Mini Thoughts

In the mean time.....

2006-07-27T11:36:00.000-04:00

Well, I got my fabric yesterday, and it was well worth the money and the wait! I still need to get a frame together. Will probably do that this weekend, then get started on stitching next week.

In the mean time....I've started another, easier project. The violin to the left. This is smaller, with only 24,735 stitches and 34 colors. I have a habit of working on more than one project at a time. That way I don't get too bored with any one project. Plus I really wanted to get started stitching something, and I had all the materials I needed for this one. I'll get some pictures up of it soon.

And once I have the big project framed and ready to start, I'll post pictures of that, also.

Evangelist update

2006-07-20T11:01:00.000-04:00

I'm chomping at the bit to get started on this project, but there have been a few delays. First, the fabric I originally bought to stitch this on had a few problems. One, it wasn't quite big enough. And two, it had a lot of flaws in it, which would have made the stitching come out very uneven. So, I've had to special order some fabric, which will take a while to get.

The second delay is I'm having trouble finding a frame large enough for the fabric. This piece of fabric will be 30 inches x 25 inches, so I need a frame (the picture to the right is of a floor stand, which I also need, and a scroll frame). So far, all the commercial frames I've found have not been wide enough. So it looks like I'll have to make my own, which is no big deal really. Getting the floor stand also isn't a big deal, they have the one pictured at Michael's.

Once I have all the equipment I need, I can get started. In the mean time, it's not like I don't have something to keep me busy. I have several projects in the works, such as a 1" scale dollhouse, a crochet beaded purse I'm working on, (two, actually), a few other crochet projects, a roombox that's waiting for the final touches, and several (like about 20) smaller scale houses to put together as I want to make a quarter scale village, with landscaping and even possibly a train. Oh, and let's not forget that I work and I'm going to school. And, of course, my violin.

Once I'm going on the Evangelists I'll post pictures of my progress!

The Four Evangelists

2006-07-17T14:57:00.001-04:00

Finally!! I have something I can blog about on a (hopefully) regular basis. I am embarking on what probably will be most challenging thing I've ever done....next to raising my kids. The painting to the left is by Peter Paul Rubens,"The Four Evangelists". (Can you figure out who is supposed to be who?) Rubens was a Flemish Baroque painter, lived from 1577-1640, and is often called the Prince of Baroque Painting. "The Four Evangelists" was painted around 1614.

What I will be doing is reproducing this painting.....in cross stitch. In fact, the image that you see is actually an image generated from the cross stitch pattern, NOT from the original painting.

I will be working on linen fabric with a stitch count of 28 stitches per inch. The size of the piece is 600 stitches wide x 495 stitches tall. That will make the finished project 21.42 inches x 17.68 inches....approximately. That also means there are a total of 297,000 stitches. Believe it or not, that is not what makes this project challenging. The challenging part is it uses 106 different colors, some used alone, some are blended together to make the right color needed.

I got this idea, and the pattern, from the web site Golden Kite. They have literally 750 patterns on their site...and yes, I looked at each and every one of them before deciding to do "The Four Evangelists". There is a fella on this site that is working on a project and posting updates on his work as he goes along. He started the project March 6, 2001, and his latest update says he has completed 95,507 stitches, worked 3,011 hours and is 56.5% complete. His project uses 110 colors and has 169,000 stitches total. This update is dated April 10, 2006.

Why, you ask? Well, I love to cross stich, but have never found anything that has really challenged me. Until now. I do believe this will be challenging! More than I can handle? No, I don't think so. I believe if I don't finish this piece, it will be because I got lazy and/or lost motivation. It won't be because it was too hard.

So, what I plan on doing is posting pictures of my progress on my blog, with updates, similar to the above project. Except I don't think I'll keep track of the hours I spend working on it. That might get a little daunting, doncha think? I'll be using this blog as part of my motivation, especially if it seems I have some people interested and "demand" updates!

I hope you look forward to following me on this journey, and please feel free to post any comments (I already know I'm crazy, so don't bother posting that!) or encourgement along the way! Pray the Lord blesses my hands, and my eyesight!

I got a new toy.....

2006-02-03T18:32:00.000-05:00

....it's sleek.....it sounds amazing.....it's fun.....it's a Yamaha SV120. And it's NOT a motorcycle! It's an electric violin. I'm having so much fun with it!! Several years ago, probably more like 10, I took my kids to Mars. (It was a music store in Raleigh. But it was fun to say "Hey, let's to go Mars!) In the strings section one day they had what was called a "silent violin." It was electric, and you hooked it up to headphones to play. Initially intended (I thought) for people who didn't want to disturb their neighbors or roommates when they practiced. I remember making the comment to my son, Matthew, that I would never be caught dead playing "one of those things." I was a true "real violin" violinist. To play anything other than a traditional violin was just.....well, lame!!

