their game of riding through the open gate in the rushing water.

We laughed and played and had a great time. Until -- one time I started through the gate and lost my breath and my bearings. I thought up was down and down was up. I floundered around coughing and spluttering and struggling to find my way to the surface or the side. Suddenly, my dad reached down and picked me up. Safe in his strong arms, I coughed a little more but soon settled down and let him carry me out. The water was too swift and rough for a little girl, but my dad could traverse the current with ease. Even when I wasn't aware of his presence, he watched over me and was immediately ready to come to my rescue.

As a child, I accepted this rescue as right and proper and my due as a daughter. Why then do I resist my Father when He reaches to rescue me from swift, turbulent waters today? Why do I feel I must do it on my own even when I am on the verge of drowning in the troubles of my life?

When I look back at the years of my childhood (all the moving, the changes, the making of new friends), I see the heavenly Father's hand preparing me for the unknowns of life. He gave me a family of love and laughter. Our home was always full of people, a house of hospitality. He introduced me to friends that were willing to reach out to the "new kid" in class, and showed me that in the midst of change, He is the one and only constant.

The Chapel at Bella Vista

Driving south from Missouri on US Hwy. 71, I took Exit 98 at Bella Vista, AR. I traveled a mere two blocks east into a different world. Gone was the hustle and hurry of cars and trucks intent on getting to their destination. Instead, I found the quiet and solitude of the Ozarks woods.

I pulled into the parking lot and gathered keys and camera then started toward the sign pointing to the Chapel. As I left my vehicle, the smells of exhaust and asphalt fought for dominance against the spring woods and earth. A few steps onto the path and the woods won. The odor of damp earth naturally mulched by fallen oak leaves filled the air.

The path diverged. One way led to the Office and on through the woods to the small lake. The other way led to the Chapel. That day, I followed the way to the chapel. Blooming redbud and dogwood trees splashed their vivid fuchsia and white among the green tinged grays of the oak trees. A few pines sent their heady aroma wafting toward me. The first unfurling leaves of spring struggled to open. Then coming over a small rise I spied the Chapel.

Designed by architect E. Fay Jones, a student of Frank Lloyd Wright and schooled in the principles of Organic Architecture (designing to fit the environment), the Mildred B. Cooper Memorial Chapel was built to honor the wife of John A. Cooper, Sr. Mrs. Cooper's deep spirituality and love of nature prompted her family to commission the Chapel to honor and celebrate her life and her dedication to God and his creation. The chapel, designed and created by the mind of man, fits perfectly into the natural scene which surrounds it.

The Chapel is open to visitors daily and available for weddings and other special occasions, but there is no need to wait for an event. Whenever you are weary of the busy world, walk a few yards and connect with the quiet, natural beauty of God's world. The walls of windows give an air of openness to the surrounding Ozarks and heights of the steel arches give lofty access to the Creator.I walked through the massive arched door. Soft music greeted me and I felt as though I were still outside. Church pews created an aisle up the the flagstone floor to the stage. Piano and organ flanked the glass arch on the far wall. I settled in and allowed my mind to wander. I contemplated the beauty of Spring, the greatness of the universe and the smallness of the earth. I meditated on God's love of Man and me in particular.

After a time, I moved to the stage to look through the arched glass. As far as I could see, the Ozarks forest engulfed me. I could neither see nor hear the cars and trucks on the highway. I saw birds and squirrels busy with life in the wild. I watched trees sway in the wind. I searched for wildflowers among the barrenness of leftover winter. I felt at peace.

Too soon, time called me back to my journey. I, too, had places to go, people to see and things to accomplish. However, I carried the serenity of the Chapel with me. Often, as I travel south into Arkansas, I remember my time there and the serenity returns.

Whether you are looking for a unique place to hold a wedding or other occasion or merely need a place for meditation, contemplation and prayer, the Mildred B. Cooper Memorial Chapel at Bella Vista, AR, a tribute to a man's God given genius and inspired by a family's love, is a quiet oasis in a noisy world.

This Do In Remembrance of Me

Gathered in an upper room, my Messiah and His closest friends came together at the time of Passover in Israel. Betrayal close at hand -- who would it be? Who would guide the soldiers to take him?

The Ceder Meal over, questions and answers given, He said, "Eat. This is my body broken for you. Drink. This is my blood poured out for you. This do in remembrance of me."

From that room filled with people to the quiet of the garden. He went to meet the
Father. He sought comfort and strength. He prayed, "If it is possible, let this pass from me. Nevertheless, not my will but Yours."

A heavy heart for sinful people, He persevered, he travailed as He surrendered. Blood drops hinted of what lay ahead -- His sacrifice for me.

Judas, a kiss, soldiers took Him away. Trials, false witnesses, beatings, mockery, a crown of thorns, nailed to a cross, ridicule, separated from the Father, darkness, earthquake, the Veil that hides the Mercy Seat & His Presence torn from top to bottom. He cried out, "It is finished!" and gave His life a sacrifice for my sin.

Joseph & Nicodemus took His broken body, wrapped it tenderly and laid it in the tomb. More soldiers came to seal and guard the grave.

Early morning: Mary and the other women came. "Where is He? Where have you taken Him?" Disbelief. The men came to see for themselves and went away wondering.

The same upper room, behind locked doors, Jesus appeared. He's alive! He moved among them 40 days. Then He came into His Glory. He ascended to heaven. Even now, He lives with His Father in Heaven. Waiting for the fullness of time, He intercedes on my behalf. Soon, maybe very soon, He will return to reign as King of Kings.

