This past weekend I had the privilege of being the retreat speaker for the women of my church. We journeyed over to a beautiful beach house on the Oregon coast. The view was spectacular, with nothing but a little sand between us and the ocean. Thirty of us gathered together as we learned more about how to tame our emotions. Have you ever wondered if that's even possible?
As women, we have a myriad of emotions to deal with, including those brought on by PMS or peri-menopause. The dictionary defines tame as "reduced from a state of native wildness especially so as to be useful to man." And don't our emotions sometimes make us feel like we're in a state of native wildness? Where we have this primal urge to go running through the jungle (or down your block) screaming at the top of your lungs?
The thesaurus gives other word possibilities such as subdued, submissive, harmless, civilized, and housebroken. Housebroken? That's really not such a bad idea. When you have a puppy or kitten that's not housebroken, what do you end up with? Yep, and we can do the same thing when we're not housebreaking our emotions. We can leave stinky, messy piles of anger or discontent or worry in the corners of our house. Other people may not even be aware of them, but if they spend much time with us, the stench will show up.
We spent time looking at the topics of fear, worry, depression, disappointment, and anger. These all interact and often one leads to the other and we end up in a vicious cycle. It was exciting to remind these women that we always have a choice to make--either going by our feelings or by the truth of God's word.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Wacky, Wonderful, Writer's Weekend
What a fun weekend we had when multi-published author Donna Fleisher (middle of back row) put together a writer's weekend for a small group of us. In the back row, left to right, you see me, Donna, and Miriam Cheney. Across the front row is Kristen Johnson, my daughter Christina Berry, and Judy Gann. We stayed in a lovely suite at the Sandcastle Beachfront Motel in Lincoln City, OR, about ninety minutes from where Christina and I live. Poor Donna lives right across the street from the motel, with the boring view of crashing ocean waves always available from her living room window! It's a shame the way some people have to suffer!Our weekend consisted of talking about the various aspects of writing, eating, talking about how we'd eaten too much, critiquing some chapters, eating, complaining about how full we were, sharing life stories, seeing anew God's presence in the whole writing process, eating...
There is something special that happens when a group of authors get together. It must be that quirkiness gene one needs as a writer, and non-writers just don't quite understand us. They don't get what makes us tick and why we're so driven to pursue this life. (Sometimes I wonder myself!)
It was an invigorating weekend, while at the same time, relaxing. You don't often get that combination. Here's to many more such occasions.
Friday, February 1, 2008
The Final Goodbye
My heartfelt thanks to those of you who have expressed sympathy at the loss of my dear mother-in-law two weeks ago. Your email notes, cards, and prayers have meant a lot.
Mom would have been pleased with her going away party. She had lived most of her life in Phoenix, AZ, until we brought her to Oregon three years ago when her Alzheimer's became so bad. She was laid to rest back in AZ beside her first husband, John's dad.
We were surprised at how many elderly friends of hers came out to the viewing that Monday evening. Most of them were from her old church, which has now disbanded because they had no young blood to carry on. They said the only time they get together now is at funerals. Sad.
I was moved watching my grandkids walk through the whole ritual of death. Both Andrea and Joshua were able to be in Mom's room and watch the proceedings when the mortuary came to remove her body. Not many American children are able to experience the reality of death at that level. They were in Phoenix for the viewing and then the graveside service the following day, sorrow evident in their tears and demeanor. This is something they will not forget.
John was strong as he arranged flights for the extended family to get to Phoenix, rented a house that all fifteen of us could stay at, and officiated at his mother's service. But I was glad to see him be emotional at times, not trapped in his role as her pastor, but able to experience it as her son.
This past Sunday we led a memorial service for her at the care facility here in Oregon. We were touched by the number of staff who came in on their day off to participate in honoring her life, who shared memories of their time with her. They don't often get a chance to say a final goodbye to residents they lose, so we were blessed to provide that opportunity to them.
This has been my first experience with the loss of someone so close to me. I know I've been fortunate in that respect. It has given me an even greater appreciation for salvation, family, and faith. That's a good thing.
Mom would have been pleased with her going away party. She had lived most of her life in Phoenix, AZ, until we brought her to Oregon three years ago when her Alzheimer's became so bad. She was laid to rest back in AZ beside her first husband, John's dad.
We were surprised at how many elderly friends of hers came out to the viewing that Monday evening. Most of them were from her old church, which has now disbanded because they had no young blood to carry on. They said the only time they get together now is at funerals. Sad.
I was moved watching my grandkids walk through the whole ritual of death. Both Andrea and Joshua were able to be in Mom's room and watch the proceedings when the mortuary came to remove her body. Not many American children are able to experience the reality of death at that level. They were in Phoenix for the viewing and then the graveside service the following day, sorrow evident in their tears and demeanor. This is something they will not forget.
