By Linda Grupp Boutin
Southern California has experienced a severe heat wave this week. Many have been shocked by the toll 105+ degree heat takes on their health. Indeed most of us tend to take our health for granted never considering the myriad items our bodies cope with every single day. In today's post I want to take the time to celebrate the marvelous workings we are blissfully unaware of every day of our lives.
How often do you consider your heart beating? We understand intuitively the importance of the continued work our heart does, but when was the last time you gave thanks for the organ that circulates night and day, awake and asleep, sending oxygen and nutrients to the most far-flung parts of you.
The heart is one thing, but how about the largest organ of the body? Do you even know what that is? I'm betting you give it little thought, but to a burn patient each piece of healed skin eases pain and decreases the risk of infection. It is the barrier that keeps you separate from all that surrounds you, good and bad. A primary function on a hot day is to keep you cool when your body knows to sweat so that the fluid evaporates cooling you down. If you stop sweating, then you know you'd better put a stop to your fun in the sun because with no perspiration you will quickly overheat to the point of danger. The body signals this to you by getting dizzy, nauseous, and you just don't feel well.
Then there are the lungs and respiratory system. Everything from the nostrils throughout the system work together to protect you and provide the oxygen fueling the systems of your self. And don't forget about the kidneys, thyroid, liver, not to mention the brain. All contribute vital functions that keep you feeling like you and ready to put your muscles to work to accomplish everything you do from typing to painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
So don't take all this for granted, but celebrate all the things your body and its organs allow you to do. Take a moment to thank the Creator for setting this very sophisticated system up and giving you one that works just about right most all the time. Without this gift, where would you be...
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Opening the Magic Box
By Linda Grupp Boutin
Do you remember it? The waxy smell when you cracked it open that first time. Your eyes filled with colors unimagined begging you to try them on crisp white paper just to see them better. That wonderful teacher who demanded the big, 64-color box with the sharpener and a real gold and silver crayon. For me, it happened at the beginning of school each fall. Holding the precious recommendations of school supplies, inevitably a new box of crayons headed the list of needed items. Some years, only 8 or maybe 24 crayons might be required, but I could count on a new box of fresh, unbroken crayons.
Opening that box, I tried to keep the brand new smell, look, feel to those colors. I wanted to always return one of those soldiers to the position assigned by Crayola. Each vibrant shade and hue of the rainbow had a proper place in the box. Alas, it never lasted. Somewhere along the line, I needed more than one precious stick at a time. Where does this one go? How do I realign them to return to their proper comrades? Ah well, rearrange them now according to my preference, all the blues together, greens grouped nearby, purples near reds, oranges with yellows on the other side, and a white and black along the edge, easy to find.
Now to see what I could do with these magical tools that could transport me beyond the walls of the schoolroom. The Mediterranean Sea took on a deep blue hue, the boot of Italy green and dangling dangerously down into the water, France floating serenely above the sea with a combo of brown mountains and green valleys, Spain and Portugal taking up the position to the west leading temptingly out to the Atlantic Ocean...Or perhaps my glance might take me out the window into the mountains surrounding the San Fernando Valley. My picture always showed the splendor of those nearby hills in purple and blue hues. No amount of arguing could convince me to use an ordinary shade of brown or even green. My mountains shouted out to be painted in brilliant colors. Okay, so I didn't get an A in art, but I had a good time demonstrating my perspective on the subject.
Those magic boxes carried dreams inside, dreams of childhood, dreams of fame, dreams of acknowledgement of our small voices calling to a much larger world. No, though I loved my crayons, visual arts didn't work out for me. Instead I employ words to transport you to another time and place. I celebrate that words can be as vibrant and alive as the most fabulous of reds, the verdant greens, the peaceful blues.
But no matter what your medium might be, visual, fine or folk; writing, short or novel length; singing, gospel or modern, express that element in your soul you wish to share with the world. Don't critique yourself, just follow where the Spirit leads you. Some art explores the beautiful and easy, some brave ones look into our darker sides in a effort to illuminate that other part of the world. Either way, only you can sing your song, so trust it and celebrate that voice the good Lord gave you. By opening that magic box of insight inside you, you will make this world a better place to be because of you.