Ok, here it is, 10-some years later and I want to play in my church's praise band. Christmas Eve we gave it a shot. Our praise band consists of a lead acoustic guitar, lead electric guitar, electric bass, keyboards, drums, three singers and worship leader (on lead acoustic guitar). Everyone is plugged in and amplified in some way. They set up a microphone for me. But no matter how good the microphone or how loud I played, no one could hear me. I couldn't even hear myself!

Jeff, our pastor, suggested I get a pick up or microphone for my violin. My research came up with plenty of pick ups and amplifiers.....which you either had to stick on (with tape), glue on, attach on or even completely change the bridge! NO WAY! My violin is about 200 years old, and I was not willing to make any kind of change to it, sticking or gluing was totally out of the question, and attaching anything to the violin itself compromises the tone and quality. (It inhibits the vibration of the wood, which is essential to the tone. Which is another reason why the stain and varnish used is so important. The secret behind a Stradivarius is in the varnish and stain he used, which to this day has been unable to be reproduced.) So, before I even knew what I was doing, I was discussing with Jeff the possibility of getting an electric violin. Initially it was going to be an acoustic/electronic. I figured I could deal with that. An acoustic/electric actually looks like a traditional violin, and even plays like one. But it
also has the electronics to be able to amplify it. Very similar to an acoustic/electric guitar.

In doing very in depth research, I found that an a/e violin was either a very cheap student violin modified with the electronics needed, or $5000+......just a bit out of my price range. So, I bit the bullet and started looking at straight electronic. I had no idea the variety that was out there!! They range from ones that come as close to a traditional violin without actually being one, to some very weird and cosmic-looking shapes that just freaked me out. Bob and I decided I should try for one that is as close to a "real" violin as possible, so as not to be a distraction to the congregation during worship. And, believe it or not, the one I could afford and wound up getting was the Yamaha SV-120! The very one that I had picked up 10 or so years ago and said I would not be caught dead playing! Well, I put it this way....when I finally got it and played it, I was dead....I had died and gone to Heaven because it was SO COOL!!!

So now I'm just getting freaky with my new toy. There are a bunch of accessories I can get, the first of which will be a carbon fiber bow made specifically for electric violins. With my renewed enthusiasm about my violin, Bob and I have done a lot of talking. See, ever since I was 10 years old my dream was to be a solo violinist. I would not be happy being just a part of the orchestra.....I had to be in front of the orchestra. The spot light had to be on me. Decisions and circumstances in my life, however, took me off that path. The other night Bob and I got to talking about that dream. He seems to think it can still come true. Ok, yeah, if I quit my job, practice 8-10 hours a day, get a teacher who is actually better than I am, and, as a good friend put it, become married to the violin instead of Bob. No thanks. I don't want the dream that badly, not any more. But it got me to thinking what would I be happy with. Playing in the praise band. I'm so excited about that! Flow of thoughts continued.....playing for God. Oh, yeah, that's what its all about! My thoughts didn't stop there, though.

I fell in love with the violin the very first time I saw someone play one, my fourth grade teacher. From that point on, that was all I wanted to do. And I was actually good, surprise, surprise. But is that such a surprise? For me to have fallen in love at first sight with this instrument, that love had to have been there from birth. No, wait......from conception. Nooooo, almost.......from BEFORE conception. Then the awesome realization: When God created me, He put that love and talent for the
violin in my make up. Why did He do that? Because HE wanted me to play for HIM. He wasn't thinking about me playing for an audience, an orchestra, or really
even in a praise band. He purposely did it so I would play for HIM. And He doesn't care how good (or bad) I am. He loves music, and he just wants me to play FOR HIM!!! That was his plan from the very beginning!! If my playing happened to take me to super stardom in the concert world, or playing in a small church praise band, that didn't matter.

I mean, it's one thing to dedicate your life to the Lord, praise and worship Him, and love Him, which we should all do. But it's an entirely different thing to realize the reason you have a talent or gift is because God gave it to you so He could enjoy you using that talent or gift! I may be pushing this point a little hard, but I really want people to "get" this. Imagine....there's God, thinking about his next creation. He thinks, hmmmm, I'll create another human. Yeah, that sounds good. And I'll make it a girl, give her brown hair, hazel eyes, she'll grow to be about 5'5". And, I know....what I would really like is for her to play the violin for me! So, I'll give her the love and talent of the violin, then when she grows up I can sit and enjoy listening to her play! Just for me!!

Ok, I know, that's putting a human twist on it. But that's the best way I can describe this revelation. I can't tell you how special, and loved, I felt when I realized this. Amazing. God loves me. He gave me a specific talent with the intention that it would be used to bring Him enjoyment. And through that, playing for GOD and no one else, I can indeed "go forth and prophesy" with my violin.

Praise the Lord!!

Practice makes perfect

2005-12-01T14:47:00.000-05:00

So I'm reading from the Strings magazine web site an article about practicing. Thought I'd pick up a few tips and suggestions on how to better spend my time when I practice. Included in the article was this paragraph:

"So your priorities should include some balance of getting the correct notes down, working out the rhythms and bowings, watching your position and posture, being careful with intonation (more on that later), working on shifting (with a relaxed left thumb, repeat each shift five times or more, up and down), watching bow division and articulation, and paying attention to vibrato and tone, all while developing an interpretation of the piece. That's just for starters."

