tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82217973317102882272024-03-08T09:07:34.182-05:00From The Banks of KerithAs a Post Modern American, I find that although people say we are more 'evolved' than we used to be we are in fact no different in nature than we have always been. I want to share my own struggles in life, observations of events, and moments of humor through the lens of my Faith in Christ Jesus.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-38005346408549897412012-05-25T00:17:00.001-04:002012-05-25T00:17:25.500-04:00Hi Friends,<br />
I'm getting ready to transition my blog over to Word Press. I'll be By The Banks of Kerith there too.<br />
Hugs!RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-60057401460374476212011-11-25T23:35:00.003-05:002011-11-25T23:57:28.020-05:00Thanksgiving RevisitedIf I wrote a book about my childhood, it would be hard to believe. I try to laugh it off with my family sometimes by saying, "Yeah, we put the fun in dysfunctional." The truth is, my holidays growing up were often difficult. My step mother who raised me likely is a borderline personality. There were times when we would drive 12 butt numbing hours to her parents (my grandparents) home in Conway, Arkansas. Upon arrival, she would spew hateful words about how awful we all were and then send us packing. So, after taking my little sister out of the car there Scott, Dad, and I were. Persona non grata at Thanksgiving. Many holidays were like this and they were stressful, heartbreaking times. Thanksgiving was a day when we waited for the other shoe to drop and held our breaths hoping that this year it would not. <br /><br />Today I made the mistake of calling her to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving. After 18 years of marriage and after having put a fair amount of distance between us, I thought it would be the kind thing to do. Yet again, she had nothing but ugly things to say. She took credit for saving my life (there are no words for such hubris) and actually told me how to raise my children. Other hurtful things were said and then, as always, she put in the last word and hung up on me.<br /><br />After a good cry and being comforted by my husband and children, I can say I am Thankful! Those days are over and I don't have to relive them. I am so thankful that I can look forward to tomorrow and that my future is not determined by the past I survived. I'll not make that mistake again next year, but it was an excellent reminder.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-68404038430792121682011-11-09T15:18:00.001-05:002011-11-09T15:19:33.945-05:00Someone to BlameSomeone to Blame<br />We hear it all the time these days. “It’s not my fault!” Our children say it and so do our elected officials. Sometimes, it’s even hard to tell the difference between the kids and everyone else. And, if we are honest with ourselves, in the quiet moments of the day we also say it too. I find myself wanting to disavow any responsibility for the messes I have made and all of the sins I’ve committed. <br />These days I think we are less likely to use the word ‘Saved’ as though we don’t really require saving. Rather, in our minds, we perceive that we need ‘righting’ or a mere ‘course correction.’ Perhaps it is this faulty (aka sinful) mindset that propels us to find someone to blame. Let’s think about Jesus from this perspective for a moment. He accepted blame for sins that weren’t his—without even a word of protest! And his eyes, the eyes of this fully man-fully God savior do not look at us with blame. He looks through our eyes and into our souls with love rather than condemnation. Jesus doesn’t need to cast blame, because his blood covered and obliterated it all!<br />If we circle this issue of casting blame and examine our hearts closely, we must conclude that we do indeed NEED saving. We can’t save ourselves from the wallow of sin that we have created; the wallow of sin that traps us. How is it that we can convince ourselves in the face of such compelling evidence that we don’t need Christ’s intervention? <br />When I was a little girl, my brother and I would take our play shovels into the back yard. We had a plan to dig to China. When we began excavating, we were exuberant and excited! We would imagine, as we dug, what we would encounter along the way. Were there new and undiscovered types of animals down there? What would the Chinese think when our heads appeared through the hole like a prairie dog popping up out of it’s burrow? Would we be able to find new friends and share our discoveries with them? Five or six spadefulls of soil later, we would begin to tire and start taking turns. The exuberance was fading into a steely determination. We had set out to dig to China and BY GUM, we were going to do it! Another round of poorly aimed digs into our hole and determination died. In its place was hopelessness. Digging to China was impossible! Ultimately, we would abandon our ‘tunnel’ which was not even deep enough to plant a rosebush in, and shuffle back to the house feeling defeated, sweaty, and badly in need of a shower.<br />We laugh now at our silliness! Why would we think that digging through the earth’s core was possible for two kids equipped with a plastic shovel? We do the same thing when we try to blame our way to salvation. Blame is our Fisher Price spade and we are out in the back yard exhausting ourselves over an impossible task. Is it wiser to continue pursuing the impossible when it is easier to accept salvation? I think the answer is clear, but I admit that my own sin nature urges me onward too. That’s a sin I need to confess. It’s time for me to climb out of that ridiculous hole and go take a bath! Perhaps I’ll occasionally be tempted to give China another try, but it will be as impossible tomorrow as it is today.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-8848752383839340132011-10-30T20:19:00.006-04:002011-11-01T00:27:35.868-04:00"We Came, We Saw, He Died!""We Came, We Saw, He Died!" These words uttered by U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton are a triumphant celebration of Libyan Dictator Colonel Gaddafi's death. The so called "Mad Dog of the Middle East" ruled by terrorizing his own subjects. Torture and execution as well as using rape as a policy of war were characteristic of the way Gaddafi maintained control over his countrymen. Mummar was both deadly and capricious. In contrast to the poverty he inflicted upon his own people, Gaddafi lived like only an oil-rich Middle Eastern man could. <br /><br />Oddly, at death Gadaffi seemed such a pathetic creature who was somehow less than human. Photographs show a beaten, bloodied man who at best resembled a shadow of himself. Men in street clothes and undershirts sporting automatic rifles are shown supporting and dragging him to places he did not wish to go. His hair was matted with sweat and blood; his face testified to crushing blows to the head. The mob of men surrounding him seemed to have taken great pleasure in inflicting as much hatred as they could with their fists and shaming him in ways that the Arab world will likely never forget. In his final moments, the Mad Dog begged for mercy. How is it that a man who showed no mercy could beg for it? I suppose no matter how evil we become, we are still, at least on some level, human.<br /><br />After his death, the revolutionaries wend wild looting the palaces and compounds owned by the not so royal family. One man was photographed wearing the Colonel's ceremonial wheel cap with gold braiding. Another captured a man boldly sporting the expired dictator's personal handgun with a jeweled coat of arms on the stock. Cars, homes, and bank accounts were seized by the Libyan people. Upon his death, Gadaffi ceased to wield the power he used as a club during life.