Do you remember it? The waxy smell when you cracked it open that first time. Your eyes filled with colors unimagined begging you to try them on crisp white paper just to see them better. That wonderful teacher who demanded the big, 64-color box with the sharpener and a real gold and silver crayon. For me, it happened at the beginning of school each fall. Holding the precious recommendations of school supplies, inevitably a new box of crayons headed the list of needed items. Some years, only 8 or maybe 24 crayons might be required, but I could count on a new box of fresh, unbroken crayons.
 |
| Brand new set of 108 crayons! |
Opening that box, I tried to keep the brand new smell, look, feel to those colors. I wanted to always return one of those soldiers to the position assigned by Crayola. Each vibrant shade and hue of the rainbow had a proper place in the box. Alas, it never lasted. Somewhere along the line, I needed more than one precious stick at a time. Where does this one go? How do I realign them to return to their proper comrades? Ah well, rearrange them now according to my preference, all the blues together, greens grouped nearby, purples near reds, oranges with yellows on the other side, and a white and black along the edge, easy to find.
Now to see what I could do with these magical tools that could transport me beyond the walls of the schoolroom. The Mediterranean Sea took on a deep blue hue, the boot of Italy green and dangling dangerously down into the water, France floating serenely above the sea with a combo of brown mountains and green valleys, Spain and Portugal taking up the position to the west leading temptingly out to the Atlantic Ocean...Or perhaps my glance might take me out the window into the mountains surrounding the San Fernando Valley. My picture always showed the splendor of those nearby hills in purple and blue hues. No amount of arguing could convince me to use an ordinary shade of brown or even green. My mountains shouted out to be painted in brilliant colors. Okay, so I didn't get an A in art, but I had a good time demonstrating my perspective on the subject.
Those magic boxes carried dreams inside, dreams of childhood, dreams of fame, dreams of acknowledgement of our small voices calling to a much larger world. No, though I loved my crayons, visual arts didn't work out for me. Instead I employ words to transport you to another time and place. I celebrate that words can be as vibrant and alive as the most fabulous of reds, the verdant greens, the peaceful blues.
But no matter what your medium might be, visual, fine or folk; writing, short or novel length; singing, gospel or modern, express that element in your soul you wish to share with the world. Don't critique yourself, just follow where the Spirit leads you. Some art explores the beautiful and easy, some brave ones look into our darker sides in a effort to illuminate that other part of the world. Either way, only you can sing your song, so trust it and celebrate that voice the good Lord gave you. By opening that magic box of insight inside you, you will make this world a better place to be because of you.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Celebrating the Joy of Life
By Linda Grupp Boutin
Today a friend tagged me on Facebook. She said a particular video made her think of me (http://rawforbeauty.com/blog). I clicked on the link and enjoyed a belly laugh watching a video featuring this dog bounding through golden fields, jumping high in the air to clear the tall strands, disappearing again completely enclosed by the plants in the field. Considering I have a blog writing about my love of dogs and the antics of my basenjis, I can see the association she made with me. But I also must say that I envied that dog and his pure joy in life, leaping and jumping, celebrating all he saw around him.
I try every day to celebrate the joy in life because not a one of us has any guarantee that tomorrow will come. We take it for granted that we will have another day, and another, and another. But we all know that one day this life will come to an end. One time speaking with my 86-year-old father he told me that the first thing he did every day when he awoke was to thank God for keeping him safe and granting him another day. I took Dad's advice and try to remember to give thanks daily too. When we maintain an attitude of gratitude all that surrounds us takes on the aspect of a gift, which is exactly what all of life and what we have precisely is, a gift from God.
I love that a friend perceives me as a joyful creature. She knows many of the challenges I face with my health. These difficulties contribute to why I appreciate the day, no matter how tough it might be. Pain keeps me company, but so long as I keep busy I can keep it at bay until I go to sleep at night. Then as it tries to raise its ugliness and make me give up, I start to talk to God. Sometimes I can be eloquent with prayer, but when it's midnight pushing 2 a.m. more often I beg for His deliverance. Please Lord, just let me sleep. I know it will be better in the morning light...
And He does, and I rest, and in the morning I bound (sometimes) out of bed much as that dog flies through the fields. And each day when I can touch another life, in some small way or large, I know that every effort is worth it. Because in the doing, my life makes a difference. Today a young teen kept trying to ride his bike across the street. Being a busy Friday afternoon, all the drivers in their cars were too busy to stop and give the young man a chance to cross the street. I pulled up to the intersection slowly, came to a full stop and signaled him to safely cross. The cars going the opposite direction saw me stopped and gave him grace as well. I went on my way feeling like such a small thing can make another person's day, paying it forward in a simple sense.
So what about you, what do you need to celebrate with joy in your life? Health, wealth, a special friend, a cherished pet? Take that moment to give some thanks. There is no right or wrong way, just an opportunity to develop that attitude of gratitude. Embrace the moment and understand our interconnectedness and how that provides each of us the chance to encourage one another.