This day, I meet with His followers, other believers. We read His word, sing and pray. The table is laid. We serve on another in love. I take the bread and eat. I take the cup and drink.

This I do in remembrance of Him.

Why I Write

I write to remember how God has brought me through trials in the past; recall blessings and find encouragement. also, t leave a legacy so my children and grandchildren will know what God has done for our family.

Writing in my journal helps me hear God. As I put my thoughts on paper, I can sort out what is from the Lord, and what is just me. It also gives me a place to look back to see patterns for change and to see where God is leading me next.

Our pastor has been encouraging us to be prepared to Tell My Story. Writing it down helps you give substance to your testimony, which is all your Story really is. The Bible itself is a written history of what God has done for His people. It gives us encouragement and hope for a future. where would we be without this written word?

So, remember a journal helps you recall past blessing, gives focus to your prayer, clarifies your praise, is encouragement for the tough times, and prepares you to Tell Your Story.

A Recent Trip

We left that Friday morning about 2:30 a.m. and arrived at the W.W.Hastings Hospital in Tahlequah just before six. First stop: the Lab. Then to sign in at the OR. As we sat to wait for my turn, a nurse came to take me to my hospital room, admit me, and prep me for surgery. All of that took a little time, but before I knew it, the surgery nurse appeared with a rolling chair to whisk me to the OR Staging area.

I watched as out-patients were admitted and given instructions. I saw more nurses and the anesthesiologist and more nurses and a doctor or two come through. Each time my insides lurched at the thought it was my turn. Then I relaxed back into the chair as they once again passed me by. Finally, one stopped and asked if I felt I could walk to the actual operating room or did I need a ride? I felt confident and slid to my feet and clutched at my dignity. An open hospital gown flapping in the breeze requires a certain self-control to retain any semblance of modesty, let alone dignity.

I finally maneuvered onto the table and immediately began to tremble. The room was FREEZING! It had enough lights and people for a small city and each one knew their job. They poked and prodded and hooked me up to monitors and hoses. They asked me -- it seemed for the 10th time! -- my name and why I was there.

The mask descended and I heard a voice say, "Just breathe deeply." The next words I recognized kept repeating, "Are you awake?" I think I answered and eventually my eyes quit rolling all over their sockets and I began to focus. The nurses wasted no time on pleasantries, but helped me to another wheeled chair and rolled me back to my room. We passed my dear husband in the hall and he fell in behind us.

Our procession arrived back at my room and I was deposited in my new home. Tubes were adjusted, buttons pushed and covers pulled up. I smiled and tried to say thank you. Then I promptly fell asleep. Sleep, alas, is hard to maintain in a hospital. Every two hours, or perhaps more often, someone came in to poke me or in some way collect their required information.

Each nurse or aide introduced themselves and announced why they had come, collected their info, thanked me and left. Each one said I should try to rest. I smiled, too tired to laugh.

The next day, the doctor came by at last and said I could go home. I was ready!! Only wait -- the pharmacy needed to send my "meds" and I definitely wanted them to go home with me. Papers signed, clothes on and pain handling medications in hand, we finally rolled out the door and into the waiting car.

The drive home was uneventful; a blessing for sure. At home, I finally slept only to wake on that same two hour schedule.

Day by day, even hour by hour, I feel stronger, less exhausted, and less sore. I give thanks for all those who gave in service to me. They meant to be kind and only poked as needed. They offer themselves to the care of the sick and God uses each one to heal the ill and make healthy the infirm. I could never do what they do. Thank God they do what they do.

Recently, I looked through some old journal jottings. One of my rediscovered thoughts:

Each day is to be used as a jeweler's polishing cloth to sand away the imperfections and let the true light of God's glory shine. A gem stone is only a rock until polished by the Master.

This made me start thinking. A rock doesn't struggle against the polishing cloth. A rock lets the Master turn it this way and that as he pleases until the rock is no longer a rock but has become a rare and beautiful gem.

My life would be much easier to bear if I would just rest in the Master's hand while He polishes away the imperfections. He has a vision of the gem I will become and it is up to me to trust Him while He completes the task of polishing me.

Renewed, Refreshed, Reborn

This cold, dreary winter saw me driving -- a lot. Most of my trips were to Oklahoma or Arkansas to see family or doctors.

Yesterday, though, my husband and I drove only to the local hardware for truck repair supplies and ran a few other errands before starting home. As we came up the hill, much to my delight, I saw several green splotches among the yellowish, dry grasses. I gave a hearty WooHoo! at the sight. One more sign that Spring is coming to the Ozarks. I can hardly wait.

Each person I spoke to at church this morning echoed my sentiments of being tired of Winter and ready for warmer days. A relief to know that I am not the only one bogged down by the doldrums of the season. Winter always seems to drag on way too long while summer feels over in a heartbeat.

I rejoice in the new life and am reminded of the New Life I have in Christ.

Renewed, Refreshed, Reborn.

Hallelujah!!

Happy New Year!!

Friends -- I've been out of touch for awhile. The holidays have kept me busy, as I am sure you have been too.

Christmas morning brought Jason and his family from Arkansas to join Steve & his wife here with us. Amid laughter, presents and eating, we took a few pictures. Check them out here.

I don't know why I felt surprise when 2010 arrived right on schedule. I remember when I was a child, 2010 seemed an impossiblity. Now the future is here. It came whether I was ready or not. Now, I must re-adjust my thinking to face the days ahead. I look forward to what this year may bring. Surprises, no doubt , and many days that will be much the same as before. In any case, God will always be God; gracious & kind, loving & merciful, faithful & forgiving.

Here's wishing all of us a very Happy New Year!!