The Prophet on the Pillow

There is nothing new about creepy, crawly things getting into our homes, especially in the summer months when bugs become more active, our hills are on fire, or just plain leaving the door open.   Our screen is torn a little from someone trying to walk forward before the door was all the way open and sometimes the neighbor's cat likes to sneak inside.  Of course, I live in an area that used to be predominantly dairy lands.  There are always flies, but since the dairies have moved out and industry and more people have moved in, the fly population is tolerable as long as they stay outside.  Chino and Chino Hills though, are really one big ant hill.  For the most part I have kept the ants outside, but as soon as August rolled around, their little mini-freeways were every which way throughout my garden. At my old house, I had a grocery store behind the 20 foot back wall.   Occasionally at night, if I was standing at the sink and looking out the back window, a possum and her babies would run across the back wall, silhouetted by the dock lights, looking like giant rats.  When I was a kid, the local newspaper came to our house and took a picture of the great horned owl that took temporary lay over in our big tree after a fire in the local foothills. 


 Last summer I had a lizard on my stairs...a big lizard.  I have a bed of impatiens and a bed of mums on either side of my front door, and one side of the house is dedicated to my vegetable and herb garden.  I enjoy gardening and enjoy the good insects!  If I were in Chino Hills, I would be worrying about snakes and tarantulas...now that would be a different story.
 

Which leads me to share my latest up close and personal encounter with Mother Nature.  Coming home this last Thursday,  as I trudged upstairs to take my revitalizing, beauty,  after school nap, (well I can't have my Starbucks right now)...something else had beaten me to the pillows.  It was on Ted's side if that is of any consequence... but a very large adult Praying Mantis had plopped itself in the center of one of my small throw pillows, it's humble posture mimicking a beseeching soul in faithful devotion.  Of, course I immediately went back downstairs,  got Corey and the camera and some kind of container to gently remove him from MY SANCTUARY! 

So, how do I turn this into an insightful, spiritual lesson for this blog?  Well, humor me here, Let's first learn some Praying Mantis facts.

                  The word "Mantis" comes from the Greek,  meaning  prophet.

So, I have a praying prophet on my bed!  I guess this is a good thing; it could have been a self -indulged heretic. I will say that this "sign", being on Ted's side of the bed meant that we are at a turning point with his job situation, things are getting a little better and maybe some changes are on the way.  (I know, I am stretching it here...) I believe in God's promises that he has a good plan for all of us.  (Jeremiah 29:11). 

            

 The Mantis has a triangular shaped compound eyes and can move his head 180 degrees. 

I worship and serve a God who is triune, meaning He is and is all, God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit.   God is omnipresent, able to see all his children, and be all for His children at the same time.  I am not saying this bug was God...just relating these features.

 The Praying Mantis has ultrasound ears and powerful eyesight.               

 Do you know when we pray with a humble spirit, this empowers us to do God's will?  I have found in my life that when I am in a "praying mode" all day long, conversing, in a thoughtful mindset that God is ever present with me, I become more insightful and more peaceful. (Ephesians 6:18 And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints.  Colossians 4:2 Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.  James 5:16 Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective).

 
 And I found this most interesting:   One of the Praying Mantises’s (or is it Manti?) enemy is the bat.  The Creator has equipped this alien-looking insect with a hollow chamber that somehow can detect a high pitch sound of a bat in the area and the mantis will immediately get out of the path of oncoming danger. 

When the enemy wants to distract, attack, gobble us up, take us out; we have a detection device as well.  PRAYER!  (Matthew 26:41 "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak."  Luke 21:36 Be always on the watch, and pray that you may be able to escape all that is about to happen, and that you may be able to stand before the Son of Man."  1 Peter 3:12 For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer, but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil."

So, Mr. Mantis is now gracing our front planter.  How it ever got upstairs or in the house is a mystery.  Let me leave you with two quotes from a book I read a few years back, "The Kneeling Christian", author Unknown.
 

We may be assured of this:  "the secret of all failure is our failure in secret prayer."

"We are never so high as when we are on our knees."

