Because his eyes remained closed, he never noticed my gleaming grin.  He merely raised an eyebrow.  Not taking the hint, I randomly blurted out: “Man, we’ve GOT to do something about this porch!  The railings are peeling; it looks terrible!”

 Remaining quiet, my husband shifted slightly.

“O man, look at the weeds, they’re taking over the entire side yard!”

He shifted again, more deliberately.

“And LOOK at that TREE! It’s going to loose a limb if we don’t….”

Suddenly a roar echoed across the pristine morning, “WILL YOU BE QUIET!  (Strangely, the last time he bellowed, he said the same thing!)  “What do you want me to do first?  Should I run for the paint, the weed whacker, or the chain saw? Can’t we just sit here and enjoy the morning?”

Softening his tone he continued, “I want you to try something. Turn off your engines, then close your eyes, and simply–breathe.”

This soon became our morning ritual. We still addressed the “stuff” of life, but from a posture of peacefulness.

Now as a widow, I especially see the scope of this wisdom. For the first year after his passing, anxiety accompanied me like a deep wrinkle that couldn’t be smoothed. It was strongest in the morning.  Desperately trying to find my way to that peaceful ‘breathing’ when we were together, I’d run to the porch swing, gulping for relief.

Finding peace in the middle of anxiety can be a relentless task.  It’s much like trying to shovel the sidewalk in a blinding snowstorm, every inch of progress quickly fills in, and you have to do it again. Somedays in the beginning, it took me hours to find my way through the whirlwind of anxiety.

Sometimes I called a friend or saw a councilor.  As I got stronger, I was able to seek the Lord on my own.  It was comforting to pour my heart out, listing each concern, confessing every fear.  Each time He faithfully brought me to a pause, where I could focus on a Scripture, or the knowledge of His love for me, close my eyes and rest in peace restored.  I still noticed the railings were peeling but no longer through the lenses of worry.

     A scripture from the Message translation leaped out at me one morning: “How blessed the man you train, God, the woman you instruct in your Word, providing a circle of quiet within the clamor of evil…God will never walk away from His people..” Psalm 94:12-13 

       Loss leaves its mark, trials weary the soul, stress stretches our endurance; but God promises to give us a “circle of quiet” where we can go to find reprieve from life when we need it.  For some this solace is like a circle of light in the darkness, a rock to grasp in the rapids, a swing on the porch for this widow.

What a gift to understand God will never walk away from us.  As we place our life, with all its struggles, in His hands, we are free to close our eyes in gratitude,    and simply breathe.

 Over “100 billion tons of seawater flows in and out of the Bay during one tide cycle (every 6hr and 13 min.) more than the combined flow of the world’s fresh water rivers”

Tides are a good metaphor for loss. After the death of my husband, my “tides” were as powerful as the Bay of Fundy. Overwhelming swells of emotion sent me searching for any bellbuoy I could find to cling to so I wouldn’t drown. My emotions would then retreat into the deep and leave me in state of exhaustion and numbness.

These tides are expected for the new widow or widower. This is the time when the casseroles come steadily, and cards arrive daily.  This is the time when friends and family are usually very present.

Over time, my dramatic tides of grief leveled off.  Now, several years along in my journey, my high tide are those days full of activity, when l’m submerged in creativity, with inspiration billowing in my sails. Now, I can enjoy memories of him without the backlash of debilitating sadness.

The low-tide times remain the most challenging to me.

It’s long after the casseroles have stopped. It’s those times of companionless silence. It’s looking at the landscape of your life and seeing very little that you are familiar with. It’s the reality that you must recreate your life, or be left defined by loss alone.

This is the part of the journey through loss no councilor, no friend, no busy activity, can rescue you from.  This part you must do alone. Only you…with only God.

Low-tide times are when I am most aware of God’s comfort.  When I can listen to His still small voice and feel the mastery of His brush strokes upon my life. On the heels of my despair…He shapes His Son in me.

I’d love to visit the Bay of Fundy, if only to be reminded of how far I’ve come and how faithful God has been to level out my tides and restore the wind to my sails.

