Finding Your Center

Interesting fact: Psalm 118 is the center chapter of the Bible. There are 594 chapters before and 594 chapters after Psalm 118. Add 594 + 594 and you get 1188. The center Bible verse is Psalm 118:8.  

So, what can the center verse of God's Word teach us about life? It says, "It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in man."

The next time you want to be at the center of God's will, go to the center of His Word. And there you will find your answer. 

Trusting God

Trust God. That seems to be my theme for 2012. 

I stayed up to see the new year open its eyes—I hadn't planned to, but when I looked at the clock and it was already 11:27, I thought I might as well stay up another thirty minutes. Despite that, or maybe because of that, God woke me up at 3:00 AM and whispered that He blesses those who put their trust in Him. I didn't understand why He was telling me that, but He wouldn't let me go back to sleep until I got out of bed, stumbled to my computer, and did a Google search on those words.


I found several websites on the subject, but two particularly stood out, and shared their insight on the benefits of putting our full, unwavering trust in God; not in money, not in your job, yourself, your best friend, the government (especially them!), or the lying words of a Godless society (aren't these last two the same thing?) but trust in God alone. You have to completely let go and let God if you want any peace in this life.


One of the websites left this advice: "It is one thing to have faith in God, to know that God exists, that He is all powerful and that there is nothing He cannot do or accomplish—but it is quite another thing to be able to fully trust Him with your life, and to fully trust Him to properly handle it for you, especially if everyone in your life has let you down in one way or another."

Later that morning, the message in my devotion was "Trust God." After that, I opened my Bible to the chapter reading of the day. It was John 14, and the first verse said: "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me."


Methinks He's trying to tell me something. 

Hey, wait a minute! Hold the phone! I thought I was already trusting Him. I've prayed for certain requests, and I believed it could happen. But I realized believing He can accomplish them and trusting that He will are two different things. Confession time: when I didn't see results or answers to my prayers, I began to doubt that He would while I still believed He could if He wanted to. Satan told me I didn't deserve what I wanted, and I let him win.

I also need to trust that God knows what is best for me, and the things I want for myself may not be best or part of His plan. If I tell Him what I want instead of asking what He wants for me, I'm limiting Him, putting Him in a box, and I'm missing out on many blessings He has in mind for me. I need to trust that His way is better than anything I could have asked or wanted for myself, even if I'm still stuck in the same situation. 

So even though I had resolved not to make any New Year's resolutions, I resolve to trust Him more and let Him lead, because I cannot see the way.

Goodbye 2011

Wow. Time flies, doesn't it. This is my last blog of 2011, and 2012 is banging on the door. My mom once told me, "The older you get, the faster time flies." She was right. It seems that once I reached a certain point in my life, I started going downhill, and gaining momentum.  

I do wish time would slow down. Just a little. When I was a child, the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas were agonizingly long. Now, I blink and January vanishes into December. 

While 2011 had it's ups and downs, I'll be a bit sad to see it leave. This year has brought many challenges, changes, new beginnings, and saying goodbye. I wouldn't want to repeat some of the things that happened, but now that I'm standing at the end of 2011, I feel at peace. Everything happens for a reason, and with God, everything goes wrong just right.

A new year is a fresh start, and perhaps better things are on the horizon. May 2012 be the best yet for all of my faithful blog readers. God bless.

What do you think? 

Did you like 2011, or will you be happy to usher in 2012? 

Have you  made any resolutions, or do you plan to? If so, what are they?

Are you freaking out that the Mayans ran out of space on their calendar? ;-)

Family Tree

As I was driving home last night, my Blackberry rang. I rummaged in my purse, snatched it out, and answered it. My mom's voice trailed through the phone to tell me my niece had died. 

The youngest daughter of my oldest brother, she was only 37 years old. Next month, she would have celebrated another birthday. 

I remember her running after her older sister and me when we were kids, wanting so much for us to play with her, to include her, and oh, how we tried to avoid her. 

I haven't seen her in 20 years or more, and I know nothing about her. I've never met her husband, never met her son. Still, I mourn her death for the simple fact that I didn't know her. I mourn because I should have known her. I mourn because if our family weren't so unsociable, I would have known her.

A branch is broken off our family tree, and it seems wrong, not only because it's just a few days before Christmas when families should gather and be happy, but because parents shouldn't have to bury their children—it's the reverse order of things—because she was a part of my childhood. And because despite the years since our last meeting, she was a part of me. 