John was strong as he arranged flights for the extended family to get to Phoenix, rented a house that all fifteen of us could stay at, and officiated at his mother's service. But I was glad to see him be emotional at times, not trapped in his role as her pastor, but able to experience it as her son.
This past Sunday we led a memorial service for her at the care facility here in Oregon. We were touched by the number of staff who came in on their day off to participate in honoring her life, who shared memories of their time with her. They don't often get a chance to say a final goodbye to residents they lose, so we were blessed to provide that opportunity to them.
This has been my first experience with the loss of someone so close to me. I know I've been fortunate in that respect. It has given me an even greater appreciation for salvation, family, and faith. That's a good thing.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Safe in the Arms of Jesus
Tuesday, January 15--The call comes during breakfast. John answers it, only to find his mother is non-responsive. They think we'd better come. The day is spent at her bedside, watching for any signs of improvement, but seeing none.
And the morning and the evening were the first day.
Wednesday, January 16th--Her frail shoulders rise in quick, shallow jerks with each gurgly breath. Her ninety-one-year-old cheeks glow a soft pink, the color naturally applied by the brush stroke of fever. Her eyes are closed, always closed.
"Mom, we're here. John and I are here." Our kisses elicit no response. I stroke her hand, the skin on the back of it tissue-thin, barely protecting the veins that form the relief map of the life she's lived.
Thus begins Day 2.
Thursday, January 17th--It's 2 AM and the vigil continues. She's working hard for each breath as she enters her third day of actively dying. Each exhalation sounds frothy--like a child blowing milk bubbles through a straw. Her lower cheeks are sunken around her mouth, giving her the high cheekbones of a model.
And that's what she is. The model of a godly Christian woman walking the final steps down the runway of this disease called Alzheimer's. She has walked it with grace, never losing her trust in God, love of family, or sweetness of character.
Sweet. That's the refrain that has run through each story the caregivers and hospice nurses have shared with me these past two days. "She is the sweetest lady I've ever known." "She's always so sweet. Not a mean bone in her body."
They are all shocked by the sudden change in her health. One by one, or sometimes in groups of three, they come to love on her. They gently bathe her, carefully reposition her arms and legs, and cover her face with kisses. "I love you, Marjory," I hear them whisper before they leave.
Hours pass. A thin hint of daylight sneaks through the fog outside as the thin hint of her spirit lingers in the room. When will it happen--that nanosecond when she leaves our presence and is immediately in His?
She tip-toes through yet another day, her footsteps so light they can hardly be heard, her spirit poised on the edge of eternity, patiently waiting for her body to catch up.
I tell her once again what a precious woman she is to me; what a wonderful mother-in-law she has been. I make phone calls to family before leaving the room to inform the staff of her passing. I listen to Beethoven for the next hour as I sit beside her, my palm resting on her cooling forehead. I hold myself together. It's not until an hour later, at 1:08 AM, that the tears come, brought on by the simple action of me removing a pillow from under her legs.
I place a praise CD in the player and cry through every song, the words impacting me in a different way than ever before. When I think of Mom standing in the very presence of God, gazing into the eyes of Jesus, it's almost more than I can bear. There's such an intensity to my sense of awe at what she is experiencing.
I sit beside her for eight hours, continually resting my hand on her forehead. Through the tears I talk to her as I have for the past three days. My pain is outweighed by joy, but nevertheless, very real. I will miss her. I already do.
Through the window I see the rest of the family pulling into the parking lot, ready for one last visit before her body is removed. As I leave her room to meet them I turn to say, "Now you're the 'you' you've never been, but were always created to be."
Her life has been a gift to me and all who knew her.
And the morning and the evening were the first day.
Wednesday, January 16th--Her frail shoulders rise in quick, shallow jerks with each gurgly breath. Her ninety-one-year-old cheeks glow a soft pink, the color naturally applied by the brush stroke of fever. Her eyes are closed, always closed.
"Mom, we're here. John and I are here." Our kisses elicit no response. I stroke her hand, the skin on the back of it tissue-thin, barely protecting the veins that form the relief map of the life she's lived.
Thus begins Day 2.
Thursday, January 17th--It's 2 AM and the vigil continues. She's working hard for each breath as she enters her third day of actively dying. Each exhalation sounds frothy--like a child blowing milk bubbles through a straw. Her lower cheeks are sunken around her mouth, giving her the high cheekbones of a model.
And that's what she is. The model of a godly Christian woman walking the final steps down the runway of this disease called Alzheimer's. She has walked it with grace, never losing her trust in God, love of family, or sweetness of character.
Sweet. That's the refrain that has run through each story the caregivers and hospice nurses have shared with me these past two days. "She is the sweetest lady I've ever known." "She's always so sweet. Not a mean bone in her body."