Today a friend tagged me on Facebook. She said a particular video made her think of me (http://rawforbeauty.com/blog). I clicked on the link and enjoyed a belly laugh watching a video featuring this dog bounding through golden fields, jumping high in the air to clear the tall strands, disappearing again completely enclosed by the plants in the field. Considering I have a blog writing about my love of dogs and the antics of my basenjis, I can see the association she made with me. But I also must say that I envied that dog and his pure joy in life, leaping and jumping, celebrating all he saw around him.
I try every day to celebrate the joy in life because not a one of us has any guarantee that tomorrow will come. We take it for granted that we will have another day, and another, and another. But we all know that one day this life will come to an end. One time speaking with my 86-year-old father he told me that the first thing he did every day when he awoke was to thank God for keeping him safe and granting him another day. I took Dad's advice and try to remember to give thanks daily too. When we maintain an attitude of gratitude all that surrounds us takes on the aspect of a gift, which is exactly what all of life and what we have precisely is, a gift from God.
I love that a friend perceives me as a joyful creature. She knows many of the challenges I face with my health. These difficulties contribute to why I appreciate the day, no matter how tough it might be. Pain keeps me company, but so long as I keep busy I can keep it at bay until I go to sleep at night. Then as it tries to raise its ugliness and make me give up, I start to talk to God. Sometimes I can be eloquent with prayer, but when it's midnight pushing 2 a.m. more often I beg for His deliverance. Please Lord, just let me sleep. I know it will be better in the morning light...
And He does, and I rest, and in the morning I bound (sometimes) out of bed much as that dog flies through the fields. And each day when I can touch another life, in some small way or large, I know that every effort is worth it. Because in the doing, my life makes a difference. Today a young teen kept trying to ride his bike across the street. Being a busy Friday afternoon, all the drivers in their cars were too busy to stop and give the young man a chance to cross the street. I pulled up to the intersection slowly, came to a full stop and signaled him to safely cross. The cars going the opposite direction saw me stopped and gave him grace as well. I went on my way feeling like such a small thing can make another person's day, paying it forward in a simple sense.
So what about you, what do you need to celebrate with joy in your life? Health, wealth, a special friend, a cherished pet? Take that moment to give some thanks. There is no right or wrong way, just an opportunity to develop that attitude of gratitude. Embrace the moment and understand our interconnectedness and how that provides each of us the chance to encourage one another.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
"Thank You" Notes: How to Hear the Song in Your Heart
By Linda Grupp Boutin
I walked to the mailbox today, slipped in the key, opened the door expecting the usual bills, flyers, postcards selling me something. Instead, on top, I found an envelope from a friend. Like so many accustomed to our digital age, most communications come to me in the form of e-mails, instant messages, Facebook, even telephone. It is a rare day to find a decorated envelope festooned with flowers and a big circle it the top left corner with an "L" centered within. I found it difficult to shepherd the dogs, peek at the letter and get myself back into the front door without ripping it open to see what was contained inside.
As soon as the dogs ran in the front door, my attention switched to the mail. I found a brown-tone photo on the front of the card with an assembly of crucifixes on a wooden deck surrounded by leaves. Each brass cross looks unique, but each symbolizes the sacrifice of our Savior. I opened the card and savored the words contained within. "Dear Linda, Thank you so much..."
The words came from a speaker I had helped prepare for our CoffeeBreak ministry at my church, Chino Valley Community Church. This is a monthly event usually held on the first Monday of the month. We start the night with door prizes, play games, listen to household tips, sing worship songs and wrap up the evening with the story of one woman from our church who shares her testimony of how the Lord has worked in her life. We've been doing this for three years from October through May and I have loved every minute of it. I have had the privilege of helping our speakers get ready, practice, learn how to share their stories in a way that will move the audience.
I am a storyteller by nature. Just ask my family who have listened to me spin many a story around the dinner table. My youngest brother says I make it all up, but for me it's like watching a movie. The words I say create images in my mind that I try to express to my audience. I would have fit just fine in the "pre-electronics" days. Sitting around a campfire recounting story is my idea of a fine way to spend an evening. I remember reading Alex Haley's book "Roots" with fascination about how the oral memory of the tribe could recall the day when Haley's ancestor Kunta Kinte was lost to their tribe, whisked away from them but never forgotten.