I had to chuckle. See, I've been playing the violin since I was 10 years old. I'm no Heifitz by any means, but playing does seem to come a little more naturally to me than other people I have met. I've never really sat down and thought about what actually goes in to playing....I've always just done what I was told and played. I've read and been told that the violin is the hardest instrument to learn to play. Hmmm, well, ok, if they say so. I never found it difficult. Challenging, sure! But not difficult. Through the years I've tried to explain to people just what is involved in playing the violin, and playing it well. This paragraph (above) seemed to sum it up pretty well! (Thus my chuckle.) Coordinating all of the above, and then some, is what makes the difference between a squeaky-squawky sound and a singing beautiful tone.

Perhaps I've just taken for granted that one must combine so many aspects to play well. Perhaps I've just never thought about it, because if I had I would have realized all that was involved and stopped playing. (.......nah, I doubt it) I don't know. All I know is that I love to play, feel blessed by the gift of talent the Lord has given me, and have no intention of neglecting that gift.

I also know that if anyone doubts how difficult playing the violin is, I can now quote the above passage.......with emphysis on "And that's just for starters!!!"

(picture taken from Family Heirloom Search of a Stradivarius violin that was taken from the author of the web site during WWII and has never been recovered.)

Did you know.....

2005-11-29T14:19:00.000-05:00

.....that most of what Emily Dickinson wrote (and she wrote 1775 poems) can be sung to the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas? Check it out, and soon you, too, can be singing your favorite Dickinson poem!! Try it!! Here's one of my favorites:

There is no Frigate like a Book

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry --
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll --
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.

Living with Meniere's

2005-11-21T13:42:00.000-05:00

This poem is not mine. If by chance you are the person who wrote this poem and do not want me to publish it here, then please let me know and I will remove it ASAP. I'm posting this today because I'm having a very bad Meniere's day, and with the hopes it will help those who are close to me understand what living inside my head is like. I don't feel cursed with Meniere's.....I feel blessed, especially with so many close friends who care and support me. May God bless you all. And a sincere thank you to the author of this poem.

"LIVING WITH MENIERE'S"

When the night is dark and no one's around
Why is my head so full of sound
As I lay down for a good nights sleep
I know this night will be a repeat
A hum, a roar and buzzing as well
To me a nightmare, a living hell
No way to stop the sounds I hear
For what I have they call "Meniere's"
And sounds deep within my ears

I used to pray most all the time
For God to clear this head of mine
So many years have passed on by
And many days and nights I'd cry
But still the sounds lives in my head
At times you wish that you were dead
The Doctor's give you pills to take
But most the time you lay awake
I pray to God my soul to take

Now I lay me down to sleep
But most the time I lay and weep
No one knows what it is like
Because I always look so right
I try to do the best I can
But most folks just don't understand
Some can't understand what they cannot see
And at times this causes pain for me
But I can't give up, it's my life you see

Now the early morning hours are here
And the sounds are here within my ears
But I will go and try to sleep
And pray my Lord my soul to keep
Maybe soon it will go away
Who knows? Is what the Doctor's say
I'll always thank the Lord above
For "He" understands and gives me love
I get my strength from up above

Only a person who lives with Meniere's
Or Tinnitus, the pain, the fears and tears
Can really know of what I speak
And a cure for these people is what I seek.

"In memory of..." corrections

2005-11-21T13:32:00.000-05:00

I (finally) made some corrections and additions to my entry "In memory of..." about my dad. I want to thank my mother, my brothers Jim and Scott, and my sister Laurie for helping me with accuracy and adding some of their own thoughts and words to the story. Dad may be gone, but he is by no means forgotten.

In memory of....

2005-09-20T10:17:00.000-04:00

September 27, 1982. The day my father died. It was at night, actually. Just shortly after midnight, September 28. I was 7 months pregnant with Sam, my dad's first grandchild. I always assumed dad would be there to see his grandkids. His death was sudden, but not surprising.

My dad was born March 8, 1923 in a small town called Amery, Wisconsin. He was the fourth of eight kids. He had an older brother who died as an infant. My uncle Sylvester was killed April 11, 1945 at Okinawa during the war. His ship was attacked by kamikaze planes. They never found his body. My uncle Donald, who dad was extremely close to (they were very close in age) was killed in a flying accident. Both dad and uncle Donald were in the Army Air Corps. Dad wanted to be a pilot, but they Army said he would be better as a navigator. While dad was in school, my uncle Donald was in Florida earning his wings. When he got them (the fall of 1943) he got special permission to take my dad up on a flight. These two brothers were sharing their passion, together. Flying. Dad returned to his base, and the next day uncle Donald was doing a practice flight and his plane crashed, killing him instantly. Dad was devastated, and never really got over his death. Less then two years later, uncle Sylvie was killed. My grandmother wrote numerous letters to the Army requesting my dad be discharged and sent home, as he was now the oldest son, and she had already lost two, she didn't want to lose any more. My dad's other brother, Ray, was in the Army with the occupied forces at the time, also. The best the Army would do was keep dad in the states. But in order for him to do that he had to resign his commission, (he was a 1st lieutenant), go back to the rank of private, and drop out of flight school. He spent the rest of his active duty as a mechanic. My mother says he never got over that either, but he did it for his mother.