<br /><br />I've never been to Libya, but I did spend several months in India when I was young. There are impressions that have never left me. When I recall that time, I remember the heat was so unbearable that the very ground seemed as though it had spent several days in a pottery kiln. I'll never forget just how many people there were and how different their concept of space is. People pressed in on us and handled us as though we were fruit at a vegetable stand. Literally, strangers would come up to me and pull the hair on my arms amazed by it. They even yanked at my hair to see if it was attached not even considering that I might feel pain. I'll never forget the flies! They were absolutely everywhere and there was no way to keep them out of any space. If I stood still for any length of time, they would land on me as though I was already dead and ripe for the eating. Above everything else, I remember how prevalent death was. Early in the morning, a dump truck would comb the streets picking up the bodies of ignoble people who may not have even had one person on earth to remember them.<br /><br />When I saw the pictures of Gaddafi's demise, I immediately looked at the landscape and soil. It brought to mind sights and smells that I haven't experienced in over 20 years. As I looked closer at those last images, I could see in several frames that Mummar was trying to hold himself up by bracing with one of his arms. Gaddafi surrounded, under siege. He seemed stooped and utterly exhausted. For some reason, I couldn't help but wonder if that was how Jesus looked before he was crucified. I can't erase the thought that Jesus also died in a similar region surrounded by people who were celebrating his death. I can imagine the crush of people pressing in to see if he was dead yet. I can hear the swarm of flies attracted by the smell of blood.<br /><br />If we fast forward two millenia and compare, we can see that Gaddafi lived an evil life; Jesus lived a sinless one. Gadaffi made himself king among men; Jesus made himself a man though he was a king. Both men were beaten to a bloody pulp and ridiculed by the masses of people around them. The possessions of each man were taken by those seeking souvenirs. Yet, in death Gaddafi begged for mercy from his captors while Jesus prayed mercy FOR his captors. Most importantly, Gadaffi's power ended at death, while the true power of Jesus Christ was revealed when he overcame death.<br /><br />Amen and Glory to God in the Highest!RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-48722211575797795612011-10-27T15:56:00.000-04:002011-10-27T15:57:06.024-04:00The Perky Turkey DuckWhen I was a young motherless girl, I lived with my grandmother in the mountains of North Carolina. We had all sorts of wonderful animals on her farm and I was enthralled with them. Because of my own wounded state, I felt a special affinity to any creature that was hurt or endangered and I desperately tried to save them when I could.<br /><br />One day as my grandmother and I were walking along the pond, we found a duck egg on the dock. In my mind, this treasure needed saving! Although my grandmother was in favor of making an omelet, I pleaded with her to give the egg to our turkey. This particular turkey was made to be a mother, but she was unable to lay eggs. Mamma Turkey would lovingly pluck feathers from her breast, make a nest, and sit awaiting an egg that would never come. Reluctantly my grandma agreed that we could give this lonely yet to be hatchling to the turkey. I think she was convinced the egg would be a dud, but I was determined to give the baby duck a chance.<br /><br />This was a match made in heaven. Mamma Turkey tenderly sat upon her beloved egg, turned it, and talked to it. Through the shell, Little Duck was listening and imprinting with its Mamma. The day arrived when Little Duck hatched! From that first moment, Mamma was filled with a new sense of purpose and she took great care in instructing Little Duck how to be a turkey. Little Duck was never even aware that he was, in fact, a duck and I suspect Mamma Turkey was so blinded by love she never saw the difference either.<br /><br />Our happy little farm was filled with other ducks, but Little Duck walked, talked, and quacked just like a turkey all the days of his life. He never ever went near the water and proceeded to ignore all of the other waterfowl. In his little bird brain, he was no duck; he was ALL turkey. My young heart was overjoyed to have played a part in finding just the right mother for him.<br /><br />My grandmother was an artist and when I moved away, she would draw little pictures of our duckling. She would even write stories of his adventures and we ended up calling him, "The Perky Turkey Duck." It occurs to me that we are supposed to imprint with our heavenly father just like the duckling did with his adopted mother. We are supposed to be so bonded to him that the things of this world fade into the background and we hear only Him. And when he looks at us, our Father doesn't see our sins or weaknesses. He sees only that we are His and that He himself has made us perfect with His love.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-2326967185363936002011-10-19T12:43:00.001-04:002011-10-19T12:44:32.752-04:00A Rant To My SenatorMr. Begich,<br />I watched you on Fox News today and you were supportive of President Obama's budget plan. I have a hard time understanding how and why you support his policies. Not only are they not working but it is as if no one is listening to the little guys that everyone keeps talking about. Our President mocks those of us who respectfully disagree with him. If we don't agree, then he rudely assumes that we are unable to read. He calls Wall Street folks "Fat Cats," but what about those of us who invest in the Stock Market because we think that Social Security won't be there for us? And truthfully, how is it that he can refer to people as "Fat Cats" when he flies around in a jet paid for by my tax dollars, rides a bus outfitted in Canada and vacations on Martha's Vineyard? It seems as though he has grown whiskers, pointy ears, and a tail. The bowl of warm milk that he is lapping up came from the taxpayer's cow. Why does he use inflammatory language and name calling that further divides Americans? Why does he support the Occupy Wall Street movement and liken them to the Tea Party after spending the last several years denigrating and dismissing the Tea Party? Frankly, all of this rhetoric is unbecoming and unpresidential. How is it that you can support him? How is it that you have failed to call him out and demand the civility he embraces only when it suits him? I am registered as an independent and I for one do not intend to sit idly by as my own President mocks me. In the next election, I will refuse to vote for the person who courts me will smooth words one moment and then slaps me with insults the next. Nor do I intend to vote for people who refuse to hold a member of their own party accountable for their words and actions. As a member of the middle class, I am certain that I am paying my fair share but the amount that we pay will never be enough for you all. Furthermore, some of us believe in hope and charity. We give significant amounts to charity not because you demand it, but because God asks it of us. The idea that increasing our taxes, making people pay their 'fair' share will imperil food pantries, women's shelters, and not-for profits everywhere. We will be able to give less to streamlined charities that spend less than 25% of their income on administration. In exchange, all of the money that is diverted to the government will spend 75% on administrative costs and we can only hope and pray that 25% manages to rattle down to the people it's supposed to benefit. President Obama's 'A GAME' is not good enough for America and if you support that game theory then yours isn't either.<br /><br />Thank you for 'listening.'<br />Deborah R. OliverRamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-34647358826864111982011-10-12T13:31:00.001-04:002011-10-12T13:31:35.184-04:00I am NOT the maidAs I was staring at my messy house this morning, I felt a sense of profound irritation. Last night's dirty dishes were still on the table. My children have a little habit of "saving" their dinner. This is their polite, evasive way of avoiding a meal they don't like. One bite into a meal (a bite that took exactly five minutes to get onto the fork and another ten minutes to chew and swallow) they proclaim themselves to be full. My darlings then "save" their plates in case they either get hungry or in case there is a dessert tempting enough to bribe them into eating more.