This was the second Thank You note I've received this week. The other one came from a member of the Aspiring Writers' Forum that I have co-led with my friend, Coleene VanTilburg, for the last four years. A small gift bag accompanied this note and contained a yellow ceramic cross with the word "Smile" across the front. This note began, "Dear Linda, It all started with a smile..." Coleene received a similar card and cross, but hers is blue with a butterfly in place of my flowers. She wrote on her blog this week about the important role that Swallowtail butterflies play in her life. You can read her blog "Considerable Thoughts" at: http://blogforeternity.blogspot.com/.
I must say that Thank You notes bring a smile to my face. Better yet, when I find that my encouragement in another person's life helps them in some small way, this makes my heart sing. It is so easy to get bogged down in the negative news surrounding us every day. It cleanses us of all that negativity when we let one another know how important we are in each others lives.
Tonight as I scrolled through the channels, I found a special on CNN recapping the events in Boston last month. Recovering survivors spoke about how strangers stepped into danger not knowing when the next explosion might occur to help them survive their wounds and get to the hospital. Photojournalists spoke of the photos they took of first the massacre, then followed by the photos of the best of the humanity reaching out to help one another. Pictures showed two men causing death and destruction followed by hundreds reaching out to help those in need.
We can choose to focus on the "glass half empty" in this world. We can frown about all the trouble in our lives and complain about those who don't comply with our agenda. Or we can decide that the "glass is half full." We can be grateful for the blessings that come in our lives, we can acknowledge the "One Thousand Gifts" we each receive every day that we draw breath. We can see the good in one another and forgive the human frailties we each must overcome. It all depends upon the perspective we choose to adopt. Try on the "Thank You note" and see how it fits. It may just give you a whole new lease in life. BTW: special thanks to the two special ladies who brightened my week with notes that make my heart sing.
I walked to the mailbox today, slipped in the key, opened the door expecting the usual bills, flyers, postcards selling me something. Instead, on top, I found an envelope from a friend. Like so many accustomed to our digital age, most communications come to me in the form of e-mails, instant messages, Facebook, even telephone. It is a rare day to find a decorated envelope festooned with flowers and a big circle it the top left corner with an "L" centered within. I found it difficult to shepherd the dogs, peek at the letter and get myself back into the front door without ripping it open to see what was contained inside.
As soon as the dogs ran in the front door, my attention switched to the mail. I found a brown-tone photo on the front of the card with an assembly of crucifixes on a wooden deck surrounded by leaves. Each brass cross looks unique, but each symbolizes the sacrifice of our Savior. I opened the card and savored the words contained within. "Dear Linda, Thank you so much..."
The words came from a speaker I had helped prepare for our CoffeeBreak ministry at my church, Chino Valley Community Church. This is a monthly event usually held on the first Monday of the month. We start the night with door prizes, play games, listen to household tips, sing worship songs and wrap up the evening with the story of one woman from our church who shares her testimony of how the Lord has worked in her life. We've been doing this for three years from October through May and I have loved every minute of it. I have had the privilege of helping our speakers get ready, practice, learn how to share their stories in a way that will move the audience.
I am a storyteller by nature. Just ask my family who have listened to me spin many a story around the dinner table. My youngest brother says I make it all up, but for me it's like watching a movie. The words I say create images in my mind that I try to express to my audience. I would have fit just fine in the "pre-electronics" days. Sitting around a campfire recounting story is my idea of a fine way to spend an evening. I remember reading Alex Haley's book "Roots" with fascination about how the oral memory of the tribe could recall the day when Haley's ancestor Kunta Kinte was lost to their tribe, whisked away from them but never forgotten.This was the second Thank You note I've received this week. The other one came from a member of the Aspiring Writers' Forum that I have co-led with my friend, Coleene VanTilburg, for the last four years. A small gift bag accompanied this note and contained a yellow ceramic cross with the word "Smile" across the front. This note began, "Dear Linda, It all started with a smile..." Coleene received a similar card and cross, but hers is blue with a butterfly in place of my flowers. She wrote on her blog this week about the important role that Swallowtail butterflies play in her life. You can read her blog "Considerable Thoughts" at: http://blogforeternity.blogspot.com/.
I must say that Thank You notes bring a smile to my face. Better yet, when I find that my encouragement in another person's life helps them in some small way, this makes my heart sing. It is so easy to get bogged down in the negative news surrounding us every day. It cleanses us of all that negativity when we let one another know how important we are in each others lives.
Tonight as I scrolled through the channels, I found a special on CNN recapping the events in Boston last month. Recovering survivors spoke about how strangers stepped into danger not knowing when the next explosion might occur to help them survive their wounds and get to the hospital. Photojournalists spoke of the photos they took of first the massacre, then followed by the photos of the best of the humanity reaching out to help one another. Pictures showed two men causing death and destruction followed by hundreds reaching out to help those in need.