They are all shocked by the sudden change in her health. One by one, or sometimes in groups of three, they come to love on her. They gently bathe her, carefully reposition her arms and legs, and cover her face with kisses. "I love you, Marjory," I hear them whisper before they leave.
Hours pass. A thin hint of daylight sneaks through the fog outside as the thin hint of her spirit lingers in the room. When will it happen--that nanosecond when she leaves our presence and is immediately in His?
She tip-toes through yet another day, her footsteps so light they can hardly be heard, her spirit poised on the edge of eternity, patiently waiting for her body to catch up.
Family has once again been in to tell her goodbye; to spend precious hours with her. They reluctantly leave for home. I alone am left to stay at her side throughout the night. Her breathing, though still rapid, quiets. I scoot the chair as close to her bed as possible, place my head on a pillow next to hers, my hand resting on her shoulder. Surely I will feel if there's a change. Thirty minutes later I awake with a start, realizing the noise in the hall is louder than any Mom is making. I go around to the other side of the bed to make certain my suspicion is valid. Only her shell remains.
I tell her once again what a precious woman she is to me; what a wonderful mother-in-law she has been. I make phone calls to family before leaving the room to inform the staff of her passing. I listen to Beethoven for the next hour as I sit beside her, my palm resting on her cooling forehead. I hold myself together. It's not until an hour later, at 1:08 AM, that the tears come, brought on by the simple action of me removing a pillow from under her legs.
I place a praise CD in the player and cry through every song, the words impacting me in a different way than ever before. When I think of Mom standing in the very presence of God, gazing into the eyes of Jesus, it's almost more than I can bear. There's such an intensity to my sense of awe at what she is experiencing.
I sit beside her for eight hours, continually resting my hand on her forehead. Through the tears I talk to her as I have for the past three days. My pain is outweighed by joy, but nevertheless, very real. I will miss her. I already do.
Through the window I see the rest of the family pulling into the parking lot, ready for one last visit before her body is removed. As I leave her room to meet them I turn to say, "Now you're the 'you' you've never been, but were always created to be."
Her life has been a gift to me and all who knew her.
In loving memory of
Marjory Ashcraft Peterson
October 25, 1916--January 18, 2008
Marjory Ashcraft Peterson
October 25, 1916--January 18, 2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
Ring Out the Old
When I was a teenager living in California, our church would have a Watch Night Service beginning about 8 pm on December 31st. All ages of people, from little kids to the elderly, would show up for this event. We'd have a potluck of desserts, play games, and visit. If I remember right, those with really young children would leave by ten, but the rest of us would stay the course. Around 11:30 we'd gather in the sanctuary for a time of worship. We'd keep one eye on the back of the room, where the big clock hung on the wall. The clock that was supposed to guide the pastor's sermons on Sunday mornings. Our voices would join together in singing the old hymns like "I Surrender All" or "I'll Go Where You Want Me To Go." On the tick of midnight we'd take turns praying out loud, committing our lives to the Lord's service in the new year.
As a Christian teen, I loved that special night. I always felt a sense of excitement about the coming year, and yearned to grow closer to God as I went through it. I wanted my life to count for something and to be a witness to others. I was willing for God to mold me however He best saw fit.
And you know what? He answered all those prayers. I stayed close to the Lord and went on to become a pastor's wife as well as a missionary. I continue to yearn to grow closer to God with each passing year. I carry with me an awareness that I'm a witness as I'm out and about in my community. Pastor Brown is in glory now, but I hope he knows how much I looked forward to ending the old year with my church family.
Do churches even have Watch Night Services anymore? I haven't been involved in one for decades. But I just talked to my husband, who is on a piano tuning trip to Nevada, and he was going to a Watch Night Service in a little Baptist church in Hawthorne. So obviously some places are keeping the tradition alive. It might be a good thing to reinstate here in Oregon. Who knows? There might be a young person (or old) who could really benefit from that yearly recommittment to their faith.
As a Christian teen, I loved that special night. I always felt a sense of excitement about the coming year, and yearned to grow closer to God as I went through it. I wanted my life to count for something and to be a witness to others. I was willing for God to mold me however He best saw fit.
And you know what? He answered all those prayers. I stayed close to the Lord and went on to become a pastor's wife as well as a missionary. I continue to yearn to grow closer to God with each passing year. I carry with me an awareness that I'm a witness as I'm out and about in my community. Pastor Brown is in glory now, but I hope he knows how much I looked forward to ending the old year with my church family.
Do churches even have Watch Night Services anymore? I haven't been involved in one for decades. But I just talked to my husband, who is on a piano tuning trip to Nevada, and he was going to a Watch Night Service in a little Baptist church in Hawthorne. So obviously some places are keeping the tradition alive. It might be a good thing to reinstate here in Oregon. Who knows? There might be a young person (or old) who could really benefit from that yearly recommittment to their faith.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
An-ti-ci-pa-tion!