<br /><br />It is common for me to be greeted by their leftovers and this morning was no exception. As silly as it seems, I HATE facing those plates with the now shriveled remains of an entree that failed the popularity contest. My immediate exclamation was, "I am NOT THE MAID!"<br /><br />As I was grumbling, I checked myself and began thanking God for these dirty dishes. I realized if I am storing up treasures in heaven, then there will be an enormous pile of sparkling dishes and truck loads full of clean clothes to greet me when I arrive. More importantly, if I a Christ-like servant then I AM the maid. I lead my family by serving. Ultimately, I hope they will feel the love poured out for them over loads of laundry and sinks full of dishes. I clean their messes just as Christ himself cleans me.<br /><br />Being the maid is hardly a glorious position. The hours are long, the labor is hard, and the recognition is minimal. However, I'd rather have these treasures in heaven than have earthly treasures parked in my garage bay or in the form of a vacation home in a trendy location. Where my heart is, there my treasure is also and I am thankful for the treasures I have.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-85175165915501309132011-10-05T17:47:00.002-04:002011-10-05T17:54:53.273-04:00Looking BackI am realizing that everyone, especially me, is prone to distraction. Maybe it is the desire for wealth or a preoccupation with the lack of it. Maybe it is preserving youth or achieving social standing. Regardless, we all have at least one thing in our hearts and minds that causes us to take our eyes off of God the father.<br /><br />There are things in my line of sight that at times I want more than God. Things that I seek more relentlessly than my Father. I am guilty of looking back in longing for things that won't fill my soul or quench my wants. <br /><br />As a military wife, I have left homes, friends, and beloved places behind. Make no mistake; it is so hard to leave! But the pain of leaving is always tempered by the excitement of what we are going TO. There is a thrill in discovering what God has next. As Lot & his wife were fleeing Sodom & Gomorrah, a place that was in total destruction, she looked BACK. <br /><br />Lot's wife was literally being saved from a place of hedonism & despair. For some reason, she preferred that place of sin to the saving grace of God Almighty. She looked back and became a pillar of salt. She lost the future God had in store for her all for the desire of what she was leaving.<br /><br />In my heart, there resides a certain ambivalence because I want both God and mammon which is patently impossible. It's impossible to have your heart in two places at once. In Luke 16:15, Christ says that what is highly valued among men is detestable in God's sight.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-35506597373890431202011-08-21T15:05:00.003-04:002011-08-21T15:08:20.261-04:00If Smells Had ColorIf smells only had colors
<br />I'm certain I would see
<br />Little puffs of brown from the baby next to me.
<br />Halfway through the sermon
<br />My stomach gave a lurch
<br />and I was sorely tempted to sprint right out of church.
<br />The daddy is a'rockin'
<br />The baby gives a coo
<br />and every time dad pats his back
<br />I get a whiff of poo.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-18188950266707458612011-08-06T21:56:00.002-04:002011-08-06T21:57:41.422-04:00ToleranceI've been watching the news which I should probably shouldn't. It occurs to me that:<br /><br />Tolerance is the stick people beat you with when you disagree with them. Sadly the person holding said stick rarely engages in self flagellation."RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-38037155913417667602011-05-03T23:37:00.004-04:002011-05-04T00:15:22.500-04:00Treasures in HeavenDo not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven where moth and rust do not destroy and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matt 6:19<br /><br />I've been reading a very interesting book entitled The Prodigal God. The book follows the parable of the prodigal son that Jesus taught. In it, the author demonstrates that in this parable, the elder brother is as lost as the younger brother. It has been life changing for me in that I feel as though I am looking at myself through a microscope. Whenever I've read this parable, I have always identified with the older brother and I have had a hard time understanding all of the joy and jubilation about the younger brother's return home. I suppose I take it so personally, because I've tried so hard to prove to myself and to my parents that I am worth loving. See! Look at me, I'M living the way you taught me to live! I've felt the pain of perceived rejection and have compared myself to others. It's been hard for me to understand how it is that parents treat children differently and it's been a process in learning that I can't afford to take it personally.<br /><br />In the book, the author states, "The anger and superiority of elder brothers, all growing out of insecurity, fear, and inner emptiness, can create a huge body of guilt-ridden, fear-ridden, spiritually blind people..." The question here is what is the elder brother afraid of? I believe that he (or I) is afraid of not being loved. Perhaps he worries that the father loves unequally and that there isn't enough love to fill his heart and make him feel secure in the love of his father.<br /><br />I have observed that parents do often love unequally. Sometimes, they favor one child and shun another. If you are the child who has been shunned or has been abandoned, it's hard to believe that God could ever truly love you. It's hard to fathom that there is enough of his love to go around. It's hard to really know, in the very kernel of your soul that God delights in you.<br /><br />As I've been mulling over these truths, I've been thinking about all of the things that elder brothers do to demonstrate their worth. They word very, VERY hard. They accumulate stuff-cars, houses, jewelry, important companions of high social standing all in an effort to show the world and themselves that they matter. In my own life, I've found myself trying to stockpile enough material possessions so that I will feel secure.<br /><br />Just this weekend, as I was praying about all of my wrong attitudes I realized the contradiction between the way we act and the way Christ acted. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. So, where was Jesus' treasure? He had so much power and charisma that he could have been the richest man, the most popular man, in the world. He could have had a harem of women vying for his affections and he could have crushed all of the religious and societal leaders of his day. But his treasure was in heaven.<br /><br />It occurred to me this week that Jesus came to earth to make you and to make me part of his treasure. He endured insults, homelessness, hunger, and a death of capital punishment all so that we would be his treasure in heaven. All so that we could share in the glory that he has there. So, as an elder brother, what am I afraid of and why am I so insecure?<br /><br />Where my treasure is, there will my heart be also. Thus, I need to focus all of my energies on storing up my treasures where they will really count. I need to stop being a disapproving elder brother and be willing to humble myself and know that God loves me enough that I don't need to be proleptic about protecting myself and my future.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-1775025816524663142011-01-08T00:58:00.001-05:002011-01-08T00:59:35.897-05:00ThankfulToday I am thankful for answered prayers. I am grateful for a God who does for me what I can not do for myself.