Despite having this very large, strange-looking creature within my inner domain, (the bug, not Corey  lol...) I can be thankful that God continues to inspire me to write, and to see beyond the obvious.  Was  the mantis really praying?  I think he was: 


" Dear God, I flew into this place where there are no plants, and a ceiling fan...Not good...Can you see to remove me back to my stomping grounds? I'd appreciate it. Thanks."

 God answers prayer! 


Matthew 6:6  But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

  

              

       

     

Remembering and Honoring 9-11

Today we remember 9-11, a day when we as Americans were in shock and fear. For us "Baby Boomers", it has been said that this was our "Pearl Harbor". Where were you when you heard? Where were you when your eyes were so wide open, so early in the morning, when what you witnessed on TV was not a movie, but for real? Where were you when you felt that need to gather your family close, call all those you love, attend a church service mid-week, display the stars and stripes on everything? Where are you with these remembrances today?

For myself, I was the opening cashier at my local big box home improvement store. At 6:00 a.m. the roll up door went up and I was prepared to greet my normal rush of everyday, early bird contractors and handymen gathering their supplies for a good days work. I remember the customer; I remember his words as he walked towards me...

"Something bad has just happened in New York...a plane flew into the World Trade Center...it looks like it meant to..."

I tried to call my son, Tim, at home, but he was sleeping soundly enough not to hear the phone ringing many times. My other son was at school which was almost across the street from where I was working and of course my husband was at work. Within a few minutes, an assistant manager was unboxing a TV we sold and setting it up on the end cap in front of my register. I suddenly became aware of this day at work in a surreal sense, for there were no customers with PVC irrigation pipe lined up at my register, no cement bags to count, no lumber carts with enough 2x4's to build a small house. What few customers were in the store were staring at the TV along with myself, a manager and several other store employees. We were listening intently, but what we saw took a few moments to really filter through. It was the second plane, aimed right for the second building, and then the violating impact. We now knew this was a deliberate action. At that moment amongst my co-workers and customers, there was no rank, no seniority, no employer-employee hierarchy, and no customer. We became one; one race, one class, one spiritual being, one family member, one citizen, one American. We were all hurting.

The store remained a ghost town all day and I probably went home early. My drive was short yet I noticed empty streets and emptier parking lots. I had finally gotten a hold of my son sometime during the day and had told him to switch on the TV..."yes Tim...Any channel." The vigil began, almost 24-7 in front of the TV or listening to talk radio. The tragedy continued to unfold: The Pentagon, the field in Pennsylvania, the few rescues, the fires, the collapse, the first responders, the Port Authority, the police, the firemen, the mayor, the President, the heroes, the distraught family members, the rumors and the truths.. and the falling ashes...falling, falling like snow; those images I will never forget. There was also the anticipation of more rescued lives from the rubble, and then the disappointment when that was not becoming a reality.

Americans united, churches filled up, American flag stickers and pins were everywhere. Almost every house displayed "Old Glory". Today in my freshman World History class, the teacher asked the kids what they remembered about 9-11. They were seven years old in 2001.

"My mom was always watching the TV and I couldn't watch my cartoons."

"I don't remember."

"I can't remember it."

"They kept showing the plane fly into the building over and over and over forever."

It seems a new generation has already forgotten why our soldiers are in Afghanistan and Iraq today. I hope this really isn't true.

As I went to get some dinner tonight, and was waiting for my order, a little girl probably four or five skipped in to the restaurant holding her little American flag in her tight fist and around her neck was a red, white and blue ribbon and medal like an Olympian would wear. I do not know what the medal was for, but I hope it was for innocent patriotic spirit, for being a Miss America in the greatest country still in this world, and for her dreams that she will be able to accomplish as a citizen here in the USA, a country born out of the ashes of sacrifice many times over. Let us never forget.

