Author Archives: diane.connis@gmail.com

Lifetime Love Affair

I grew up in a home with no TV. 

And yes, there were cars back then, for those of you who are now wondering how old I am. 

There were even TVs back then, we just didn’t have one. 

Every Friday my dad would grocery shop after work and take me to the library on his way to the store. I’d search row after row of shelves for books that I hadn’t read yet, check out the maximum amount allowed (ten, I think) and read them before the following Friday. 

This scenario would repeat weekly.

While my friends were rushing home from school to watch cartoons; Popeye, Looney Tunes, The Three Stooges and the Little Rascals, I went home to read. 

And I couldn’t wait.                                  

Words threaded together, creating pictures, people and stories have intrigued me as far back as I can remember. As I read descriptions of places and personalities, I would imagine them in my mind. I could see it all, the backdrops, settings and what each person looked like.

I’ve been disappointed more than once by a movie based on a book because what was on the screen looked like nothing I had created inside my head.

Many a night, when I should have been asleep, I was under the blankets with a flashlight and a book I couldn’t put down. 

There was nothing worse than leaving a good story right in the middle, to go to school, take out the trash, help Dad in the yard or Mom in the kitchen and be left wondering the entire time, what was going to happen next. 

By the time I was in middle school I had a fondness for horse stories; Misty, Black Beauty and My Friend Flicka, to name just a few. 

In high school I was reading classics; Robinson Crusoe, Swiss Family Robinson, Moby Dick, Call of the Wild, Pilgrims Progress, Gone With the Wind, The Chronicles of Narnia and the works of Charles Dickens and Mark Twain.

I’ve had a lifetime love affair with books and reading was and still is one of my favorite getaways, a form of relaxation and fun. 

It’s hard to be a decent writer without reading. Because I enjoyed reading so much, I also developed a fondness for writing. 

Putting my thoughts into words forces my mind to be deliberate about my own opinions, viewpoints and desires. Seeing my heart written out in black and white give me reason to be both intentional and reasonable in how I think about life and the myriad of emotion and events swirling around me. 

Writing keeps me centered and is my therapy. 

I’m currently taking a writer’s course and am being told that reading has changed in America.

Technology and finger tip access to information, texting, social web pages and constant entertainment has moved our attention span meter next to zero. The latest generation now reads and writes in small bites (or should it be bytes), if at all. 

“LOL!” (laughing out loud, for the few who may not know)

“OMW “ (on my way)

“Where R U?”

I’ve been informed that people don’t read anymore, they scan, scrolling thru web pages on mobile devices faster than film frames roll in an animated movie. 

Writers are being told to create shorter sentences that are “tight” and have punch, be more attentive to white space in relation to words on a page and hook people with interest and excitement in the first paragraph to instantly catch and keep their attention.

While these are good writing techniques to follow, I admit to being disappointed for the reason they are being suggested.

Maybe I’m old-school; after all I grew up without a TV… 

But…instead of dumbing down our writing, how about we teach kids to read again. Really read. 

Gather our children around us on the sofa. Turn off the TV, smart phone and tablet and read a book out loud. Together. 

Find time during the day; at breakfast before school, after dinner or at bedtime, whatever works for the family schedule, to read.

Start when the kids are little. Let them fall in love with books.

Statistics show that children who are read to and who read do better in school and become lifelong learners. 

And if that isn’t enough motivation, some of those readers could become famous authors, publishing book after made-for-movie book, creating sufficient wealth to take care of you into your old age.

So read, read, read!

P.S. I hope you didn’t just scan this post but actually read it.

 

 

 

If I’m So Special Why Don’t I feel Like It?


I’ve heard the word ‘special’ directed toward me as a mother for many years, since our first child was born with Down syndrome then later developed autism. 

“God gives these special kids to special people like you because He’s knows you can handle it.”

When you ask expectant parents whether they are hoping for a boy or girl the most common answer is, “I don’t care as long as the baby is healthy and normal.”  

I have never heard anyone say, “Oh either is fine, but I’m really hoping we have a special child!” 

Other than the few amazing heroes who willingly adopt disabled children, no one really longs to have a disabled child. The irony that you are suddenly special if you get one has always puzzled me.

Regardless, I know people mean well and are trying to be kind and encouraging so I usually smile and move on with the conversation.