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-43313321556486028532011-01-04T01:31:00.001-05:002011-01-04T01:31:46.217-05:00My Day! 2004My Day, by Deborah Oliver<br /><br />The guys have gone to Vegas, yes they have flown the coop;<br />And so it stands to reason, I'm ten feet deep in poop.<br />From noses to bottoms, I get to clean them all<br />Including the potty that's floating down the hall.<br /><br />Now I like home improvement, but this one is a bummer<br />Because I never planned on learning to become a plumber.<br />I went into the restroom to see that all was cool<br />And make sure there weren't any sharks 'swimming in the pool'<br /><br />Something was amiss, there was no water in the bowl,<br />So I leaned in a bit closer and gave the knob a pull,<br />I lept back in revulsion as the toilet gave a rend,<br />And vomited back at me the contents hiding 'round the bend.<br /><br />I plunged, and swore, and plunged; but it wasn't any use<br />Why is it that when Brad is gone, life gives me this abuse?<br />Off I go to Wal-Mart to find myself a snake,<br />A tool from which no 'occlusions' can hope to escape.<br /><br />I'm knee deep in poop and it occurs to me<br />That while I'm at this task I should charge a handsome fee<br />The pay ain't much and I demand a raise<br />For everyone one of us who has had this kind of day!<br /><br />So, let's all have a laugh-this one is on me<br />Here's to the 27th Wives and my victory!RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-8866519636628614262010-11-24T00:45:00.005-05:002011-01-01T23:35:24.165-05:00EnoughI wrote earlier about wanting to be more. I truly do long for that fulfillment. I believe that God has given me that longing, but I am not sure how to achieve the more he would have me to be. Simultaneously, I recognize that this innate drive can be perverted in such a way that I end up attempting to glorify myself rather than God.<br /><br />Conversely, I recognized something today as I visited with a friend. While part of me longs to be more, there is also a part of me that cries to be Enough. Enough for what? Important enough regardless of my achievements, social status, appearance, wit, etc. ad nauseum, that my parents would stop what they were doing, without thought, if I needed them. I long to be valuable enough to merit consideration, at the very least, to those who are supposed to love me. I suspect I am not the only person in this world who feels that way. In fact, I would guess this intrinsic desire is part of humanity.<br /><br />My story is a little long and complicated in this regard. How did I arrive at this emotional place? I suppose that as I was growing up I was a little girl who didn't necessarily feel good enough. For reasons that only became apparent in my late twenties, my mother left my father when I was two. I met her again when I was 24. We just didn't have contact for decades and I felt in my child's mind, that I must not have been enough of a reason for her to want to stay. Why wouldn't she want me? Additionally, when I was eleven my beloved grandmother died. It was only later, in a fight with my stepmother, that I learned she committed suicide. This affected me deeply and reinforced a sense that I was continually being left by those I loved.<br /><br />When my Dad remarried, I had a difficult relationship with my stepmother. In her opinion, I was too fat, not ladylike enough, and never quite adequate enough to warrant unconditional acceptance. She constantly admonished me about what 'nice girls' do and don't do and frequently refused to buy me clothes unless I lost weight. Thus began an obsessive, frantic attempt to be slim enough and to be perfect enough. Compared to what? Some unattainable and highly subjective standard. Clearly that ongoing dynamic led to hurt feelings, resentment, bitterness and not a small amount of conflict. She was one of those people who says the most outrageous things in the heat of an argument; statements intended to inflict pain. Things like, "Look at yourself, no wonder you don't have a boyfriend!" when she felt I was too heavy. Or, "I hope you NEVER have a daughter like you!" (Was I so awful?) For whatever reason I was unable to shake those statements off. They became some of the lies that I, without any awareness on my part, began to believe about myself. "I am not good enough. I'll never be good enough." And while by her standards that may have been the case, those were falsehoods. <br /><br />The constant, oppressive expectation that I need to be perfect and look perfect caused me to internalize the pressure and pile more expectations upon myself. In some ways, I ended up crippling my own heart. Despite my efforts at obsessive self improvement, I couldn't ever make her happy. Furthermore, I was unable to prove to myself that I was inherently, intrinsically worthwhile and I was unable to feel peace and contentment.<br /><br />On the other hand, and much to my step mother's revulsion, I was without question my father's favorite child. I reveled in that! In his eyes, I could do no wrong, because I was his princess, which is precisely what the inner soul of any young lady wants to be. :) It was a glorious time in my life. From the view atop my pedestal, the world was my oyster. And in my mind, while others had neglected me, I believed I had at least one person who would never fail me. After all, I would always be a daddy's girl; my father's daughter.<br /><br />However, as years came and went, so did a successive string of wives. With this most recent wife, I experienced what I thought would NEVER come. The father who raised me, had custody of me as a child, and utterly adored me disappeared. To this day, I roll my eyes as he extols the virtues of her children, their spouses, and her grandchildren. It hurts me deeply to know that I can count the number of their visits on one hand. I guess I always hoped I that the mere existence of my two amazing children would be enough to create a longing in my father for a relationship with them even if he no longer desires one with me. <br /><br />In truth, I've sinned in this situation as much as anyone. I took my eyes off the prize; off of God my father. I've expected people to fill that part of my heart that can be accessed only by God. I look over the fence and feel bitterness when I perceive a slight instead of immediately refocusing on God and thanking Him for provision.<br /><br />There have been hard times in my life. Moments when I was utterly, truly abandoned. I spend three agonizing weeks in Barnes Hospital with a ruptured appendix and for the most part, I was alone. My father came once for about five minutes and my step mother popped in to St. Louis to see me; but she went shopping instead. As I type these words, they seem Jerry Springer-esque and absolutely unbelievable. But God stayed with me in my hospital room. He never left me, not for one second. His was the invisible hand I held during the many CAT scans and painful medical procedures. His arms were the ones that held me throughout those long lonely nights in that sixth floor hospital room.<br /><br />I've cried many tears over the years as so many others have. Wasn't I important enough that my folks would WANT to be with me in the hospital? Aren't I "enough" merely by being their daughter that they would walk on water to be with me in case I died? <br /><br />I know this sounds like a whine fest. And for many years, it was. In fact, I probably excelled and earned top marks in self pity. I bore my grudge with all the ferocity that only an Italian woman is capable of. But as I grow, God continually reminds me that I am ENOUGH...ENOUGH for him. I am ENOUGH to God merely because I am his child. <br /><br />In Psalm 27:10, Kind David said, "Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me." Those are powerful words! He takes us just as we are! I am learning, processing, and realizing that it isn't my job to achieve some subjective standard to earn the approval of those around me. That is tantamount to digging through the dumpster behind McDonald's for food, when God himself has invited me to his house for dinner. He reminds me that I will always be welcome there. And next to me, there is an empty chair at the table that is reserved for you. God truly wants you, just as you are, exactly where you are, to be welcomed into his presence.