Growing up I never really knew my dad. I "know" him from a child's perspective, but never got the chance to really know who he was. He had a unique, dry sense of humor that always cracked us kids up but irritated my mom. My favorite "dad" story is the one he used to tell about running for senior class president in high school. Now, my dad literally went to a one-room school house growing up. He skipped one grade because he would have been the only kid in that grade, so they just bumped him up to the next highest grade. He skipped another grade because he was extremely intelligent. He wound up graduating from high school at the age of 15. Anyway, here he was, running for senior class president. There were a total of about 20 kids in the class at that time. Dad, being the gentleman that he was, went to his opponent and made an agreement with him that they would be good sports and vote for each other. Well, election day came, and dad won......20-0.

Mom and dad were married July 1, 1950. Mom had several miscarriages before my brother, Jim, was born. He hung a huge sign outside the house "It's a boy!" He was the proud papa, and did exactly what every new father did back then....dropped his wife off at the hospital then went to the local bar for a few while mom gave birth. Fourteen and a half months later, Scott was born. Again, the sign outside the house "It's a boy!" Dad wasn't a very domestic person, so didn't do the diaper thing. He also was scared to hold the boys as babies, thought he might drop them or hurt them. Dad also wasn't a very affectionate person, either. But somehow we knew he loved us.

Well, on June 30, 1960, I was born. I was late, and dad was a bit upset because he had planned a wonderful lobster dinner for their 10th anniversary. Guess I kind of spoiled that. Although dad did ask the doctor if he thought I would like lobster. I'd like to think I was a special anniversary gift. I think dad looked at it that way. The sign he now hung outside the house now said "Boy, it's a girl!" Mom says I was the only one of the four kids that dad held as a baby. When I was born, dad said I reminded him of a sumo wrestler he knew named Charlie. He called me that until I was 15 years old. I guess dad took a special liking to me. After all, I was his first girl, his 10th anniversary gift, and reminded him of his favorite sumo wrestler. What more could a dad ask for! My little sister was born 15 months later, and that completed our family. Four kids in four years. Mom was a trooper.

We moved around a lot growing up. People always ask me if dad was military. No, he wasn't. He would get transferred to another state, with a promotion. So we went from Pennsylvania (by the way, although my parents lived in Pennsylvania when we were all born, mom's OB/GYN was in Trenton, New Jersey. So we were born in Trenton, but lived in Pennsylvania. And we all crossed the Delaware river when we were less than a week old), to Chicago, back to Pennsylvania, California, Ohio (first Columbus, then Canton), Michigan, then finally North Carolina. All before I was 15. Dad's idea of being a good father and husband was to take care of his family and provide for them, which he did. He gave us just about anything we wanted.....except himself. His work ethic combined with his long smoking history and bad eating habits landed him in the hospital after suffering from a major stroke at the age of 52.

I remember that day. April 3, 1976. Dad had left early that morning to drive to Chicago. He was going to spend 3 months in Chicago running Chicago Nut & Bolt for 3 months. After that assignment he was going to get all the companies East of the Miss River that Whittaker Corp owned….. about 12 companies. He would have become one of 2 CEO’s for Whittaker. Mom wanted him to fly, but dad insisted he drive. It was a Saturday. I remember because I had a violin lesson that day, and my lessons were always on Saturday. But before my lesson a call came to the house, and my brother, Scott, answered. In his words: "I remember the call. The nurse was very sort of business like about it (probably so as not to alarm, which should have made me more concerned right off the bat). She did not give any details and it actually sounded like no big deal." Mom was shopping with my sister, Laurie, at a local mall, and Jim and Scott went there to try to find Mom. They weren't sure exactly what had happened, but apparently dad lost control of his car, careened off the side of a semi and slammed into the back end of van. Dad's chin hit the steering wheel so hard he broke it.....his chin AND the steering wheel. He had a gash on his chin that poured blood all down the front of his shirt. He had some other minor injuries, and luckily no one was seriously injured. So mom and my two brothers headed for Mt. Airy. I called my violin teacher and cancelled my lesson, and my sister and I just sat and waited to hear from mom.