After we examined the habitat of a “pokey-pine,”  told stories about his favorite characters Joey-Dirty, and the Big Fat Chicken, sprawled on the floor with the race cars,  it was time for peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and….?….cricket sounds.  Oh dear, what to do?

Suddenly the heavens opened, and Mimmy got an idea, “let’s paint plates and glue macaroni.”  Any activity connected to glue is a winner.  Soon, every knob and stray nail in the kitchen boasted drying masterpieces.  Because a three year old is all about repetition, we opened every box of odd shaped macaroni in the pantry to enlarge our pallet.

What a day we had.  Together is a great place to be.

First, I made a dowel skeleton and spray painted it turquoise.  Then we hand painted clip clothes pins in a variety of bright colors and hot glued them onto the dowels.

To be extra sure the clothes pins would stay on,  we threaded ribbon through the spring holes and around the dowels.

We wove a strand of 35 lights around the center dowel.  Then we stuck a few glitter hearts on top (leftover from Valentine’s Day).  At the party, people clipped money and  special Happy Birthday notes all over the tree.  It was beautiful, and what a wonderful, memory-making special time with my grand daughter.

Where did that foxy, young woman disappear to anyway? She’s inside, I can feel it, but she’s been swallowed by some middle aged woman.     I sure wish she’d stop putting half her teeth in a glass on my sink at night!

My hair definitely needs help.  My daughter-in-law told me I have a mullet. That conjures up pictures of neglected sheep badly in need of a shearing. Besides, I’m trying to escape my hairspray addiction to help the environment.  I’m hoping length will weigh down the cowlicks. I should just be myself – right?   Well, maybe not…

Thought I’d wear a little mascara to make my eyes bigger. It gives me sties, but maybe its worth it? I checked my chin for stray whiskers, and have concealer for my age spots. Hope the chin exercises help. Maybe I should just post somebody else’s picture on my website…or use a photo from the 70s.

I’ve tried to diet a bit this week, but last night I gorged myself on corn chips (organic) and the salt is now lodged in big bags under my eyes.

Sound silly? come on, don’t judge me.  You know you do the same thing.  Being comfortable in your own skin, whatever your size and shape, is not a typical trait for women. (I can’t speak for you men)

I came with short legs and very broad shoulders, so I cast a square shadow – like Sponge Bob.  My shadow always stays the same shape – only smaller.  And my legs never get any longer no matter how skinny I get.

If we surveyed 100 women, I bet 95% of them are unhappy wth their bodies.  The other 5% would be lying.  It’s an American epidemic, and Christian women aren’t any different.  It’s taken me many years to gain a level of contentment in this area.  In my 20s and 30s I really obsessed over weight.  Yet, I look back now (to other photos I hated being taken) and I’m amazed at how thin I was.

Self-loathing.  Self-absorption.  Self-discipline.  Self-help.  They all have one thing in common: Self.  Flesh controls the on-off switch for that treadmill.  The minute we put the reins of our life in the hands of the flesh, the victory will likely be temporary.  At least with me, the only lasting results have followed prayer and God bringing the results – despite how many times I sabotage the plan.

As I prayed for God to give me a plan, I remember expecting a whole list of “don’ts”.  To my surprise, He impressed me to ADD to my life, not TAKE AWAY.  It started with two things: drink more water and drink more of God’s Word.  A few weeks later: add more vegetables and take a walk each day.  Step by step, He added to my life His control, and I’ve been healthier ever since.

• P rioritize – time for daily prayer and Scripture.
• E at for helalth – don’t focus on weight loss.
• A  little at a time.  Let patience have her perfect work.
• C ommit your feelings to God to reduce emotional eating.
• E arly to bed, early to rise (Ben Franklin).

Let me know what your plan is.  I’d love to hear how God is helping you.  God bless!

I dropped what I was doing and hurried into her apartment; but before she saw me, I heard her mumble, “Ohhh, the faucet’s running.” As I silently retreated back to my desk I heard her tell the dog, “Your mother left the water on again.” That’s me by the way.

One day, I heard her walker creaking across the kitchen floor as I lay snoozing on the couch. “What did you do with my hairdryer?” she barked.