<br /><br />This slow and progressive realization is helping me to allow myself to be imperfect. What freedom there is in letting those emotional burdens drop! Certainly I'll be tempted to turn back and try to pick them up. But this is a problem that can be solved by abandoning the lies that I have believed about myself and seeking God to fill that need. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever and he will not fail me.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-90201248660763735222010-10-22T00:35:00.003-04:002010-10-22T00:57:44.415-04:00Tears...for JosieBecoming a mother transformed me from being a 'doer' to being a 'pit crew leader.' It is my job to fix things as they break and ensure that my kids can zip back into the fast lane of being children. I wait off to the side, tools of parenthood at the ready, waiting for the next flat tire. In this accessory role, I am realizing a new kind of pain, a more intense experience of pain. It hurts me to see my children struggling in a new school, missing friends, and attempting to catch their balance in our new city.<br /><br />In the last two years, we've moved twice. In the last month, we crammed everything that would fit into our camper and drove from Anchorage, Alaska to Colorado Springs. While we are used to change, that never makes it easy especially in the middle of a school year. This week, my heart literally broke for my daughter as she flopped onto the end of my bed, rolled onto her stomach, and began leaking tears. "Mom, I miss Alaska!" she sighed. What does the pit crew do in this instance? I found myself grasping at straws, trying to comfort, but feeling every bit as bereft as she is. How do I soothe her heart? How do I fix this?<br /><br />Then, if we look around us, everyone cries, everyone experiences some degree of pain. Are the tears we cry lost as they evaporate? Do they ever have an impact? Do they matter? I've been mulling this concept, and so I wrote this brief 'poem' for my daughter. We've read it together and I hope in some small way, she feels that her pain does not go unnoticed by her mother or by God.<br /><br />TEARS<br />My heart cries a stream of tears<br />Each one shimmering as a pearl<br />You catch them gently, one at a time<br />Stringing these gems like dewdrops<br />Along a blade of grass.<br /><br />When eternity beckons<br />I'll find not one was lost<br />Or cried in vain<br />And that You have kept perfect count!<br /><br />You will finally show me what you've<br />Been working on all this while<br />Each tear a diamond in the crown<br />Fashioned just for me<br />Will take my breath away as<br />they reflect the splendor of <br />Your GloryRamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-72402439000657614212010-08-22T15:16:00.007-04:002010-08-22T19:44:41.864-04:00Access DeniedAt the risk of seeming self absorbed, I often use my life experiences to illustrate a point that I want to communicate. I share these for at least two reasons 1) because it is my context, my history and 2) in order to share my soul and vulnerability. Writing is easy for me to do, but difficult for me to share because I do feel as though I am parading about naked for an audience. I often worry about what I've written...do people like it? Does it make sense? Can they relate? Perhaps I feel as though my soul on paper 'outs' me in an irretrievable way and that others won't approve of what is in my heart. Writing is also a matter of obedience for me. I write what it is that I believe God is laying on my heart even though I risk disapproval or dislike from others I care about.<br /><br />At any rate, I'm currently involved in a messy family relationship which is certainly something that most of us can relate to. I am angered by the lack of righteousness in this situation on the part of people who are purported followers of Christ. When sin is perpetuated, glossed over, and deemed holy it dishonors God. I struggle watching the dynamics of a family that seems to have lost sight of who God is. It truly breaks my heart and I can only imagine what 'the world' is seeing and what their conclusions about Christians are.<br /><br />When Christians get into what I call 'the Holy Huddle' they turn their backs toward others and deny access to those who are in need of Christ's touch. We withhold all that God has given us. And not just what he has given us, but expressly given us for the purpose of sharing His blessings with others in His name. Although this happens in society and families at large, I am particularly concerned about this in the Christian community, because we are supposed to be holders of the truth.<br /><br />What do we withhold from others? First and foremost we often deny seekers access to friendship and acceptance. Acceptance of a person denies them the comfort, grace, mercy, friendship that Christ himself offers. I can remember being the new kid in eight grade. Finding a table of people to join for lunch in the cafeteria was terrifying! Would I be rejected? In that same way, Christians often label others as either acceptable of receiving or unacceptable. We, like the Pharisees and Sadducees get all tangled up in what we think God's will is and lose sight of God himself. We hurt people and wound already wounded souls whether intentionally or unintentionally. In in actions or lack of action, we fall into the deep crevice that exists between what is 'right' and what is 'righteous.'<br /><br />Why is it that we withhold ourselves? Sometimes, it is a false sense of superiority. I once attended a church where the Pastor's wife felt that persons not raised in "Christian" homes began the world as "damaged goods"-those are her exact words! I think the point that Christ makes is that we are all de facto damaged goods. It is inherent in human nature, regardless of how one was raised! I'll never forget having to think about whom I should invite to church knowing that they might feel the sting of her rejection. I once brought a friend struggling with alcoholism and was mortified and ashamed by my own church. He couldn't have been any less welcome and all of my apologies could never change or undo how he was treated.<br /><br />Sometimes, we refuse to extend God's grace to others because we are keeping a record of past hurts and wrongs. I can say that I am very careful about whom I allow into my emotional space. A long history of toxic relationships prevents me from fully exposing my underbelly. In the past I can attest to the fact that I denied them any understanding or any validation because I was keeping score. I am slowly learning to balance validating their hurts. I must acknowledge that I actively sought to deny them the forgiveness I am required to give all because of my own warped sense of what was 'the right thing to do." Who am I to think that I can mete out God's justice?<br /><br />Finally, I think that some people do not 'need' or perceive a 'need' for other people in their lives. Maybe they grew up with all the friends they needed and don't care to make themselves available to others. As a military wife, I can say that those moments have been painful to me! Women of faith will literally say, "Oh yeah, we don't like to make friends with military wives, because you all move all of the time." Ouch! Life is lonely enough without the body of Christ ignoring you. Other people are more introverted and don't want to engage anyone. But that is not following the example that Christ gave us.<br /><br />I ask myself, what is it that God has denied us? The answer is simple; He has denied us absolutely nothing. He offers us love, forgiveness, and even LIFE through his own son Jesus. Amazing! It is profound that the only perfect being who was and is made himself human and vulnerable for us. He allowed himself to be shunned so that we might not be.