We can choose to focus on the "glass half empty" in this world. We can frown about all the trouble in our lives and complain about those who don't comply with our agenda. Or we can decide that the "glass is half full." We can be grateful for the blessings that come in our lives, we can acknowledge the "One Thousand Gifts" we each receive every day that we draw breath. We can see the good in one another and forgive the human frailties we each must overcome. It all depends upon the perspective we choose to adopt. Try on the "Thank You note" and see how it fits. It may just give you a whole new lease in life. BTW: special thanks to the two special ladies who brightened my week with notes that make my heart sing.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Shell-shocked: It Must Stop!
By Linda Grupp Boutin
2 Corinthians 9:8 And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.
Less than two days after my last post exploring unconditional love, violence invaded our country again. Here are some ramblings I recorded since Monday, April 15th after the Marathon in Boston exploded.
*****
Tax day, Patriot's Day in Boston, a long race called a Boston Marathon. Families gathered. Friends cheering. Explosions exploding. Another long, hard day in American Emergency Rooms. Injured people scattered on sidewalks. Crowds running. Screams echoing. Ear drums bursting. Another long, hard day for Boston's Finest. Unable to allow tears to flow, numbness encompasses all the Americans glued to cable, watching the pain flow past in an endless supply of blood. My heart screams why? My head confused. My fingers type, taking me to those painful places; those dark places of fear; my soul prays; an explorer blind with no light. A gentle touch on my shoulder when the Holy Spirit descends. Why Lord, why? A bomb again? Two bombs. Why?
Murder, mayhem, IEDs. Shouting, yelling, running to help. We HAVE heard this before. In Oklahoma City, in the heart of Georgia, in New York City on a dark, sunshiny day. WHEN DOES THIS STOP?!? When Americans stop running from the problems, when brave and aching families take a stand. At a Federal Building, at the Olympics, at the Pentagon, at the Twin Towers! And in the cities, and in the living rooms, and over the cell phones, the tears flood us all. When does this all stop?
Assault weapons, soldiers' clips, ammunition flowing while the bombs explode. What do you hear when you close your eyes at night? Pundits' rants? Politicians' chants? Endless speeches? God's voice counseling sleep? Rest finally overtakes fright.
*****
Days pass, suspects fight, Boston holds strong, demonstrating for all to see that adversity can grow strength, pain can build character, marathon runners are just amazing.
"...having all that you need, you will abound in every good work."
Memorials proceed for those who died. The country gathers and collects funds to send to those hurt. The FBI and CIA scramble to piece together the clues, the why and the should haves.We rally together and I truly breathe again after I see my friend who was there. He was safe when the bombs exploded.
*****
The U.S. Senate acted, by doing nothing to curb violence in any form. By declaring a filibuster and refusing to even discuss a bill requiring background checks for gun purchasers. On the night all the police were on the streets of Watertown battling bombers now also equipped with guns, the Senators decide guns and violence deserves no debate. They will not vote because the bill will never be considered by them. They just refuse to speak and go silent. They won't tell you where they stand. If Americans want to know which senator called for a filibuster--they won't tell you that either. They claim to represent us, the American people.Whose voice did Congress hear?
*****
The FAA furloughed air traffic controllers recently due to "the sequester." Air travel has been tangled, especially at airport hubs, meaning long tarmac waits. The Senators, who travel to and from Washington regularly, agreed to debate, vote on and pass a bill on to the House of Representatives before leaving town for another week not working in Washington. They passed a bill in record time to reinstate funding for full staffing of air traffic controllers. And the House of Representative followed their lead before they left town for another week of not legislating. I am disappointed by their lack of leadership. I wish those who represent me would filibuster leaving town again, stay and work, and try to do a good work.
2 Corinthians 9:8 And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.
Less than two days after my last post exploring unconditional love, violence invaded our country again. Here are some ramblings I recorded since Monday, April 15th after the Marathon in Boston exploded.
*****
Tax day, Patriot's Day in Boston, a long race called a Boston Marathon. Families gathered. Friends cheering. Explosions exploding. Another long, hard day in American Emergency Rooms. Injured people scattered on sidewalks. Crowds running. Screams echoing. Ear drums bursting. Another long, hard day for Boston's Finest. Unable to allow tears to flow, numbness encompasses all the Americans glued to cable, watching the pain flow past in an endless supply of blood. My heart screams why? My head confused. My fingers type, taking me to those painful places; those dark places of fear; my soul prays; an explorer blind with no light. A gentle touch on my shoulder when the Holy Spirit descends. Why Lord, why? A bomb again? Two bombs. Why?