On especially stressful Jon days, when I’m not much in a “Yahoo!” frame of mind, I’ve thought of asking (but have never done so) those who tell me how special I am, “Truthfully now, would you feel special if your child was born with ____________ (fill in the blank with any disability)?”

Our son, Jonathan, displays frequent resistant behaviors that can be challenging and one morning I remember, was particularly difficult. All directives and attempts to get Jon to school on time were met with opposition and finally resulted in Jon locking himself in the bathroom and refusing to open the door. 

I drove him to school everyday and by the time we arrived – late again – I was incredibly stressed and on the verge of tears.  

David, our youngest child, and a friend who was visiting from another state, accompanied me. We had made plans to spend the day at one of Central Florida’s theme parks, so after Jon was finally delivered to his classroom, we headed to the nearest store to purchase a few items and visit the ATM. 

I parked the car and the three of us were walking toward the store entrance when I saw him, a silver haired man wearing a bright orange vest and a big smile. He was holding a plastic container for the obvious purpose of taking donations. 

I was still revved up from my morning encounter with Jon, taking deep breaths and forcing my mind to move on to calmer thoughts and the fun day ahead.

As I walked past the orange-vested man he thrust the container toward me and in a most kind and gentle voice asked, “Maam, would you like to donate to the disabled this morning?” 

This unfortunate guy had no idea how poorly timed his inquiry was. He had no clue what I had just been through or what he was in for.  I stopped mid-stride, turned and glared at him.  

That simple question was the last straw, as the saying goes.  All the pent up frustration still swirling around inside exploded out of me like hot lava from an erupting volcano.  

Like some sort of lunatic, I yelled, “Oh sure! I’d just love to,” right in his face.

I ripped open my purse, clawed through my wallet, grabbed the first available paper bill I found and crammed five dollars inside that container so forcefully the surprised man almost dropped it on the sidewalk.  

Then I loudly declared, “There you go sir, something for the disabled.  Now what do you plan to do for their mothers?!” as I turned and stomped inside the store leaving him with his mouth hanging open and my free paper flower dangling from his fingers.

I didn’t feel very special that day. Still don’t for that matter.  If I am entirely honest, I often feel very inadequate and way too tired for this job. 
  

Jill Kelly, author and speaker, says sometimes God does give you more than you can handle so He can show Himself strong in and through you. 

In my weakness, He is made strong (2 Corinthians 12:9). 

So I’ve figured something out in the midst of all this. God is trying to make me into something special and this child is part of the plan, stamped indelibly into the blueprint of my life.  

This design wasn’t included in the life I had visualized when I looked ahead many years ago.  And there are times even now when I look forward and struggle with an overwhelming sense of fear and uncertainty for my son’s future.  

But this I am sure of, God can be trusted with every detail of life. If I continually lean into Him, He provides everything I need to press on.  

Keeping my focus on Jesus as I learn, in my weakness, to reflect Him to a hurting world, is the ultimate goal. How I reach that goal is often a blend of His grace and my endurance. 

I have come so far from the person I was at the beginning of this journey. I trust somewhere along the way or at least near the end of the road I will finally reach a resemblance of something special in God’s eyes. 

Because in God’s kingdom, being His ‘special child’ is the highest compliment and honor! 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plansfor good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”  Jeremiah 29:11 NLT

 
 
 

No Comparison (please!)


A passion of mine is to help people become better educated about adults with developmental disabilities and occasionally, conversations with people evolve into the topic of our developmentally delayed son and some of his behaviors.

 

Some folks, with a little chuckle and smile, say, “O yeah, I know, all kids act that way sometimes. Mine sure does. It can really be frustrating.” 

Or something similar.

 

I know they mean well and I appreciate their desire to empathize, but telling me their three year old child, five year old grandson or ten year old nephew, does the exact same thing doesn’t make me feel better.

Because it’s really not the same – at all!

It hardly seems like a fair comparison when your “child” is thirty plus and you’re still dealing with these behaviors every day.

Their struggle with a childish behavior problem occurs because their kid is still a child.  Jon is not.

Their struggle with these behaviors will end as their child grows and matures. Mine has not.

Any individual who asks about and takes interest in our son, so they can understand him better is greatly appreciated. He’s a remarkable person and we love him very much but comparing him or any other disabled adult to a toddler, elementary age or pre-teen child troubles me.