Blogging Exponentially

I am now a "Blogger". Whoo-hoo...At first I thought that it meant that every few days or so, I would post some of my thoughts and writings down somewhere here in cyberspace and I would get all these comments from strangers and maybe some editor somewhere will "discover" me and I would be swept away into the publishing world, making a living at a recently unearthed passion that has taken on this new life; me as a real life, respected, legit writer. Don't misunderstand me here, I am happy with the articles I have chosen and the comments I have received, (although more comments have come through my regular e-mail). What has happened though is not what I expected. There is another whole world out there of Blog-GERS and their BLOGS. So, I have been reading, clicking, reading, clicking, bookmarking, downloading, reading more, commenting, reading, and commenting...you get the idea. It's like looking through a Kaleidoscope, the more I turn the viewer, the more I search, click and read, and the more anxious I am of what may appear next in this magic window of opportunity. I have been blessed by some amazing stories of every day insightfulness of God's love and existence in lives, many creative and encouraging people and more of a view of life in this great country of ours. For so many years I did nothing to further develop my artistic talent and had locked the "storyteller" away in a basement somewhere. In one of my blogs I speak metaphorically about my "etchings on the wall". It took some time to get reacquainted with both the artist and the writer and we had to meet in such a foreign land, but I feel we are all best friends now, integrating into the child God wants for me; living a purpose-filled life.

Everyone knows my writing has been therapeutic. Why is that? Why does making up stories or putting my thoughts down on paper, help me overcome my daily sadness, the ache in my heart? It is because I need to tell you what I know, I need to tell you its OK, I need to tell you that you are loved, loved so perfectly that it overrides all fear, all suffering, all doubts, all evil. It is not my words on paper that have revealed this to me, but God's Spirit through His words as I have allowed Him to use me, inspire me, and bring me to a place of peace. Christ looks down on this broken soul, cups his hands, scoops out that pain in my heart, places it onto the cross in which He died and allows His promise of hope, allows all the sweet memories, allows my giftedness which He has given me, fill the void left. There is too much, so it spills out, like a little kid pouring his milk from "the big carton" into the glass, like the jelly squirting out the sides of a donut, like the packed snowfall on a mountainside ready to cascade down. Giving is healing.

My desire for you is not to read my blog, but to understand that you have a heart as well that God desires to make whole. We are made in His image to glorify Him and He has gifted us all to do that in unique ways. As I click and read and post and blog and my blessings from God continue to expand exponentially, the one place I desire for you to "bookmark" is your own relationship with God. Go to him on a more frequent basis, scroll around his sight to see what he offers, download His love into your own heart and upload to others the Hope and Joy He gives to those willing to log off of their own agenda.

Psalm 139:1-6 O Lord, Thou hast searched me and known me. Thou dost know when I sit down and when I rise up; Thou dost understand my thoughts from afar. Thou dost scrutinize my path and my lying down, and art intimately acquainted with all my ways, even before there is a word on my tongue.

A New Chapter in Katie's Life

A New chapter in all our lives...(I write this with extreme prejudice)

My thoughts today are on my niece, Katie. She is our family jewel; a diamond amongst the rough and tumble lumps of coal, her brothers and my sons. Don't misunderstand here, those lumps of coal are precious, but Katie has distinguished herself as the only girl in many admirable ways. I am extremely proud and excited for her as tomorrow night she leaves for Pennsylvania to attend LaSalle University as a freshman.

She has never been to me, your typical teenager. Working at a high school, I see them everywhere--fish following a crowd; the I-Pods in the ears, texting non-stop and OMG in every sentence; their whole world consisting only in "My Space".

In fifth grade, Katie had a love for Egyptian history, the pyramids and pharaohs. In junior high I gave her "Les Miserable" and she absorbed the novel and today we share a love for the characters and story of redemption. She loves Parisian toile print and making her own flavored coffees. She has always been an avid reader (like her mom), taking on Tolstoy's "War and Peace" in tenth grade. She is an independent, confident achiever who possesses a natural insight into people's situations and is not afraid to share her opinion or listen to advice.

In high school it wasn't the paint brush she discovered, but the "painter". She desired to know what inspired them, what angst led to their creativity, what time periods were masterpieces and artistic innovations in architecture developed. Art history became her passion. I am sure she acquired some of that from her mom, my sister Lauren, with her love of all history, especially American. Her desire now (last I heard) is a philosophy/sociology major with the hopes of one day running her own non-profit organization. I do believe she will continue her love for art history as well.