If you have a close-knit family, thank the Lord above and cherish every moment, hold tight to every memory, love them and tell them that you do.  Not everyone is as fortunate to have that bond, and while we know what it is we're missing, we can't force people into our lives who don't want to be there. But one day comes when you get a phone call to tell you a branch of your family tree that you thought was young and strong has withered and died—then you realize time has gone by, the years have slipped away, and so very has been lost.

Popcorn and a Movie

Remember stepping into a movie theater and how the aroma of popcorn welcomed you, making you ravenous for a bucket full? It doesn't smell the same these days; it doesn't taste the same either. And there's a reason.

Theaters used to pop their corn in coconut oil with real butter. Then a few years ago, the FDA had to step in—or stick their beak into our business—and declare coconut oil and butter unhealthy. Their claim: the fat in one tub of popcorn is equal to eating eight Big Macs.

The solution? Many theaters now pop the corn in canola or vegetable oil and use hydrogenated soybean oil to replace butter. "Hydrogenated soybean oil" just sounds yummy doesn't it? Um... didn't think so.

The last time I ate popcorn at the movies, I ended up with a queasy stomach, as though I had drank a cup of oil. I never felt that way in the old days. So how can this new, "healthy", way of popping corn be better for us? And that smell, that wonderful, intoxicating popcorn smell has vanished from theaters—perhaps forever. 

I bought some coconut oil and tried it at home. As soon as the corn began to pop I thought, That's the smell I remember.

If you want to try it at home, here's a recipe:

(I pop mine on the stove, but you can try this with a popper as well.)

Need: 
2 quart sauce pan
1/3 cup popcorn
3-4 TBLS coconut oil
Salt
Butter 


What to do:
Turn the stove on to medium heat. Add oil to the pan. Drop in two kernels of corn and put the lid on, tilted, to vent it. Wait for the two kernels to pop, then add the remaining 1/3 cup. 


Remove from heat and shake the pan to saturate all the kernels in oil. Set the pan aside and wait thirty seconds. This will heat all the kernels to the same temperature, so you'll have less old maids.  After thirty seconds, return to heat. Be sure to keep the lid vented. The popping will start right away. Once it does, shake the pan to keep the corn from burning. 


After the corn has popped, immediately dump into a large bowl or it will burn at the bottom where the pan still has heat. Melt the butter in a small pan and pour on top, salt to taste. Stir and enjoy.

Buy American

"Buy American. It means your job."

That message came from a visitor to the factory where I worked in 1986. I didn't think much about it then—I didn't understand how much it mattered. 

But it did matter, and little by little we sold our country to Mexico. To China. To India. Factories that once proudly waved the American flag now have empty buildings with locked doors and boards over the windows. Those companies moved overseas then shipped their product back to America and sold it to the same people who used to build it themselves.

Now, millions of people are out of work, the economy is on the brink of total collapse, and the product made by foreigners is junk. A few days ago, I needed a new flashlight. Raovac: made in China. Coleman: made in China. Maglite: made in U.S.A. Even though it cost more money, I bought the Maglite. It may have saved someone's job.

If every American started making the choice to buy products made in the U.S.A. and left the foreign stuff on the shelf, would those companies get the message and come back? Or have we reached the point of no return? 


Back in the '80s and '90s, if I saw an American made product and a foreign made product and the latter was cheaper, I bought it. I didn't think just one person buying one measly item could make a difference in whether or not someone kept their job. Now, I'm trying it in reverse to see if one person can make a difference. It does matter to someone. One day it may matter to you. "Buy American. It means your job."

11-11-11

I like the number 11. My older sister Bonita would have been 11 when Sharon was born, and Sharon would have been 11 when I was born. 

But I never knew them. Bonita was three-days old when she died, and Sharon only lived 24 hours. They didn't get a chance to live or grow up—never got to play with a puppy or have a kitten's whiskers tickle their faces. They never danced in the rain, or made snow angels, or rolled in a pile of leaves.


I've often wondered what kind of people they would have become. What would they have looked like? Would we have been friends? 


All my life, they've been part of me, something that was supposed to be there, yet isn't—such as a phantom or a shadow—something you're aware of, but you can't touch it, can't see it. Sometimes the awareness comes similar to a jigsaw puzzle and the gaping hole a missing piece leaves behind, the image marred, ruined, because it isn't complete. 

How would my life be different had they lived?

When I get to heaven, they're the first people I want to meet. I want to hold them and say how much I've missed them. I want to complete the jigsaw puzzle.


On this date: 11-11-11, I hope they know I'm thinking of them. Because it is possible to miss what you've never had.