With a title like that, you probably think I'm writing about Christmas. Wrong!
When I joined ShoutLife about three weeks ago, an evil virus took over my computer and then wiggled its way into my heart. It was so stealthy, that for a week or so I didn't even realize I'd been attacked. I went through my daily routine without a problem. As soon as I woke up each morning, I would hurry to turn my computer on and see which new people were reaching out to me, asking me to be their friends and share in their lives. Each day was met with a sense of anticipation as I wondered what the words on the screen would say to me.
Last week, the insidious virus reached my heart and stopped me cold. There was no cure for it. No cure other than repentance. You see, I had allowed the excitement about these strangers reaching out to me to be the most important thing of my morning. There was a sense of approval and worth brought about by seeing how many people had contacted me.
And that's when God spoke. The Great Physician pointed out that I had let this cut in to my daily appointment with Him. Instead of anticipating my time with Him each morning, reading His prescription for my life and getting my approval and feelings of worth from Him, I was pushing Him aside, anxious to get my fix from the computer.
I listened when He spoke. I read directives He'd given me in the past: Seek first the kingdom of God; I will fill you with My love every morning.
That's when I made the committment to meet with the Lord each day before turning on my computer. Nothing is more important than spending quality time aligning myself with His words that bring life and hope. Words that tell me I am loved. That tell me I'm worth more than I'll ever know.
His mercies are new every morning. Now that's something to anticipate!
When I joined ShoutLife about three weeks ago, an evil virus took over my computer and then wiggled its way into my heart. It was so stealthy, that for a week or so I didn't even realize I'd been attacked. I went through my daily routine without a problem. As soon as I woke up each morning, I would hurry to turn my computer on and see which new people were reaching out to me, asking me to be their friends and share in their lives. Each day was met with a sense of anticipation as I wondered what the words on the screen would say to me.
Last week, the insidious virus reached my heart and stopped me cold. There was no cure for it. No cure other than repentance. You see, I had allowed the excitement about these strangers reaching out to me to be the most important thing of my morning. There was a sense of approval and worth brought about by seeing how many people had contacted me.
And that's when God spoke. The Great Physician pointed out that I had let this cut in to my daily appointment with Him. Instead of anticipating my time with Him each morning, reading His prescription for my life and getting my approval and feelings of worth from Him, I was pushing Him aside, anxious to get my fix from the computer.
I listened when He spoke. I read directives He'd given me in the past: Seek first the kingdom of God; I will fill you with My love every morning.
That's when I made the committment to meet with the Lord each day before turning on my computer. Nothing is more important than spending quality time aligning myself with His words that bring life and hope. Words that tell me I am loved. That tell me I'm worth more than I'll ever know.
His mercies are new every morning. Now that's something to anticipate!
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Stop Yelling at Me!
I must have been born with a sensitive spirit, even though I'm the oldest of five. I always hated to be yelled at. Now, you have to understand that I really wasn't yelled at. My parents could simply raise their voice to get my attention, and I would feel they were yelling. A loud snap of their fingers had the same effect--instant obedience. When I got engaged to John, we came to an agreement that we would never yell at each other. We even go so far as to try to be in the same room when we talk to each other, so that there's no sound of discord in the house.
So, what's a nice girl like me doing on a place called ShoutLife?! I resisted it for months, this Christian version of MySpace. But Christina kept telling me I needed to power up and join this awesome group of people. She also warned me to wait until a week when I had few commitments, as it would be very time-consuming when I first joined.
She was so right! I don't have it within me to push one little button and "accept all" the people who have written asking to be my friend. No, I have to respond personally to each one. I go to their profile page and see what we have in common before writing to them. That helps me see each of them as an individual, rather than just a name. I like doing it this way and have met some great people, but it's taking more hours than I dreamed possible.
In closing, I want to give a big shoutout to all my friends, both old and new. Shoutout? Did I really say that?
So, what's a nice girl like me doing on a place called ShoutLife?! I resisted it for months, this Christian version of MySpace. But Christina kept telling me I needed to power up and join this awesome group of people. She also warned me to wait until a week when I had few commitments, as it would be very time-consuming when I first joined.
She was so right! I don't have it within me to push one little button and "accept all" the people who have written asking to be my friend. No, I have to respond personally to each one. I go to their profile page and see what we have in common before writing to them. That helps me see each of them as an individual, rather than just a name. I like doing it this way and have met some great people, but it's taking more hours than I dreamed possible.
In closing, I want to give a big shoutout to all my friends, both old and new. Shoutout? Did I really say that?
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