<br /><br />Gosh, I need to be doing a better job! We, as Christians, need to be doing a better job! I am convicted that we need to share the truth in love with one another when we see members of the body of Christ denying access to the foot of the cross. There is truly nothing more destructive to ourselves and to others than to deny them the community of Christ and the love that he offers. We aren't perfect or more deserving than anyone else. As my friend Bob Riggles says, "I am just one hungry man telling other hungry people where they can find some food.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-66491815577636797432010-08-12T04:33:00.003-04:002010-08-24T00:32:52.577-04:00Seriously???I want to know who thought up product names for Apple and Dell. They should be fired! On grounds of principle, I do not plan to buy an I-pad or Streak. How about a cooler name, like Fiat or Invest? It irks me to think that someone got paid for doing a job that poorly. EGADS what have we come to?RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-47248695284447171132010-08-12T03:14:00.012-04:002010-11-24T00:45:16.656-05:00MoreJust thinking as I look in the mirror and dress for a date with my husband that time is starting to show itself. I fight it as we all do, but I know it will win. As I glance down at the bathroom scale which is so neglected that it is heavy with dust, I realize that I am more than the number would be if I worked up the courage to step upon it. All of the experiences I've had, people I've met, tears I've cried, emotions I've felt amount to more than the size of jeans I can squeeze into. Maybe if I wore my inside on the outside, I could rock a muumuu! Instead, here I am trying to dress this mutton up as though it were lamb. Bring on the Spanx, booty-control jeans, and Oil of Olay. DRAT!! I'd love to be one of those people who 'forgets' to eat and when I meet someone who says, "Gosh, I missed lunch," I must fight the urge to slap them. Seriously??? I wake up wondering what I can have for breakfast and planning lunch over my first cup of coffee. I wear control top hose as a remedial measure for moments of dietary indiscretion. If bad food choices were skeletons, my life would be a graveyard. Where are the professional mourners??? Bring on that parade! Let's get behind a cause we can really celebrate!<br /><br />You may ask, "Where is she going with this?" The answer is, I don't have the faintest clue. All I know is that every day of my life, I've woken up wanting more. Yearning to be more than a particular size in clothes or number on a scale, I want to matter! Let my life be something that left an indelible mark somewhere that will not be forgotten. I hate the thought of getting lost in the sea of humanity like a single atom amongst all of the atoms that make up the universe. Somehow, I long for the essence of who I am to be different from anyone else and to be valuable not just in spite of it but BECAUSE of it. I'd be the tattoo of a drum that could be distinguished from any other. Like the cry of a newborn child, my mother could single me out in a nursery full of screaming babies. I'd ink myself on the walls of caves so that thousands of years from now, traces of me would remain.<br /><br />Doesn't that seem absurd? Why should it matter to me that I counted for something? Maybe my yearning is foolishness, but perhaps it is inherently human too. After all, why build the highest skyscraper in the world or the Egyptian pyramids if not to leave a marker of your existence? Why paint the most beautiful landscape or compose the loveliest song if not to aspire to beauty? Most of all, why bother?<br /><br />It is here that I come full circle! I bother because it matters...to me and probably to each and every one of us if we permitted ourselves really feel. I bother because I believe it matters to God. Otherwise, every breath and each step are taken in vain.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-63665457766913459302010-08-09T03:46:00.004-04:002010-08-13T02:10:51.237-04:00Motherhood is....Motherhood is<br />standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon<br />with no fence, no wall to protect you.<br />You stand there, unable to see without your glasses.<br />'Cokebottle glasses' without which you can not see<br />the Giant E on the eye doctor's chart.<br /><br />The moment your child is born,<br />it is as though the glasses you've been <br />lacking are placed upon your face<br />and suddenly you now see what you could not.<br /><br />You could have fallen! <br />The world is fraught with danger to you and your child.<br />And all the while, you have been blissfully unaware.<br />With cognizance comes duty and 'response'-ability. <br />Red flags fly wildly!<br /><br />"Don't run with scissors;<br />You could have gotten hurt!<br /><br />Who knew the myriad of concerns<br />we would all face at the onset of<br />life with children?<br />The answer is, your own mother of course.<br />After years of swearing you'd never be like<br />her, you've finally outdone her.<br /><br />She chuckles at the irony<br />finally able to relax knowing that<br />she brought you to adulthood<br />without losing you along the way.<br /><br />While you attempt to avert<br />disaster at every turn,<br />she sits quietly enjoying, even savoring<br />the irony.<br /><br />Comeuppance has come<br />in the form of a grandchild<br />and she laughs knowing <br />you finally had a child like yourself<br />to keep you grounded, to keep you humble,<br />and to help you realize that she<br />was right!RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-25672370483609698812010-07-29T04:36:00.023-04:002010-08-10T02:31:01.828-04:00From Here To There; Where is Hope?As I type, my heart is heavy and my stomach feels as though I've been dropped off the edge of a cliff. Shortly after six pm this evening, an airplane on our base crashed. Initially, all we knew was that there was some sort of fire on the installation, because there was a plume of smoke that could be seen for miles around. When an event like this occurs in a military community, we all drop to our knees. A wild panic hits us and we wonder if our worst fear has been realized. Is this the day that we've pretended would never happened? Information is more valuable than gold and the curse of the information age is that snippets of information, whether true or not, spread like a brush fire. Frantic phone calls are made by wives; if there is a spare moment, the service member will call home with a short announcement, "I am okay." No other details are given so that proper identification and notification can be afforded to the families of those fallen. <br /><br />We all buckle down and wait....very carefully. As the mushroom cloud of a tragedy expands, it can very easily envelope you and collapse your world. I sit knowing that I could be those women and these could be my children. My life is the one that could have been torn in two and I could be the one receiving officials notifying me of my loss. After four agonizing hours that have crawled by at the pace of a glacier, the public is informed that all four on board perished.<br /><br />From the instant I learned of the accident, my first thought was of a bereaved wife. In my mind, I can see her silhouetted in the door of her home waiting for the calvary (a.k.a. Daddy) to ride in and save her from the hour at which all children morph from innocents into trolls. How will she hold up when she has to do this parenting life alone? What will she do with her broken dreams? Who will comfort her? And what about the beautiful children who are waiting for a Daddy who will never come home again? There are so many heartrending questions and precious few, if any, answers.<br /> <br />As my heart aches for the loved ones and prays for angels to comfort them, I wonder at the fragility of life. How can a soul be here one second and gone the next? Astronomists say that when a star 'dies' it collapses in on itself and creates a vacuum that pulls other planets and matter into the void. I think death is like that sometimes...it rips the joy and security out of the lives of those affected by it. Death marks people with an ugly scar as it passes them by.