Murder, mayhem, IEDs. Shouting, yelling, running to help. We HAVE heard this before. In Oklahoma City, in the heart of Georgia, in New York City on a dark, sunshiny day. WHEN DOES THIS STOP?!? When Americans stop running from the problems, when brave and aching families take a stand. At a Federal Building, at the Olympics, at the Pentagon, at the Twin Towers! And in the cities, and in the living rooms, and over the cell phones, the tears flood us all. When does this all stop?
Assault weapons, soldiers' clips, ammunition flowing while the bombs explode. What do you hear when you close your eyes at night? Pundits' rants? Politicians' chants? Endless speeches? God's voice counseling sleep? Rest finally overtakes fright.
*****
Days pass, suspects fight, Boston holds strong, demonstrating for all to see that adversity can grow strength, pain can build character, marathon runners are just amazing.
"...having all that you need, you will abound in every good work."
Memorials proceed for those who died. The country gathers and collects funds to send to those hurt. The FBI and CIA scramble to piece together the clues, the why and the should haves.We rally together and I truly breathe again after I see my friend who was there. He was safe when the bombs exploded.
*****
The U.S. Senate acted, by doing nothing to curb violence in any form. By declaring a filibuster and refusing to even discuss a bill requiring background checks for gun purchasers. On the night all the police were on the streets of Watertown battling bombers now also equipped with guns, the Senators decide guns and violence deserves no debate. They will not vote because the bill will never be considered by them. They just refuse to speak and go silent. They won't tell you where they stand. If Americans want to know which senator called for a filibuster--they won't tell you that either. They claim to represent us, the American people.Whose voice did Congress hear?
*****
The FAA furloughed air traffic controllers recently due to "the sequester." Air travel has been tangled, especially at airport hubs, meaning long tarmac waits. The Senators, who travel to and from Washington regularly, agreed to debate, vote on and pass a bill on to the House of Representatives before leaving town for another week not working in Washington. They passed a bill in record time to reinstate funding for full staffing of air traffic controllers. And the House of Representative followed their lead before they left town for another week of not legislating. I am disappointed by their lack of leadership. I wish those who represent me would filibuster leaving town again, stay and work, and try to do a good work.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
In the Spirit of Love
By Linda Grupp Boutin
"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1:7 (NIV)
Two of the most demanding disciplines in my life are writing every day and loving those around me unconditionally. Both require exactly what the verse above explores. God designed human nature not to be fearful, but to be powerful with love and self-discipline when following the example of Jesus. Whenever I successfully set aside my fears, step out in faith and embrace another in need, then my insecurities recede to the background.
At times in my life a fair description for me was an introvert. Many times I wanted to go and run and hide away from everyone and everything. Slowly I came to understand what I feared most were my problems. One teacher told me, "Linda, you must tame your fears and walk them like a dog on a leash." This solution presented me an image I could relate to and use when my first thought to withdraw overcame what I knew I should do. I know how to walk a dog on a leash properly, although sometimes I allow my dogs to get away with pulling me around. Have you ever had that sensation of being pulled in a direction you do not want to go?
So how does a spirit of power that is empowered by God, help you get through the day? First I needed to experience confidence in my passion. At the deepest level I understood that everyone I had ever met wanted to express themselves. So many bore wounds so deep they could not find their voice, much less say what they needed to say. The courage needed to pick up a pen, or paint brush, or sing a song defeated so many talented individuals. I pulled out my bandages and when allowed began binding up those wounded by life. The source of all this pain varied from person to person, but one salve applied to the cuts of life worked, unconditional love.
Now don't even think I have mastered the act of unconditional love, it ebbs and flows just like the tides within me. However models of that behavior have impacted my life for so much good that I just keep striving. It is the simple act of trying to love unconditionally that winds up stretching out a helping hand and assists the next person to take that very first step. And as one life interlocks with another life, a hand can be extended to the next person and so on and so on until a human chain pulls up the next person in line.
So the next time you see a person in need, in whom you recognize an aching soul, take that moment to extend a helping hand. You might find you experience the joy of impacting another person's life for the good. Just like a smile, laugh or tear can be contagious, so too can encouragement help that person take that next courageous step. And then the next time you see that pain, it gets a tad bit easier to extend your help. You'll learn that sometimes it takes repeated effort or someone else doing the same, but once you see hope light up in that one person's eyes, you will find the pull of helping irresistible.