I don’t begrudge those whose children develop normally and I’m not angry because Jon didn’t. I’m simply in a constant state of living inside this reality.

Families and caregivers, who have put in years of loving and living with an adult with developmental delays are the ones who know…

It’s not the same at all!

Birthdays

I wrote this eight years ago when I turned fifty. In honor of my recent birthday and because my sister-in-law has requested it, I am posting it now.

Birthdays are celebrations that mark time, change, and the passing of years with swift regularity. 

I hit the ‘big 5.O’ on my last one and unlike some women, am happy to announce how many years I have managed to remain upright, breathing and relatively sane through all the ups and downs of my existence.

When I was very young, I remember thinking 50 sounded, well…almost dead, but now that I’m here it’s not so bad. 

I’ve survived childhood in a crazy (literally) family, many years of marriage to the same guy, being ‘the pastor’s wife’, raising two boys–one with developmental disability, thirteen years of home schooling, rheumatoid arthritis (since the age of 26), a flood, three hurricanes, a few close call tornadoes and a myriad of church going folks (sorry, but God’s family can be..hmm..let’s save that topic for another time!) and various other types of humanity.

It’s quite a resume and a lot to be thankful for.

My mind, still running with the enthusiasm of a twenty something, finds the number shocking, though the rest of me recognizes beyond a doubt, I’m undeniably 50! How did I arrive here so quickly? 

My husband, Mike, finds great joy in the fact that I turned fifty before him and absolutely loved it when the application for an AARP card came in the mail addressed to me.  He came up with eons of one-liners and witty jokes for days and weeks afterward.  But I remind him often that he’s not very far behind me and will hit that nice even number very soon.

David turned sixteen last month in the days following, took and passed his driving test.  When he pulled the old 1995 Acura we gave him out of the driveway and took off alone into the big wide world for the first time, I just stood in the window and watched him go, like a mother bird watching her little one jump off the edge of the nest to try out new wings. 

It was a strange sensation and I’m not sure there are words to describe what it was like watching that car disappear down the street and around the corner.  For now I’m glad that our “little bird” still returns to the nest whenever he and his new wings leave.

Jonathan’s birthday was yesterday and at twenty six, he is caught in a time warp. The years add up but, unlike his younger brother, he changes very little.  Occasionally I hear people say that they would like to return to the simplicity of being a kid again but Jon has never left. 

From my observation, there’s advantages and disadvantages to never growing up.  Like the Lost Boys in Peter Pan, Jon is often in a world of his own, one that doesn’t always mesh with the reality around him.  He can be joyously oblivious to the harshness of life, especially when it doesn’t directly affect him or be deeply frustrated when the real world presses in on him and becomes difficult to cope with or process.

This year, for reasons I can’t exactly define, my son’s birthdays made me sad and happy all at once.  Is it because they are at such opposite ends of a time spectrum as they age? One marking time with little growth, the other moving ahead so rapidly I can barely keep up?  Or is it that I’m just a sentimental, goofy, fifty year old, menopausal mom?  

There are moments I look forward to clocks, calendars and birthdays becoming non-essential items. In the meantime, I want to embrace every day as it comes, with the simplicity of Jon’s world and the exhilarating speed of David’s. 

At a half a century old, I’m still not sure I know how to do that, but by God’s grace I remain willing to learn.

Ephesians 5:15-17  Act like people with good sense and not like fools.  These are evil times, so make every minute count. Don’t be stupid. Instead, find out what the Lord wants you to do.

 

Offended

Proverbs 18:17 “The first to state his case seems right until another comes and cross-examines him.”

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It is unwise to make judgements based on a one sided story and limited facts. Be careful about believing everything heard or read. There’s always two sides to every situation, sometimes more.

When I don’t bother to obtain all the facts, assumptions are made founded on skewed perspectives. Relationships can be damaged, sometimes severely.

Picking up an offense that has nothing to do with me, based solely on what one person has said is a waste of my time, energy and emotion. It’s not worth it. I don’t need more drama in life than I already create on my own!

The Bible calls this gossip and also calls me foolish for partaking.

Jesus said offenses will come (Luke 17:1) and tomorrow has enough trouble of its own (Matthew 6:34) so why borrow offense from others?