By the time mom got to Mt. Airy, dad had suffered a TIA (mini-stroke). They determined that what caused the accident was dad had blacked out. Mom immediately had him transferred to Duke Hospital. They transported him by ambulance. Dad's car was totaled. Once at Duke, dad was "conversing" with my brothers and Mom by writing, as he could not talk. That night he had a massive stroke. The next day we were all in a waiting room (we still hadn't seen dad yet) and mom came in to talk to us. Ironically, we were all standing in birth order, oldest to youngest. Ages 18, 17, 15 and 14. Mom explained that dad had had a stroke, and would be spending a lot of time in the hospital. I really didn't understand exactly what a stroke was, but I knew it wasn't good. It would be days, perhaps weeks even, before I could get the courage to see my dad. He couldn't talk, mostly because of tubes but also because of the stroke. There were IV lines and tubes all over the place. I really didn't know what to say, but my mom was insisting I see him. I remember walking up to the side of his bed and just kind of stood there. I said hi. He looked at me. His right hand was next to me, and had a few IV lines in it, and was strapped to a board to keep his arm stable. He reached his fingers up and took my hand. I don't remember if any words were said. I just remember standing there holding my dad's hand, then the nurse telling me it was time to go. I never went back to see him. I couldn't. That wasn't my dad.

Dad finally improved and was moved to a rehab hospital. He was there three or four months. Then he finally came home. He never went back to work. He had almost total paralysis of his left side. His left arm was almost completely useless, and the only way he could move it was with his right hand. His left leg dragged behind him. He speech was slurred and mostly unintelligible. However, the doctors at Duke had told my mom that dad would never walk again. Being the stubborn hard-head dad was, he proved them wrong and walked out of the rehab center the day he came home. Dad walked with the use of a cane, but it was slow. It was an immense labor just to go up a flight of stairs. He never laughed again.

My brother, Jim, shared this story: "Once with me [he drove]. The new white Lincoln came in and dad REALLY wanted to drive again. So we both went out to Greensboro to pick up the car. I thought what could happen…. All he had to do is follow me. Well, as luck would have it, on 40 we ran up into stopped traffic. Accident with a flat bed and a car. I thought…. Dad stay close to me. Just follow me. As we approached the accident I looked in my mirror and dad was 100 feet behind me. At the time I did not know he got disoriented. I actually stopped my self to let him catch up but was directed by cops to keep moving, so I did. I passed through and as luck would have it, dad did not make it. He ran into the back on the flat bed truck. That killed me. After that I don’t remember why we did not stop but dad backed up several feet and put the car in drive and caught up to me. When we got home, I got dad inside and he started to cry. I knew how bad he loved to drive and I wanted to give him the opportunity. That was one of my saddest days in my life."

It was difficult to have a conversation with him because most of the time he didn't understand what we were saying. The doctors said he had a certain amount of brain damage due to the stroke. I found out years later that while dad was still in the hospital, he developed pneumonia and the doctors didn't think he was going to recover. My mom sat in the cafeteria of the hospital with my dad's brother and sister and planned his funeral. This was why mom insisted I see him. She didn't want dad to die without me seeing him.

Dad lived another 6 1/2 years. He never really improved. He was never the same. Our lives went on as best as we could. Mom took over the bill paying, and even started her own business. Us kids struggled through our teen years, getting into trouble as teens do. All of us just trying to escape the fact that the dad we knew was dead, we were just waiting for the body to join him. It was just a matter of time.

September 27, 1982. It was late at night, about 11:00. Dad was in bed. Mom was down stairs watching late night TV, when she heard my dad call out to her. Dad had not been able to speak clearly for 6 1/2 years. This night, he was calling clear as day. Mom immediately knew something was wrong. She ran upstairs and when she went into the bedroom dad was sitting up and reaching out to her......with his left hand. Dad had not been able to sit upright unsupported for 6 1/2 years, and had not moved his left hand/arm on it's own since his stroke. But there he was, speaking clearly, holding his left arm outstretched reaching for my mom. He told her "I can't breathe." My little sister was still living at home, and mom told her to call 911. Mom knew. Dad fell back on the bed and kept telling mom to turn the light off, it was hurting his eyes. The lights in the room were off. The only light was coming from the hallway. This is my sister's account of that painful night: "I will remember that day until the day I die. I will also remember dad's last night until the day I die and when he peeked his head into the family room at 9:00 to say goodnight to me - mom wasn't home from work yet. It was just he and I at that time. I remember running out on the front proch to try and get the ambulance to the house. I could hear sirens in the distnance, they drove right by the house the first time. Finally the first responders got there and I remember how my heart raced as I was hoping they would hurry up and get inside to help dad. I remember hearing dad moan with every breath and hearing one of the paramedics tell him to try and not make that noise anymore so they could try and help him. I remember seeing them surrounding dad on the bed to try and move him to the floor. Mrs. Trout {a friend of our mother's} came over to keep me in my room. I remember finally convincing her to let me come out of my room only to watch them take dad down the stairs on a backboard with one of them breathing for him through the ambu bag, and start CPR again at the bottom of the stairs. I remember wishing I had asked him if he was ok when he went to bed earlier than he usually did."