“You mean the one from the fifties with the big hood?” I said yawning. “You told me to donate that to the Good Will a year ago.”

“No, you’re wrong.” she insisted. “Why would I do that? IT DIDN’T WORK!”

“Then why do you want it?” I asked softly.

“Because I want to do my hair!!“

Go figure.

What can I say? My role is to be wrong. I’ve learned the hard way trying to prove my innocence doesn’t accomplish anything. Letting her be right is the least I can do for my beloved 95 year old Mother-in-law (who lives with me). If it helps to preserve her dignity, I’m glad to do it. It’s easier for her to blame me when she can’t find something than admit she can’t remember.

Now, before you get a bloated opinion of me, let me assure you my attitude is NOT natural…it’s totally supernatural. God is making me much nicer than I am.

It’s the result of holding-on, white knuckled, to the throne of Grace. It comes from having dramatic meltdowns on my porch swing. It comes from badgering all my friends to pray. It comes from having friends who love me enough to let me tell them every grizzly detail about caregiving. It’s God.

My first reaction to the whole live-in thing was to tell God He had a cruel sense of humor. She and I have always had a polite relationship, but live together…? God has a wonderful way of setting us up for major character development.

I was mumbling to a friend one day about one of my mother-in-law’s innocuous little traits that was annoying me. Then, she told me she bought electric nose clippers for her father-in-law because his nose hairs grazed his top lip.

“Then,” she explained. “I was stirring something on the stove when, suddenly, I heard a whirring sound and turned around to see my father-in-law buzzing his nose hairs on my dining room table!”

I shut-up.

I’m definitely becoming a nicer person. I’ve been stressed and pressed to the max; but God has never failed to give me strength when I ask for it. Did I choose this assignment? NO. But I love the fruit.

Being a caregiver is very, very challenging. It helps me to remember:

• P ick your battles – some things aren’t worth getting upset about

• L ead with love (even if you don’t like something)

• E xit when you need to

• A ccept all the help you can get

• S tay in the scriptures

• E xcellence comes from abiding in Him.

I’ll never forget the day I decided to start jogging. I was in my thirties. Clad with shear determination, and a new pair of sneakers, I headed down our road expecting to go at least to the next corner – one mile away. About 2/10th of a mile later, my chest was ready to explode and my legs were burning. “Maybe jogging is not for me.” I gasped.

Then I heard, “You have need of endurance…lean in.”

I knew that had to be the Lord because it sure wasn’t my idea. So, literally leaning forward, I continued plodding. To my surprise, I got a second wind and ran a solid 1/2 mile. Granted, I limped home and took a two hour nap; but still, it was an enormous accomplishment for me. Gradually, my distance increased until I was able to run 3 1/2 miles up to five times a week. Marj was becoming a JOCK!

Well, I jogged for years. Got skinny. Felt great. Then, I injured my back, and had to stop running completely. sigh. The tiny satiny jogging shorts were retired to our display case in the living room. (I think I detected a tear in Bill’s eye when he put them there.) Then, once again, I slowly began my descent into pudgy-dom.

Last summer my friend took up biking. She’s almost my age and can’t say enough about how wonderful it is. So, naturally I wanted to try.

Clad with shear determination, I dragged out my old bike from the basement, pumped up the tires, and cleaned the spiders out of the helmet. Hesitantly, I venture down the driveway and onto the road praying no one see me. I was convinced. Biking was my fountain of youth, that magic pill, the start of my ultimate pilgrimage back into those satin jogging shorts from twenty-five years ago.

Despite random weaving, and a few ditch dives, I successfully stayed on my bike for 1/2 mile! “That’s enough for one day.” I thought walking my bike home. I was saving my “second wind” for the walk up the driveway with rubber legs.

As if my quivering legs and a beet red face weren’t enough, I had another problem… I couldn’t get my helmet off! I couldn’t remember if the buckle was pinched, squeezed or snapped.

With the sound of my mother-in-law laughing hysterically in the distance, I wobbled over to my neighbor’s house for help. Of course, they had to take pictures before excising me from my head-gear.