If I’m not part of the solution, I shouldn’t make it my problem.

Quietly pray for all involved and move on.

Let God and the people concerned sort it out.

Proverbs 10:18 ESV “..whoever utters slander is a fool.”

Proverbs 17:9 ESV “Whoever covers an offense seeks love, but he who repeats a matter separates close friends.”

Matthew 18:15-18 (MSG) “If a fellow believer hurts you, go and tell him—work it out between the two of you. If he listens, you’ve made a friend. If he won’t listen, take one or two others along so that the presence of witnesses will keep things honest, and try again. If he still won’t listen, tell the church. If he won’t listen to the church, you’ll have to start over from scratch, confront him with the need for repentance, and offer again God’s forgiving love.”

Lessons From My Garden~Weeds & Bees

Observations made as I worked in my garden today:


Weeds don’t need any help to grow. 

They don’t need fussing over, fertilizing, pruning…most of the time they don’t even need water, but the plants providing the most beauty and benefit need diligent care and some Miracle Gro.


Lesson 1~God speaking: Check your heart often, Diane.  Weeds sprout up from nowhere and everywhere. Weeds of bitterness, resentment, anger, envy, gossip, lethargy, disillusionment…so many! 

They grow fast and are hard to pull out once firmly rooted. Get rid of them quick before they take over your universe!

Give attention to your heart’s essential growth. Fruits of love, joy, peace, kindness, lo-o-o-o-n-n-ng suffering, patience, goodness, self control…so many! 

They grow slowly but once rooted, are firmly planted. Keep them fed and watered until they take over your universe.

Me: “Yes Lord, You are my Miracle Gro and I submit to your loving cultivation.”

 

A bee buzzed in angry circles as I fertilized a plant where he was collecting nectar. 

I told him (Yes, I talk out loud to creatures and plants. So now you all KNOW I’m crazy), “Listen up Mr. Bee, I’m the one who put this flower here. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be enjoying it, so don’t get mad at me. There’s plenty more around here, so move it!”

Lesson 2~God speaking: “Diane, everything you have comes from Me, so don’t get mad at Me when I’m trying to make improvements in your life. Some may come disguised in perplexity and inconvenience but don’t be like that bee.”

Me: “OK Lord, got it. But you’ll probably have to remind me again tomorrow. I might forget. “

God speaking: “Well, just come back out to your garden. You’ll remember.”

Didn’t know a garden can teach you things?

Go plant one and listen.

Independence Day

Like all of us, my son Jonathan, craves independence – freedom.

How do I know this? 

Well, first of all I know my son. I’m with him more than anyone else. But the most convincing evidence is observance of his actions and reactions.

When he wanders off, he’s not running away (like the police who help us find him believe), he’s relishing the idea of going someplace on his own, without being followed or watched.

In a restaurant, he longs to make his own food choices and scowls if suggestions are made. Occasionally he refuses to sit with us and moves to another table. I’m not offended. I understand he wants his own space.

At the store, he chooses items he likes, with no regard for cost and becomes very aggravated when asked to put something back.

He likes to stay up all night so he can have freedom to do whatever he wishes, without someone telling him to shower, shave, take his meds, put on clean clothes and a myriad of other directives that steer him toward a bit of responsibility.

If rushed, he balks, often freezing in place, because he wants the freedom to do it in his time and his way.

Jon has few choices in life. To give my son a small taste of the independence he craves, I have become incredibly adept at appearing to be uninterested in what he’s doing while constantly watching or following from a distance. Sometimes I am called out for this by strangers in public places, who don’t understand. They accuse me of being inattentive.

Maybe they don’t understand that true love recognizes the unspoken needs and desires of another and makes allowances for them.

What Jon doesn’t comprehend is this; freedom is not a license to do what we want whenever we want. It is a privilege that directs responsible living. 

We are not given liberty for selfish means with no thought of the ripple effect our actions have on others. Freedom, lived out properly, sets us and everyone within our sphere of influence, free.

Choice is a wonderful thing but it also has consequences, not just for us but also for those around us. When Jon chooses to not take his meds and is sick, not be ready on time for an appointment, not be safe by wandering away, it affects us in colossal ways. 

His desire for independence does not encompass the enormity of the consequences created for those who love and care for him.