Quote for tonight: "EnCOURAGEment is the act of giving someone courage." Beth Moore
"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1:7 (NIV)
Two of the most demanding disciplines in my life are writing every day and loving those around me unconditionally. Both require exactly what the verse above explores. God designed human nature not to be fearful, but to be powerful with love and self-discipline when following the example of Jesus. Whenever I successfully set aside my fears, step out in faith and embrace another in need, then my insecurities recede to the background.
At times in my life a fair description for me was an introvert. Many times I wanted to go and run and hide away from everyone and everything. Slowly I came to understand what I feared most were my problems. One teacher told me, "Linda, you must tame your fears and walk them like a dog on a leash." This solution presented me an image I could relate to and use when my first thought to withdraw overcame what I knew I should do. I know how to walk a dog on a leash properly, although sometimes I allow my dogs to get away with pulling me around. Have you ever had that sensation of being pulled in a direction you do not want to go?
So how does a spirit of power that is empowered by God, help you get through the day? First I needed to experience confidence in my passion. At the deepest level I understood that everyone I had ever met wanted to express themselves. So many bore wounds so deep they could not find their voice, much less say what they needed to say. The courage needed to pick up a pen, or paint brush, or sing a song defeated so many talented individuals. I pulled out my bandages and when allowed began binding up those wounded by life. The source of all this pain varied from person to person, but one salve applied to the cuts of life worked, unconditional love.
Now don't even think I have mastered the act of unconditional love, it ebbs and flows just like the tides within me. However models of that behavior have impacted my life for so much good that I just keep striving. It is the simple act of trying to love unconditionally that winds up stretching out a helping hand and assists the next person to take that very first step. And as one life interlocks with another life, a hand can be extended to the next person and so on and so on until a human chain pulls up the next person in line.
So the next time you see a person in need, in whom you recognize an aching soul, take that moment to extend a helping hand. You might find you experience the joy of impacting another person's life for the good. Just like a smile, laugh or tear can be contagious, so too can encouragement help that person take that next courageous step. And then the next time you see that pain, it gets a tad bit easier to extend your help. You'll learn that sometimes it takes repeated effort or someone else doing the same, but once you see hope light up in that one person's eyes, you will find the pull of helping irresistible.
Quote for tonight: "EnCOURAGEment is the act of giving someone courage." Beth Moore
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
No Turning Back
By Linda Grupp Boutin
I stared into my backpack. Did I have everything I needed? The
space felt stuffed with the objects for an estimated three to four days. An
opened bag of M&Ms, pain medication, heparin to keep my line open (Did I really need to carry this?) and
an odd assortment of things to sustain me. I pulled the drawstring taut around
the top and strapped our only sleeping bag into place at the base. One last
glance around the closet assured me that inside the pack I carried everything
for my anticipated hiking trip.
My green parka hung loosely on a thin
frame. The hiking boots that had seen no use for over two years completed the
ensemble. I glanced at my husband, Gary, sitting; shoulders slumped, on the
bed. He looked up from his clasped hands when I stepped into the room. Tears
filled my eyes, but there was no other way that I could see through this mess.
Resolutely I turned from the bedroom and out the front door of our apartment.
It had taken months of long consideration to reach this decision and I would
listen to no further arguments on this matter.
My footfalls crossing the parking lot
created the only sounds on this dark, late November night. My endurance lasted
through Thanksgiving, but I could no longer continue the medical regimen required
to preserve my life. For over a year my paralyzed digestive tract tolerated no
food whatsoever. If I dared take a bite, I landed in a hospital bed. Each night,
just to continue living, I connected myself to two machines, one to feed me
intravenously for over 12 hours, one to drain the excess fluids from my stomach
to attempt to keep them from entering my digestive tract.
Quality of life entered the news that
year. A family wanted to discontinue medical treatment for a daughter trapped
inside a coma for too many years. I understood the issue all too well, from the
inside, but not trapped in a coma. I knew the pain of illness, emotional and
physical, intimately. Reflected in Gary’s eyes, my illness closed us into a
world intolerable at best. At UCLA the doctors held out hope for me for an
intestinal pacemaker or maybe a transplant in a decade or two. I shook my head
to clear the images and looked both ways before crossing the road out of habit.
My mind tripped back to happier days when
Gary and I planned our first backpacking trip together. Newly in love,
overflowing with hope for the future, we purchased the packs together along
with one for my dog, Ginger. Now less than 5 years later we all knew this trip
was to be taken alone. My husband could not understand why I could no longer
tolerate the two tubes hanging from my chest, the machines hum all night long,
my desperate desire to eat which the doctors had forbidden.