<br /><br />I also ponder the immediacy of the body and the timelessness of the spirit. Bodies wear out and expire, but the soul lasts forever. It is almost as though a spirit goes through a phase contrast or shift. Somehow, they are transparently embedded in a body and inexplicably, almost invisibly, find release from the body and flow into eternity...from Here (the body) to There.<br /><br />There are times when meeting death is a welcome event; quiet and lulling in nature, almost like meeting an old friend for coffee. Recently, I watched a friend lose his long fought battle with Leukemia. After ten years of battling, he was spent and I remember telling him that he would be able to pick out his wallpaper for a heavenly mansion soon. When he left his body, it was a remarkably peaceful event as though he finally decided to let go of his own accord. I was there as he left his body and I found comfort in those final moments of peace. Today's events were totally disparate, cataclysmic. Lives were violently ripped from this world, and that fact seems so inherently wrong, unfair, purposeless.<br /><br />As I pray and mull over these thoughts, I'm reading the account of Lazarus' death in the book of John. Thomas (you may know him as the doubter) was so overcome with grief that he said to the rest of the disciples, "Let us also go that we may die with him." Even though Thomas was in the presence of Jesus, the man whom he had seen perform miracles and healings, he was ready to give up on life altogether. His mind was completely unable to find hope in those dark moments. The thought of facing the future without his friend was more than he could bear. Job, another one of God's greatest men in the Bible,lamented that it would have been better if he had not been born. He had lost everything in his life; all of his wealth, his health, and worst of all, he'd lost his children.<br /><br />I know I'd have these feelings if my husband was torn from me. I'd want to lay down and refuse to live! I am certain I would fight my way forward and continue for my children, but I don't think I'd be able to see beyond the next sixty seconds. Despair would be like an ice fog and I would be running from it.<br /><br />In this time, I ask myself "How is my faith in Christ relevant?" It occurs to me that I should meditate on the fact that of all the things God created, He didn't create death. He meant for us to live and walk with him eternally. His entire purpose in sending Jesus to the cross is to save us from death so that we might find LIFE in Him.<br /><br />My next question, is "How do I share Christ's love from where I sit?" The only conclusion I can reach is that we must mourn with those who mourn. We must weep with those who weep. And we must pray for strength to be 'present' in these painful, opaque times. Perhaps the hardest task is to trust God's sovereignty; to know that He IS; His grace is sufficient even when it doesn't feel like enough. <br /><br />I must remember that our God is big enough and strong enough to handle our doubts and fears. Almighty God cares so much about us that he listens to the whisper of each and every prayer and counts every hair on our heads. We are not forgotten here while he has gathered our loved ones there on the other side of eternity. He has not abandoned us HERE either and promises, "I am with you always, even unto the ends of the earth." Truly, some days the ends of the earth sound like a welcome place to be, but we must strain to find the hope amidst a situation that feels truly hopeless.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-29327865970182105932010-07-23T03:45:00.001-04:002010-07-23T03:46:55.882-04:00Giving BirthThe apostle Paul often likens the journey of life to a race and in many ways, this is accurate. However, I’d like to compare living the Christian Life to giving birth. Unlike many of my friends, motherhood or the prospect of becoming a mother, scared me. From the very time I learned that I was pregnant with my daughter, I was absolutely terrified. From that instant onward, I was on a one way street. Birth was imminent. One way or the other, that baby was coming out! I struggled with a multitude of self doubts while I cradled her in my womb. What if I can’t handle the pain? What if the epidural doesn’t take? What if she gets stuck and I can’t get her out? I was completely focused on the pain of childbearing and the fear of the unknown. Like most people I know, I don’t savor pain. In fact, I do my very darnedest to avoid it if at all possible. As a friend once said, “Giving birth is like saying, “I’m going to hit your thumb with a hammer, but it will only be a small hammer. The size of the hammer doesn’t really matter. Your thumb is still going to hurt!”<br /><br />Similarly, giving birth, or the fact that women keep having children, is really amazing. Women all over the world and throughout millennia keep having children, in spite of knowing what causes THAT condition. Now that I’ve had children and crossed over the bridge, I know with great certainty that labor and delivery hurts “like the Dickens,” as my grandfather would say. What makes the pain of birthing manageable is that this is a triumphant, productive pain. Every synapse and muscle fiber in the body is focused and straining to achieve the seemingly impossible task of forcing that giant head through a miniscule opening. It hurts SO BADLY. Each contraction is such an intense event that the rotation of the earth around the sun seems to slow. Every pore on a mother’s body is pouring sweat and the only thought one can think is PUSSSSHHHHHH! The negative thoughts like “OHMYGOSH I CAN’T DO IT” are drowned out by the overwhelming force of each contraction. Then, it happens in an instant. The bones of the pelvis shift ever so slightly and at long last, miraculously allow passage. In a rush, that new little person is pushed out, expelled into the world…BORN. In that moment, I knew the joy that others could only tell me about, but that I could not understand until I lived it myself. I knew why women keep getting pregnant, keep having children. Every mother I know would relive those tortuous hours just to hold that precious baby again. <br /><br />The Bible tells us that we will endure hardship and persecution and pain. And you will hurt so badly in this world. So badly that you may limp, physically or emotionally, every day throughout the rest of your life in this world. But in a flash, in the blink of an eye, the pain will end and it will all have been worth it. You will be forever changed, and your reward will be so great that you would live life all over again just to experience His presence.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-40413151977381221762010-07-23T03:39:00.002-04:002010-07-23T03:40:47.156-04:00Well Done, A PoemIt comes and goes; it ebbs and flows…This life that is mine.<br />The tides of comfort and of pain,<br />the emotions I hide and try to restrain <br />behind a mask of supposed joy and ease.<br /><br />Really, I get lost amongst the strategies of how to cope,<br />First trying one, then another, clawing at each hope.<br />And maybe I look like I’ve got it all together, <br />but “all together” has really got me. <br />I hope so hard that no one else can clearly see<br />how inept I feel at life.<br /><br />But I know that <span style="font-weight:bold;">I know </span>life has a purpose<br />for Jesus made such a painful purchase <br />of this wounded soul. <br /><br />Though I feel like a Thrift Shop castoff in the back,<br />reduced for sale on the bargain rack,<br />He sees something inside of me that makes me worthwhile.<br />A little glimmer of Him in me that makes Him smile.<br /><br />Maybe that’s really all I need to know. <br />Perhaps “HOW COME?” and “WHY?” or “WHY ME? “ <br />are irrelevant in the eternality<br />of His grand design.<br /><br />I want Him to give me His bird’s-eye-view. <br />To have the knowledge that life isn’t as askew <br />as it feels from day to day.