From the very beginning we understand God created man with options and never forces us to do, say or choose the right thing. He watches and follows us from a distance if need be, His heart bursting with love and concern for our well-being. 

We may push Him aside or away, but He is always waiting in the wings for us to choose righteousness, to choose what is best, to choose Him.

And when we wander far away, He recklessly searches for the one lost sheep, gathers it in His arms and brings it back to the safety of the sheepfold.

I’m not certain my son will ever understand how much he needs me, a flawed and often inadequate mother. 

I, however, never want to forget how much I need my perfect, powerful, loving God. My only hope for true freedom lies in knowing Him. 

He gave up everything, laid down His life so I could.

So you could.

Don’t see Him? Don’t feel Him? Turn around and look. 

There He is..watching and waiting from a distance, just like I do with my Jon.

He never takes His eyes (or His love) off of you. 

He is waiting to set you free.

Galatians 5:1 It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm,then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

2 Corinthians 3:17 Now the Lord is the Spirit,and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.

Tolerating Intolerance


A recent article in a disability newsletter I subscribe to states that the social networking site, Facebook, has problems with “pages featuring questionable content and misappropriated photos of those with disabilities.”  The company promises to do more to control this type of offensive and bullying behavior. (See link below).

I’m not sure it can. People still have the right to be thoughtless and rude if they choose. Human thought and speech, is hard to control without creating burdensome laws, rules and regulations for everyone.

I’m someone who’s tuned in to the offensiveness of actions and words. I have a developmentally disabled adult son who has been and still is the brunt of other people’s disrespect on occasion and I’m also a pastor’s wife. Over my lifetime, I’ve experienced enough crazy human behavior and offensive words from those two situations alone, to fill a volume of books.

We have more ways than ever before to be heard, yet our freedom to speak is under attack now more than any other time in recent history. The war of words rages on in America.

There is a great conflict arising in our post modern culture over what constitutes intolerance and how to legislate it. On one side of the issue, our priceless First Amendment protects our freedom to speak our mind. On the other side we have an emerging attitude that anything anyone deems offensive becomes “hate speech” or “racist” and should be banned.

One thing I’ve figured out; what one person might consider a free-to-express opinion, another may judge offensive, even hateful. There is no way to force everyone to see eye to eye, be nice or think the same way. We can’t control it all, not without becoming a totalitarian state.

Tolerance is defined in my 1976 edition of Webster’s Dictionary as: sympathy or indulgence for beliefs or practices differing from or conflicting with one’s own, the act of allowing something. 

The definition has not changed in the most recent edition. It’s quite clear, from this definition, we don’t have to agree with an opinion or difference to ‘allow’ it and that creates the new problem in our current culture. Obviously we need to regulate immoral and illegal behavior in a free and civil society but when disagreement is construed as intolerance; that is a dangerous road to walk down.

The new tolerance says we all must pat each other on the head, believe, feel and do exactly as “I or you don’t like me.” Is it not good enough to make allowances for each other anymore?

We all have issues we believe strongly and things we don’t tolerate well, but quite frankly, I’m tired of the labels we put on each other when there is conflict. Someone who doesn’t agree with a lifestyle is considered a hatemonger. Another person who believes in God, guns and the Constitution is considered a right wing radical. Other’s who think we all should live and let live are construed as left wing liberals. One group’s beliefs and opinion are perceived as suspect and dangerous if they differ from another.

If certain words are spoken, political correctness moves in to make sure there is just punishment. Journalists are fired, and cooks are removed from TV shows; then there’s the double standard of one group calling each other words that are suddenly offensive if another group uses it. Words that used to mean one thing have evolved into something else, so they aren’t usable anymore or they have come to define people in a way they were never meant to. It’s a crazy game of Scrabble!

Meanwhile, this patriotic baby boomer is standing here scratching her head, wondering what’s happening to First Amendment rights in my great country. There are days I don’t agree with my own husband, for goodness sake, and I still sleep next to him at night and I don’t call him names. We either work it out or agree to disagree – agreeably! That’s how we’ve managed to stay married for thirty eight years.