By the time the paramedics got there, dad was gone. They still did everything they could do to revive him, even though mom told them not to, to just let him go. They took him to the hospital, continued to try to revive him, but finally pronounced him. It was after midnight, September 28th. When the doctors came out to tell my mom he had died, she said she already knew.

Mom and dad had been married for 32 years. I was seven months pregnant with his first grandchild, and he knew it. I had been to the house the day before he died, and didn't even speak to him. Dad was a devout Catholic. We flew him up to Wisconsin to bury him with his mother, father, baby brother and Donald. We sat around the night before his funeral, none of us could sleep, and talked about dad, sharing our memories. The subject of "is dad in Heaven" came up. No one knew for sure, but we all agreed we thought he was. It's taken me years to really face the fact that I don't know. Mom said he believed, so I get some peace from that. It took me years, however, to understand what had happened to my dad the night he died. God healed him. Minutes before he left us, God wanted my mom to know he was healed. And based on that, I believe I will see my dad when I'm called home.

My dad was a good man, a strong man. A man with a sense of humor. He wasn't comfortable sharing his feelings, but somehow we all knew he loved us. I feel especially close to him, as I was the only one of the kids he had a nick name for, the only one he held as a baby, was born the day before his 10th anniversary. Dad was faithful, honest, intelligent (his I.Q. was in the 160s), and in his own way loving. We knew dad loved us. I just hope he knew how much we loved him.

My son, Matthew, was baptized September 28, 2002.

In memory of Neal James Hansen.

This just in.....

2005-09-01T16:51:00.000-04:00

For anyone who reads this thing.....and for that matter anyone who cares....I took four exams on Monday, and I just found out my grades. They are, in no particular order: 100, 98, 98, 97. I took two exams for two classes.

I'm posting this, not to brag or boast, but to give honor and glory to God. Every time I take an exam I say a prayer asking for wisdom and guidence in taking the exam. And after I'm done, I give Him thanks and praise for giving me an A. (I kid you not, I thank Him for an A whether I think I've gotten one or not.) Just a small testimony to how good our God is!!

The last person

2005-09-01T12:14:00.000-04:00

I've been spending time recently watching the news coverage of the aftermath of Katrina. It's almost addictive.....kind of like after 9/11. You just can't seem to stop watching. The other day I was watching as the coast guard was rescuing people off of roof tops. Their houses were completely submerged under water and the only thing left was the roof, and some of houses the water actually passed the roof line. I was watching, fascinated as the pilot maneuvered the helicopter, watched them lower the basket, put a person in, then lifted them up into the helicopter. I watched as one at a time people were loaded and lifted. As I watched, I started thinking.

My first thoughts were "great, these people are safe now." Then my thoughts wondered to "I wonder where they are going to take them?" Suddenly, reality really struck me hard. I watched as another person was loaded into the basket, and took a close look at the person. The reality was: This person is being lifted off the top of their house which is total under water. All he was wearing was a pair of jeans, a white T shirt and some shoes. This was all he had left! All his possessions.....his house, clothes, car, stereo, pictures, jewelry, food, water, soap, toothbrush, bed, CDs, DVDs...... were gone! What he had on was all he had left of his life. And not just him, but all the dozens of other people who I had seen either being lifted or were still waiting on roof tops. At that moment, a mixture of emotions flooded over me. I was devastated at the thought that tens of thousands of people were in the same situation as these few I had been watching. I felt totally and completely helpless, yet with a strong desire to reach out to these folks and help. I also felt extremely blessed. Here I was, sitting in the comfort of my home, comfortable, dry, food in the kitchen, fresh filtered water in our dispenser, all the things we have a tendency to take for granted. I started praying. Praying for the safety and lives of all those people affected by Katrina, asking Our Lord to have mercy upon them, and asking Him to open the hearts of those who survived who do not know Him to turn to Him in their greatest time of need. I also gave thanks. Thanks for what we DO have (instead of our usual asking for what we DON'T have), asking forgiveness for being so short-sighted for not seeing how blessed my life truly is, and thanking Him for reminding me how short life can be and how quickly it can be taken away.

I was taught in one of my Bible classes that no one dies unless God allows it. This is demonstrated in the book of Luke. And hearing these things, all in the synagogue were filled with wrath. And they rose up and thrust Him outside the city, and led Him up to the brow of the hill on which their city was built, in order to throw Him down. But passing through the midst of them, He went away. Luke 4:28-30 MKJV My professor talked about Jesus' "passing through the midst of them", suggesting that perhaps Jesus just turned and walked right through the people in the mob as if they weren't even there. He, my professor, explained this could be an example of how no one dies, not even His son, without God allowing it. Think, too, of Paul and the many times he was stoned, beaten, thrown off a cliff, shipwrecked, etc. At one point, Paul was even beaten to the point of death. And there came thither certain Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded the people, and, having stoned Paul, drew him out of the city, supposing he had been dead. Howbeit, as the disciples stood round about him, he rose up, and came into the city: and the next day he departed with Barnabas to Derbe. Acts 14:19-20 KJV Now since it says "supposing" he was dead, we don't know for sure if he was dead or not. However, he was at least beaten to the point where they thought he was dead. Only to get up and walk away. The Bible doesn't give specifics, but this passage does give one the feeling that Paul got up and walk away as if he weren't injured at all.