Don’t let my foibles discourage you from starting your exercise. It’s highly rated. Me? I’m developing my own brand of patient endurance through other endeavors…like attempting to help my grandkids with their math homework. (I’m currently querying Fox network with a new idea for a TV show: “Are You Smarter Than A Second Grader?”)

Being double-minded is a torment. The Greek word (dipsychos) literally means double-souled. Having conflicting rivers of thought creates confusion. Emotions flip-flop all over the place.

Indecisiveness is also exhausting. It makes you feel weak, confused, insecure and definitely un-peaceful. The Bible calls it being “tossed to and fro.”

Last year I was seriously considering opening up a new gift shop. The decision weighed heavily upon me. Is this the Lord’s will? What about the economy? Was this the right time to venture out? I needed wisdom.

My desire for the adventure was so strong I was concerned I wouldn’t even hear the Lord’s leadings. I prayed fervently for wisdom and continued looking for a location. Why am I hesitating? Is it the fear of stepping out? Maybe I just haven’t found the right location yet?

My imagination was filled with thoughts of twinkle-lights and homespun fabrics, and the perfect country selections. Serving coffee and muffins and springy bell on the door. It was all there. I imagined a feature article in Country Living Magazine: “A must see! The most unusual, one-of-a-kind gift shop in the northeast: Mimmy’s Pickety Place!”

Then I imagined what would happen if I didn’t go for it: sitting at home shriveling up from lack of creative stimulation. Lonely, broke and gaining weight from shear boredom.

My husband (who would have endured listening to every detail right down to the twinkle lights) at this point would have offered one of his famous remarks: “I don’t know how you live with your brain.” or “You’re thinking too much,” or we would have talked it through until peace ruled and we were in agreement.

It was painful not being able to consult with him. Everyone was telling me to “Go for it.” But I don’t want what I want if God isn’t in it. The majority doesn’t rule if He is Lord.

Several weeks later, my grand daughter made a simple remark and instantly I knew. God was asking me to stay available for my grandkids. Over the next few months, I marveled as one emergency after another challenged our family. God knew exactly where I was needed the most.

The Lord is so faithful to give us His lavish wisdom when we need it. The only requirement: we have to ask and believe without wavering.

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It used to infuriate me when my mother (God rest her soul) would walk into a room I’d been slaving over and, stick her pointy finger at the one spot I missed and say, “aren’t you going to fix THAT?”

Unfortunately, I’m the same way. My husband and I used to sit on the porch in the morning for coffee. He’d be basking in the beauty of the moment and I’d come outside with my endless list of things to do. He’d lovingly bluster at me, “Why can’t you just BE?”

You’re asking ME? I’d love to just “BE” but learning to turn off my brain to enjoy the moment was just one more topic on my ‘To-do” list.

It’s difficult to be grateful when life is pouring on your parade. When my husband died, all I could see when I sat on the porch was the empty seat beside me. That empty space was so devastating, so threatening, it numbed me to the beauty still surrounding me. I couldn’t see or feel anything but that hole.

It is not our faith that saves us from emotional shipwreck. It’s the truth itself that our faith lays hold of. Faith is merely the glass we hold out for the Lord to fill. It’s the hand that receives the gift.

I’m learning to turn my emotional umbrella upside down to catch the lavish Grace that He is so willing to pour out. Instead of repelling the rain….I’m attempting to collect it.

There was a terrible ice storm in Upstate New York back in the late 90′s that knocked out our power for almost two weeks. Just before the power was restored, I had the window open and was listening to the sound of the water raining down from the ice melting off the branches. The Lord whispered: “The tears of this storm will water the fruitfulness of tomorrow.”

I don’t know the nature of your trial. It may be more unspeakable than I could ever imagine. I don’t know why these things happen; but I do know God won’t waste them. He can redeem every valley, every loss and pain. He loves us and He is good.

When the hurt becomes more than I can bare, no one can make it right for me. No one can take it away. My only choice, other than bitterness, is to turn the umbrella of my heart UP and say, “Father, please help me.” The hole in your heart and mine is just another space for His grace to fill.