<br />To feel the solidarity of fighting and coping<br />amongst the others who are struggling and hoping<br />that their life has meaning beyond the here and now.<br /><br />And best of all when it’s said and done, <br />And we’re finally in the presence of the beloved Son, <br />we’ll feel his embrace and know that it was all worthwhile.<br /><br />He’ll look into my eyes like a very proud parent<br />and with a voice of pride that is so transparent,<br />I’ll hear the words I’ve always hoped would come,<br />Well done my child, Well Done!RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-66007764383160118702010-07-23T03:17:00.002-04:002010-07-23T03:29:03.158-04:00Never Really MineHe was never really mine,<br />this child whose birth angels foretold.<br />Though I cradled him in my womb for many months,<br />labored, gritted, bore down until he was expelled,<br />this child, my achievement, was someone else’s from the start.<br /><br />There was never a burden so wonderful as the weight of him in my arms.<br />The heaviness of that little body kept all of the loose ends in my soul<br />from flapping about. My heart was happily tethered to him.<br />His presence brought me comfort.<br /><br />His scent was a hint of heaven, like a breeze suggesting<br />things to come. He smelled of sweet innocence and wood shavings,<br />bright and clean. I would breathe in all that was good and true and real<br />as I held his silken head beneath my chin. Joy would ignite in my chest<br />expanding so that I thought my heart might burst from happiness.<br /><br />As I watched him grow from a boy into an awkward young man,<br />I was reminded of who he really was. I tried SO HARD to forget.<br />After all of those years, I thought that maybe God<br />would let me keep him, my firstborn.<br />Many times he would be missing and each time,<br />after hours of frantic searching, we would find him in the temple.<br /><br />Although I wanted to warn him away, I knew that I could not.<br />Though my heart denied it, some small piece of me knew that was his home.<br />Scholars and priests were astounded and pleased at his understanding.<br />I saw in them the gleam of greed as they angled to make him<br />their protégé. If he wasn’t really mine, he certainly wasn’t theirs either!<br />That realization assuaged some small part of my feelings of loss. <br />I even had to smile at these men, so unaware that they<br />were unaware. And I, a poor woman of an obscure tribe<br />could see what they could not.<br /><br />My young man grew into a person of no small influence. <br />He began to wander, speak, heal. I felt him slipping from<br />my grasp. My heart cried, “Not Yet! I need more time!”<br />It took scrabbling through crowds of sweaty, dusty<br />men to catch a glimpse of him. I had to elbow my way<br />to the front just so I could hear the low, clear timbre<br />of his voice. His voice was the song of my soul.<br /><br />Oh how the people loved him! Fickle, Fickle fools!<br />He was no threat to you! He desired no wealth, no fame,<br />no acclaim. Your robes may be white, but there<br />is blood on your hands!<br /><br />As I stand here beneath him at the foot<br />of this barbaric cross, I can see<br />that he is very nearly gone. My<br />entire life’s purpose has been caring for<br />him and here I am helpless.<br />As his mother, I can offer no comfort, ease no pain.<br />The flies surrounding him have greater power than I.<br />At least they can touch his beautiful face, the<br />cheeks that I’ve kissed many thousands<br />of times. I would give my very life to<br />kiss him one last time, but I can’t reach even<br />the soles of his feet.<br /><br />As he breathes his last breath, It takes<br />every bit of my reserve to draw one more. <br />It would be far easier to stop breathing<br />with him.<br /><br />This is not how I thought it would end!<br />My soul is torn; my heart is crushed!<br />Where is God in all this? Why send an angel to<br />herald his birth and then let my son, HIS son<br />be murdered at the hands of greedy cowards?<br />How can my greatest gift become<br />my greatest source of grief?<br /><br />My heart, the heart of a mother, will<br />forever expect him to stride through the door.<br />I will see him in my dreams and long<br />never to wake. I will strive<br />to remember every angle of his face.<br />I will search my memory straining to recall<br />the sound of his voice. <br /><br />In the market, familiar sights, scents, and sounds<br />will lull me into forgetting, just for a moment.<br />And I will have to remind myself to breathe<br />As the pain pierces my heart and<br />I remember his absence all over again.<br />He isn’t here anymore. <br /><br />Others will whisper, there is Jesus’<br />mother. Maybe they will believe that<br />he was a traitor, but I will know the truth.<br />I will hold my head high.<br />My precious little boy was God’s own son.<br />By a miracle I conceived, by a miracle<br />I was chosen to carry the Christ.<br /><br />Though I may grieve all the days of my life,<br />I will find beauty in the sorrow.<br />My son was never really mine alone.<br />But I will see him again on the other side<br />of eternity, and he will be the king in Heaven<br />that I thought he would be here on earth.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-45903045774963373832010-07-01T15:17:00.002-04:002010-07-01T15:27:26.976-04:00Important PeopleI'm in a tizzy, prepping, cleaning, baking, and most importantly of all Stressing. We are having a work affiliated party at our house. I'd planned a casual, and by casual I mean my house doesn't have to be spotless, grill and chill. My 'planning' consisted of buying some items at the store, throwing my arms in the air, and saying it will all get done enough to have the party. Foolish me...My husband got an email last night indicating that some important people are planning to come. So I've been having a freak fit which only makes it harder for me to approach my tasks in an orderly fashion. Then I got a phone call from my husband. It was the sort of call that sends you to your knees in prayer. (God must be working on my testimony and patience.) In those few precious moments, I realized that I am having a conniption over important people coming over, but the most important one is here...Jesus. He's the one I need to be worried about pleasing and serving. I need to get over myself and focus on him. The frenzy of energy I've been expending is all well and good, but I need to refocus and treat Him as my honored, most important guest in my home each and every day.<br /><br />Maybe I'll just drive through for KFC and let the guests fend for themselves. They can battle it down to the last spork and tub o' mashed potatoes. ; )RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8221797331710288227.post-58070670956255533442010-06-15T03:03:00.005-04:002010-06-15T16:56:11.947-04:00Religion or FaithI have loved that which you've hated,<br />Split hairs, drawn lines and debated<br />The sinlessness of my wrong.<br /><br />Though I've preached of you with my mouth,<br />Still my heart has headed South,<br />In pursuit of human desire.<br /><br />Oh foolish woman that am I,<br />living this way, just getting by,<br />Counting on your grace and mercy<br />to cover my lack of true devotion.<br /><br />This is religion through and through,<br />A set of standards adhered to,<br />In the absence of true love for my Savior.<br /><br />How did I arrive at this point so jaded,<br />I am no different than those who have hated<br />You, your life, and the wounds that you bore.<br /><br />Let him who knows the truth be set free,<br />May it sink bone deep and apply to me,<br />That I may experience the peace you offer<br /><br />And as I grow in Spirit and in Truth,<br />I pray that I won't keep myself apart and aloof<br />from those who have need of your power in their lives.RamponaOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01756870365836672383noreply@blogger.com0