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To the Land Where the Bong Tree Grows

  It's a Monday. Even on a sailboat. Even in Florida. Where I assume, from comments I get, that life should be full of sunshine and ease because we ARE here in this beautiful place while the majority of our friends are out shoveling snow and splitting wood. Life is good, don't get me wrong. But it's life,  and that Monday feeling lingers strong some days. We missed church again yesterday. While bemoaning the fact that I had not gone to church for three Sundays now, Bruce informed me it had been four for him. We are heathens, I guess. It's funny this should bother me. I've struggled with liking going to church every Sunday. Always. Until this last year with the pandemic and personal crisis in our family making it seem like a treasure to attend. I'd like to talk about that sometime...why I like going to church now...but this blog post was to be short, non-preachy,  and to catch you up to what we are doing with our life these days. We came to Florida to experience

Beautifully Made

    Maybe its because I’m sewing a mint green dress, the same color of dress I was wearing on the picture when I was five holding my white bunny. I was sitting on the carpeted staircase of the old farmhouse where I grew up. The carpet orange-y red, the dress, rough double-knit but minty green, the bunny white and pink and not soft at all. But he made me feel happy and content. As happy and content as a five year old knows how to feel. Maybe that's the reason for this soul searching flashback, these triggers of tears in my adult life. I've done a lot of sobbing lately. It's not anyone’s fault, these triggers. I wake up with them. They are more frequent when Bruce is gone over long periods of time. I sleep less and less, my insecurities growing by the night time seconds. I am triggered to remember that long horrible night in and out of reality and delusion, the night my mom kicked my dad out. The night my dad left. The night my world was ripped away from childhood. The n

Piety and Almsgiving/Holiness and Humanitarianism

I remember the first time Matthew chapter six caught my attention. We were confined, our family of five, in our small Macgregor 26' sailboat in a rainy bay in Florida waters. We were anchored somewhere on the northwest side of the peninsula, suffering through a torrential downpour, the dampness of our bodies within a tiny space, filling the cabin with not so pleasant odors and temperaments. We had worn out the games, puzzles, and drawing/artwork supplies, now having moved on to reading and writing in our journals. At least that's what I was doing. It felt funny and wrong to open my Bible to Matthew 6 and see the words of Jesus admonishing to not do the good and right things in life for approval or recognition. Because that's what I was doing. I was trying to be a good mom. I was just trying to get something right in this family memory gone wrong. I wanted my kids to notice that I was trying to make good food and for my husband to notice how brave and strong of spirit I was

Mighty Through God

  It's ten p.m. I should go to bed. But its cold and unfriendly the past eight nights. My bed, that is. I haven't quite caved but have thought of going to Bruce's closet and smelling one of his shirts or sweaters. Instead I look at his empty shoes and glance at the lifeless pieces of fabric hanging on their hangers.  When He started talking about his desire to be a travel nurse my first instinct was to panic and be smitten with fear and disappointment. Because why had I taught four years while he did college for hopes of better tomorrows of time spent together? I was scared and angry combined. And I did struggle not to panic. OK. I did panic off and on. But having just come home from a week of counselling with wise words of what I needed to do instead of panic when I didn't understand and/or was disappointed, I knew I was given this challenge for a purpose. I was told to God-focus. No more ME focus. Go to my safe place(our dock)and tell God every disgusting detail about

Fall Thoughts

  Yesterday I finally wrote on here and posted, then went to my computer to re-check  things, and somehow deleted it. So back to the drawing board. Because I do want to say this thing that needs to be said. Now, I think it'll be short and to the point instead of being diplomatic and politically correct. I got sideswiped. Taken out of the game. Plowed over. Whatever you call it when life is humming along and you think you are handling things. I'd been studying the Full Armour of God and was being made super aware that those daily trials of getting along with people, especially with those in my house, were the fiery darts of the wicked. So knowing this, I was a little shocked to find myself wiped out of commission.  Meanwhile thinking about Jesus' words to come to Him...the weary and heavy find rest in our souls. He woos me with this thought...learn of ME... for I am meek and lowly of heart.  So maybe I wasn't as sideswiped as I thought. Maybe I had to go thr

Let's Talk About the Daffodils

  It's just too much. So much 'WOKE'. It reminds me of my Grandpa Skrivseth, whenever the conversation would get too deep or too divisive or if there was too much innuendo about anything...he would clear his throat and say, "Let's talk about the daffodils". That doesn't seem to work these days. It seems if a person chooses not to join one of the movements publicly, on some kind of social media platform, that in itself has become a platform of a kind. We have been forced into saying, feeling or thinking something. Just pick something. If you don't, you will be bullied or judged or altogether dropped as if you have no value that you ponder, pray, and meditate on the things of the Spirit privately. Whereas Jesus promoted privacy over noise, commotion, and commerce. Read Matthew 5, 6, and 7. It's all very clear what Jesus wants from us . Might I suggest a way to promote Jesus while being a peacemaker that is quiet, stedfast, and involved? It takes a bi

What's in your Cup

I just now noticed there is the reflection of a pine tree in this cup... Anyhow. Yes, this "cup" thought has been marching around my head for at least a month so I thought I'd share it with you. Probably not a new thought. To me it seems like good, solid ground in these, volatile days. I've spent whole seasons of my life not liking what was in my cup and refusing to drink it. I thought I knew better maybe? Or perhaps I didn't get the concept of what the cup really meant for a follower of Jesus. Psalm 16:5 KJV The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup; thou maintainest my lot. When I have nothing left, no inheritance, no future, nothing is working out according to my plans; when my life is too difficult for words, when I am bone tired of striving...all this...only  THEN  can God be my portion and cup. But nobody wants to be in that place where you recognize... this is me. Denial is easier. It's much better to post pictu