I left it all behind that night: the
intravenous pump and pole, the bottles and bottles of solutions to feed myself
with, the tubings, sterile dressings, suction machine. Walked away from my
closet full of supplies for life to embrace what would follow, no intention of
continuing the ludicrous routine ruling, supposedly saving, my life. I was
done, exhausted, finished.
It won’t take any time at all, I kept
reassuring myself. Three or four days at most, depending on how cold it was in
the Laguna mountians. Dehydration would set in, after all, the medical
encyclopedia listed this as a terminal condition. I have the right to choose
treatment or reject it, don’t I? After all, I’m an adult. I had chosen to go to
the doctors and accepted their recommendations, but now I’d changed my mind.
After experiencing the life they’d designed for a year, doing all they
expected, I could no longer accept it. This must all come to an end because I
cannot live my life without eating. They are simply asking more than a person
can endure. My plan had been to be a nurse to others, not to spend every day of
my life taking care of a sick me!
Hence my plan to cause Gary as little
grief as possible. Why did he have to keep fighting me on this? He said life is
always worth living, but he has never gone a day not eating hooked up to
machines, much less a year. So take as little as possible, leave Gary the car,
take the bus to Alpine and walk out into the forest. Find a nice, quiet spot
and let the disease take my life. Shouldn’t
take too long, probably just three, maybe four days at most. Dehydration
would take me quickly, I swallowed hard and reassured myself.
What is that I hear? No one should be
calling me, not right now with my mind made up. I kept walking heading for the
bus station. I saw the lights ahead and kept moving forward. Now I recognized
the voice. One I knew all too well after just a few years of marriage. His long
legs quickly overtook my lead. I begged him to go away. He said he would just
walk with me, no more arguments. His pace matched mine. The lights brightened
as we approached the benches arranged at the bus stop in the shopping mall. I
took a seat, praying for a bus, any bus to arrive soon, so I could escape his
company.
After minutes passed like hours, the bus
approached. I didn’t check the destination, it didn’t matter, anywhere away
from him would work just fine. I mounted the steps, jangled my fare into the
box, stomped to the back of the bus, turned and took a seat. Sliding my arms
from the pack I relaxed. I had made it. Now I could be released from this
bondage of life with illness, disability, pain in body, mind and soul. Eating
would mean nothing where I planned on going, food irrelevant.
The bus was just sitting there, not
accelerating from the curb to take me to my destination. I looked up to see
what the bus driver was doing and quickly discerned the problem. Another person
had boarded the bus after me and now I was staring directly in those deep,
brown eyes I knew all too intimately. Gary stood facing me, standing beside the
bus driver. He seemed to be trying to imprint in his memory some final
impression of his wife, now fleeing from his look of overpowering love. “Why
did he have to follow me?” my thoughts screamed inside my head.
Now my eyes dropped to my hands and the
moment of truth had arrived. That look killed so much in that instant. How
could I turn my back on someone who wanted me so badly in their life that he
would chase me down like that? I had to do this right, not be a burden, not
make a mess, but clean one up. And suddenly I knew that quality of life had
nothing to do at all with it. Empty, devoid of meaning, it was not up to me to
pick and choose the time or date. Whether it took just three or four days or
maybe thirty or forty years, it just simply was not my choice. But once
decided, there could be no going back. I could not subject either of us to this
anymore. If I changed course here, reversed myself, I knew it would be the
commitment for life.
Slowly, my fingers clasped the strap of
that blue backpack. Fighting all impulses, my knees pulled me up and back onto
my feet. One step followed the next back to the front of the bus. When I
reached him, he pulled the backpack from my grasp, hefting it onto his broad
shoulder. I did not ask the bus driver to return my fare, just stepped down the
steps and walked forward. Back into life, back into not eating, back into
daily, 12-hour regimens of intravenous feedings for the next 7 years.
Today, 32 years later, I look back at that
moment in time when I was convinced to embrace life by brown, loving eyes that
refused to let me go. And bless the moment he walked into my life.
Originally written for Ladies Home Journal Personal Essay Contest 2012. I had hopes of receiving a prize for this one, but I didn't win. However, my nephew asked for a copy and later told me that it hung on his bulletin board. I understood I had won on a much deeper level a prize that money could not buy. I thought I would share it with my blog readers and followers. This event occurred in 1980 and was a moment of truth that changed my life and has guided every step of my life afterwards. There are no "do-overs" in life and no turning back from the choices we make.
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