Now, whether or not you believe that no one dies unless God allows them to, let's say for sake of arguement that it is true. The two examples I've given show how Jesus and Paul were spared death. And since God controls everything, we can come to the conclusion that they did not die because God did not allow it. This concept, theology if you will, has just keep running through my head, and heart, since Katrina. It is not for us to ask "why?" or to question the things of God. But our human, sinful nature can sometimes get the best of us and we do ask "why"? Why, Lord, did you allow all these people to be killed? Why did you allow the hurricane to begin with? I have been seeing posts on the internet by people who believe Katrina was the wrath of God. I'm not sure I succumb to this belief. If, however, all the people who were killed were non-believers, and all who survived were believers, then perhaps I could consider giving it credence. But even that would not be "proof positive" it was an act of God. I prefer to believe this was an example of the power of God. The people of New Orleans and Gulf Coast had plenty of warning that this hurricane was approaching, and was dangerous. Some chose not to listen. And then there were those would did not have the means to evacuate. Innocent bystanders, you might say. God has proven to us time and time again through the Old Testament that He "removes" His people from danger to protect them. Take Moses, for example. Saved as an infant so he may grow up and lead the people of Isreal out of salvery and bondage. And there are examples of people who had been warned but did not listen. Lot's wife, for example.

Agree or disagree, I welcome both. This has just been my way of trying to make sense out of all of this. Probably trying to make sense out of something totally senseless. Or perhaps not? Is this a sign of things to come? Jesus tells us to look for signs of His return. This is probably the worst natural disaster to happen in US history. The tsumani last year, the nearly 1000 people killed in a stampede in Iraq, the war itself.....are these all signs?

Personally, I'm not so concerned about whether they are signs or not. I'm more concerned about are we ready? Have we spread the Gospel to as many people as we can? Have we brought as many people to Christ as possible? WE might be ready, but is the world ready? I had another professor (my evangelism class) make the comment that the Bible tells us Jesus will return when the last person hears the Gospel. He then asked us "wouldn't it be something if you were the one to tell the Gospel to that last person?"

"They said you was high class...."

2005-07-31T21:35:00.000-04:00

This week was so busy (i.e. I got lazy) I didn't crack a school book or watch one of my many "riveting" lectures. I have one test to take in one class, and then I'm done. I am 3/4 of the way through another class, and haven't even started my third class, and I have 6 weeks to finish them. But I'm not really worried, because the class I haven't started yet is New Testament Survey, and that should be an interesting one. I should zip through that in no time.....as long as I keep the lazies at bay.

The class I'm concentrating on now is humanities. I am SO enjoying this class. Learning about ancient cultures, right up through the 20th century. Learning to "read" paintings, the meanings behind sculptures, and what's most interesting is the Christian aspects hidden in some paintings. It's given me a different perspective on history, a better understanding of cultures starting with the ancient Mesopotamians, through the Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, the Renaissance. And adding in the Christian point of view......whether it's a pagan symbol that's been turned into a Christian one, or hidden messages in paintings during the "dark ages" when Christianity was "illegal."

The professor, Dr. Michael Babcock, is known as a leading authority on Attila the Hun, of all people. He got interested in Attila when he was in school getting his degree in philology. He has just released a book about the night Attila died. Dr. Babcock has given us an extra credit assignment (worth up to one whole letter grade on our final grade!) on his book. It reads like a murder mystery, kind of like a true crime story except set in the 450s. I've taken him up on his offer - I can use all the help I can get - and his book is actually very interesting so far, if you're into that kind of thing.......which I am, which is probably why I find it interesting. It's also cool to be reading a book by someone who's teaching you. His picture is in it and everything!! ::insert dumb blonde look here:: I think I'll send my copy down to Liberty and see if he will autograph it for me. Who knows, could become a best seller!! I did buy the last copy Barnes and Noble had, after all.

What's that I hear?

2005-07-13T17:30:00.000-04:00

So, I have this really weird disease. It's called Ménière's (pronounced MIN-years here in America). It's a progressive disease that involves the inner ear. It comes with a host of fun symptoms. Some people (a lot) have a ringing in their ears, either one or both. For most of them it's not that big of a deal. Well, for those of us who have been "lucky" enough to be blessed with Ménière's our ringing can drive us nuts. In fact, historians believe Vincent Van Gogh had Ménière's, and the ringing was the reason he cut off his ear. Eh, don't know about that. What I do know is the "noises" I hear range from a high pitched ring to a low hum, and everything in between. In both ears. At the same time. All the time. The only thing that changes is how loud it is. In times like today, where we have the remnants of Dennis floating through our area, when the air pressure changes, so does the air pressure in my ears, which makes the "noise" worse. In fact, worse enough to give me a headache.