On her graduation night, she would show me a mobile she had created for a class that blew me away. Modeled after the creations of Alexander Calder, in black, red and silver wiring; she had created the beautiful and tragic life of Princess Diana. It was so impressive, which brings me to another item I would like to share; an essay she wrote for school after the death of Timmy, my son. I have asker her permission to share this on my blog.

REGRET Written by Katie Henry

In my lifetime of almost seventeen years, I have been to three funerals, yet not one wedding. To understand my own hardships with loss, you must first understand that I had only one grandparent by the time I was born. I can remember as a young child not really enjoying Grandparents Day; not to be disappointed by my Grandma, but I never had a grandfather and always wondered what I was missing. Hearing the other kids laugh and talk about both of their grandparents, it made me sad. All of my deceased grandparents had died from either a form of cancer or heart disease. Death has stolen three people that were close to me; their deaths are my struggles.

As the years passed by, my grandma had met someone who could comfort her; his name was Mike. Although I always wanted to have a grandpa, there was not anything about him that I did not like; but I just never accepted him as part of the family. After a few blissful years together, Mike's old habit of chewing tobacco had caused throat cancer. Ironically, he passed away in the same hosp ital, the same floor, with the same devoted woman at his side as my Grandpa that I never knew. I can remember going to his funeral because it was my first at the naive age of nine. I can scarcely remember what occurred during the funeral, but can clearly remember none of his family came. I can recall asking my mom where his family was, astonished they were not there, and then she explained to me in the simplest way she could.

After following his dreams, Mike left the reservation, burning the bridges of his heritage and the connection between his families. I guess I was not the only one who did not accept him as part of the family.

Being the only granddaughter and the youngest, I was always treated as the baby of the family. This is why I believe my Grandma, I had such a close bond, and why she identified with me; her being the baby of her family. Thinking back at my short career in dance I can picture my first recital. She was there holding pink roses and her eyes full of joy and life just to see me. But as far as important memories go, she was there for me when I made the decision to be baptized. After praying and being cleansed in the water, I glanced up and there was my mom and my grandma right beside her, ready to congratulate me on an important decision in my life. She radiated pure joy and was eager to give me a new Bible and a bouquet of pink roses. But, one of the most significant memories I have of her, was when she was in her last weeks of life. I can remember the smell of sickness, the feeling of hopelessness, and the sense of death. My mom was untouched by her conditions and her appearance because she was with her so much. Not realizing this would be the last time I would see her until the funeral, I did not know what to say. She was a petite person as is, and with lung disease, her face was sunken, her bones were more delicate and visible than ever, and her eyes lost all spirit and hope. I can remember she was talking to my mom, and while she was talking, she was swallowing pills casually; by the peak of her illness, she was taking 23 pills a day. I was so innocent up until then; I had always thought that medicine helps you get better, that doctors can fix you.

It was Thanksgiving morning, 3 o’clock to be exact, which is when we lost a seat at the dinner table and were left with just the memory of her. I did not cry as my brothers, cousins, uncle and dad gently laid her coffin down on the damp grass. It was late afternoon; the clouds in the overcast sky were swelling; about to burst. Trying to contain myself I remember my grandma’s voice always encouraging me, “Remember to be strong, self-sufficient, courageous, and above all be proud of yourself.” I begin to shudder realizing that one day I will have to refer to pictures to remember her face and a forgotten memory. My body so numb I did not feel the chill of the wispy breeze or the mist of the rain, yet her words captivated and motivated me to get the strength to say goodbye. Laying a single pink rose on the coffin, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflection, I hope to live up to such an inspirational person.