Now, this "noise" I have all the time. Along with constant "dizzies", to varying degrees, usually very mild. But Ménière's likes to keep us on our toes, so it comes with a myriad of other symptoms, most of which we never know when they will come or how bad they will be. These include dizziness, loss of balance, blurred vision, loss of hearing (either spontaneous that lasts for just a few seconds, or partial to total permanent hearing loss), and spells of vertigo. Ah.....vertigo. And I'm not talking about the Alfred Hitchcock movie starring Jimmy Stewart. Vertigo - I read it explained once like this: Imagine being as drunk as you can possibly be. You know, the room-spinning can't-stop-throwing-up type of drunk. Ok, now imagine getting on a Tilt-A-Whirl ride at an amusement park. Remember that game where you put your forehead on a baseball bat and spin around till someone tells you to stop, then you try to walk? That's what it's like trying to walk during a vertigo attack. Except I have no idea when one will occur, how long it will last, how bad it will be, and how much damage is being done to my hearing. (Every attack damages the inner ear causing a gradual, usually permanent hearing loss.)

And as if that weren't fun enough, Ménière's is the type of disease that has a lot of questions but no answers! The best they can do is tell you that you have it, and what may or may not happen. Will I lose my hearing? "We don't know, but there's about an 80% chance that you might lose some if not all." Will I have another vertigo attack, and if so when and how often? "I have no idea." Is there a treatment? "Yes....well, kinda. Just limit your salt intake, reduce stress, and if you start feeling really bad we can give you a host of lovely drugs that will probably drug you up to the point where you won't feel better, but you won't care." Is there a cure? "No." (Ok, so they have an answer for that one.) Will I get better or worse? "Yes." (Figure that one out!) Who won the 1928 World Series? (I like to throw that one in just to see if they are paying attention.) The best part is they don't even have a definitive test to find out if you have it! They "figure it out" by your symptoms and by ruling out other causes. "hmmm....ok, so it's not a brain tumor, it's not an acoustic neuroma, it's not an ear infection, it's not XYZ.......the only thing left is Ménière's!"

I was diagnosed with this blessing in May 2004, after I had a severe vertigo attack. I didn't handle the news very well. I mean, being told you have an incurable disease with unpredictable symptoms and a pretty good chance you are going to lose your hearing sometime between now and when you die, that's not something one wants to hear every day. So, for a few months I went into a funk.....and threw myself a nice pity party and invited every one. The thought of some day not being able to hear Beethoven again, or my grandchildren's voices, or my own children's voices, or birds singing, the wind gently breezing through the trees, a gentle rain, Jeff, Jonathan, Bill, ANYone leading worship.....I started thinking of all of the amazing sounds of the Earth and of God's creatures. It was depressing.

Until one day I was talking with my youngest daughter about losing my hearing, and what I was going to miss the most. Then God revealed his blessing to me. It didn't matter how much of my hearing I lost or didn't lose.....because no matter what, I would still hear His voice! And that's when this disease became a blessing. I have been fortunate, and I know it's been completely by the grace of God, to have had only 4 vertigo attacks in the past 15 years (the first 3 I didn't know what they were, so I've probably had this blessing for at least that long). That in and of itself is a blessing. My head may spin, my ears may ring and pop, the pressure may get so bad it feels like my ears are going to explode, my eyes may dance all over the place to where I can't focus on a thing, I may fall over and walk like a drunkard......it doesn't matter. Since that time I have had a greater appreciation for the Music of our Creator, and for the all the sounds we use to worship Him. "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? ..... For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 35; 38-39 I will always have His voice, His embrace, His love, in all I do and no matter what happens. This is why I call this disease a blessing.

This blessing has also brought me closer to my husband. For those of you who know us, you may notice that he's never very far away, usually right by my side. Yes, that's because he loves me. :) But he's also my "cane", my stability. He helps me steady myself when walking up or down stairs. He catches me when he sees me starting to tilt. He holds my hand when we walk so I can balance myself, and also because it's something we have always done since we first met. One day, when things were particularly bad, I broke down crying. Bob just grabbed my hands and started praying, asking God to heal me, to remove this disease, take away my suffering. During his prayer I heard the Lord tell me "not yet"......twice. Oh, the beautiful sound of Our Lord's voice! It didn't matter what He said. What mattered is I heard Him.

I missed our last small group meeting because of this blessing. I had been dizzy all day, my head was pounding, ears ringing and popping. After my husband left for small group, my daughter offered to make dinner. Not that I was hungry or anything! But by the time it was ready, I was feeling better and actually ate quite a bit. My headache had eased, the pressure in my ears lessened, ringing calmed down. I was actually able to enjoy an episode of Antiques Roadshow and focus my eyes enough to read. When my husband came home he told me they had all prayed for me. I asked him what time they had prayed. He said about 7:30. This was the exact time I started feeling better. I'd say that's a blessing! Praise the Lord!

And by the way......it was the New York Yankees, against the St. Louis Cardinals, 4 games to 0.