Since the youthful age of three, my cousin Timmy was diagnosed with kidney disease; although this would not be the only medical problem, he would have throughout his short-lived life. Growing up I always seemed to admire him for his courage; whether it was his ability of making friends with ease or fighting his way through disease and recovery. It was recently in the last year or so when he began to worsen again. Since he was three he has had to increase the dosage of his medicine, and ultimately it stopped working. That year we had both been fighting; I for a CIF championship win and he for his life. My mom had told me that he was getting worse and it would be a good idea to go see him. I had training, I had my own battle. It wasn’t until after the game my mom pulled me aside. She told me how proud she was of me, and yet there was some hidden message I could not decipher. She knew I could tell something was up, and then I knew. Dropping to my knees, tears streaming down my face, hands clasped over my mouth, shushing the silent screams only for a moment. Another moment, another burden. February 27, 2007 one battle won, while the other was lost forever. The doctors said that when they started operating that his stomach was delicate and bled profusely.

My selfish acts left me feeling guilty with second thought, when all I wanted was to say goodbye. His medicine was the enemy, yet I felt like the culprit. Regret is said to be sorrow created by circumstance that are beyond one’s control or power to repair. Yet can not it be because of the person’s lack in action in the circumstance that causes regret? If so, than these are mine. For Mike, I wish that I would have accepted him and treated him as my grandpa. For my Grandma Joyce, I only hope that she knows how proud I am to be her granddaughter and how much she really impacted my life. Most regrettably, for Timmy, I only wish he knew how much he was truly loved by the many people whose lives he touched; even in the short twenty-six years he lived. Regret only comes to those who find out it is too late. For them, I was too late.

Katie, if Timmy could tell you anything, you have to know he would have wanted you at your CIF championship game winning that title. He loved sports, especially high school and college and he knew the importance of being a team member and the excitement and anticipation of being champion. One thing I am proud of about Timmy is that he did enjoy everyone’s greatness and took the time to honor that in another person. He was everyone’s “No. 1 Fan”. I believe Timmy gave you strength you may not be aware of as he let go of his own “treading of water “. That strength continues in you only to add to the already gifted, strong young woman you have already become. May God bless you in your endeavor to gain your first college degree, may you stay strong in your beliefs, may his protection surround you, and may you meet wonderful people and lifelong friends and begin to fulfill all your dreams. I love you and again we are so proud of you. Aunt Coke.

Window Seat

As I boarded the plane, I was told my seat was a certain row and "B", the middle seat. I, of course, was hoping for a window seat, so I could have a view. Straining my neck, I could only see a little of the fading landscape, the Earth in which we live becoming that three-dimensional topography map at the county fair. I wanted more of that view, to see where I was headed and what lies beneath me, anticipate my destination.

Ephesians 1: 3-6 With a view...things in the heavens and things upon the Earth...

God has blessed me by giving me a "window seat''. He has given me a "view" of my place in heaven as I receive His blessings on Earth. He allows me through His grace to establish my foundation in Him, my rich topography, filled with valleys and peaks, to have hope of my final destination. His itinerary is His will for my life.

Ephesians 1: 7-12 With a view of the fullness of the times...

As I stay on course, stick to my flight plan, I am assured of a safe landing. I am redeemed

and lavished upon, first class all the way. Not only do I enjoy a window seat, but my view through the porthole, which is Christ, allows me a glimpse of the Heavens as well as knowing the

landscape. The recognition of the hills, valleys and refreshing streams upon the surface is God's revealing wisdom and insight from above. I was among the first to board, a priority passenger as they say, placing my hope in the Captain, and I give Him my praise for He will navigate my life into His glory.

Ephesians 1: 13-15 With a view to the redemption...

I am buckled in after listening to instructions, reading his Word. Now confident in my safety plan, the Holy Spirit of promise holds on to me, keeping me secure in my position in Christ. With unsurpassing greatness, the jet engines of God's power rev up inside me as I give thanks for the working of His "strength of His might." As the plane flies above the clouds, I think of heavenly places and those who have left on an earlier flight. They are now seated at His feet. Someday, that too will be my home, my final destination. For now, my prayer is to continue my travels, sightseeing through the eyes of the Spirit with Christ as my tour guide. I know when the turbulence comes, I am assured of calm air on the other side because I have put my trust in my Pilot, my Heavenly Father. Amen.