I’m not accountable for the words others say, but I do have a responsibility to speak the truth with grace and be a keeper of my own words. James 3:1-9 gives a sobering picture of our speech and paints the tongue as set on fire from hell, restless, evil, full of deadly poison and unable to be tamed. The Psalmist in chapter 141:3 asks God to, “Set a guard over my mouth, Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips.” I desperately need God’s help with this, because like most of us, I have difficulty doing it on my own.

I also get to choose to NOT be offended by everything others say, believe or live that disagrees with my point of view and convictions. I get to give another space to be who they are and allow God to fix them if necessary and hope they will do the same for me. I also get to state my opinion and listen to another, even if we don’t meet on every point.

Those who believe in the truth and authority of God’s word, understand there are teachings in its pages that are clearly intolerant of certain ideals and conduct. We are not required to give consent to everything and everyone but we are required to show love and respect to all, while defending what we believe.

America, we can’t have it both ways. We can’t preach free speech and then despise people for using it and we can’t preach tolerance while being intolerant to those who disagree with us.

But not to worry, I’ll still like you even if you disagree with everything I just said.

1 Peter 3:8-11Finally, all of you, have unity of mind, sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart, and a humble mind.  Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing.  For “Whoever desires to love life and see good days, let him keep his tongue from evil and his lips from speaking deceit;  let him turn away from evil and do good; let him seek peace and pursue it.


http://www.disabilityscoop.com/2013/06/11/facebook-problematic/18131/

 

It’s In Jon’s Room!

In the late 1990s a children’s fantasy movie, The Borrowers, was released.   

The story, set in a home in England, features a family of tiny people who secretly live behind the walls and under the floor and ‘borrow’ items from the humans also living there. 

 I’m convinced they are real and live in our house. 

A few days ago, I reached for the broom I keep in the linen closet of the master bath, so I could sweep the floor after I dried my hair.

Gone.

I needed my kitchen scissors to open a bag of almonds.

Missing.

I looked in the drawer for the cheese slicer to serve some cheese and crackers with lunch.

Not there.

Useful items grow legs and disappear around here regularly.

A friend had been missing her reading glasses for several months. 

While she was visiting one day, Jon came out of his room with a pair of glasses on his head. 

She points to Jon and says to me, “Hey, those look familiar, are they yours?”

“No,” I reply, “they’re not mine. I don’t know where they came from.”

Surprise, surprise! They were hers.

I find random items in Jon’s room all the time:  the wooden dowel handle that screws into the toilet bowl plunger, bills that need to be paid,  blank checks from our checkbook, a makeup brush that goes with my blush, the manual for the car from the glove box, Mike’s neckties from our closet and various kitchen utensils, to name just a few.

Recently I invited some mom’s and their kids over for a swim day in our pool. There were keys, sunglasses, phones and open tote bags full of things scattered around everywhere. 

Jon decided to help himself to two pair of kids flip flops that weren’t any bigger than his hand. It’s not like they would fit him and he’s always hated that thingy that goes between the toes. 

Who knows what goes on in that noggin of his? 

During David’s high school graduation, each graduate was encouraged to write a one-line acknowledgement to their parent(s), family or friends which was placed in a PowerPoint presentation and projected on several large screens during part of the ceremony. 

Sweet sentiments scrolled across the screen accompanied by the student’s name who penned them:

“Thanks Mom and Dad for all your support,” 

“I love you Grandma, you’re the best,” 

“Couldn’t have made it through without you, Friend.” 

“God bless you Teacher, for all you did for me.”

The crowd ooo-ed and awww-ed as we watched the quotes marquee across the screen and waited for the one meant for us. 

 Finally David’s popped onto the screen.

“It’s in Jon’s room!” was all it read, in a big, bold font.

As the crowd mumbled in bewilderment all around us, we burst into fits of laughter. 

For all the years David couldn’t find the essay he just wrote, homework and test papers, notebooks, pencils, pens, assignment books and algebra calculators, the answer to the question…

“OK, where is my________?”

…was always, “Go look in Jon’s room.”

The answer to that question has never changed.

If you come for a visit and are missing a few things when you return home, we know the first place to look.

By the way, I found the stick to my broom…guess where…? 

Jon’s room.

And the broom itself… behind the recliner in our bedroom.

Like I said…who knows?

Before It’s Gone Too Far

For the first time since it was built in the late 1990’s, our house can be seen from the street. Our home, which backs up to a lake and was, until recently, surrounded by trees and Florida’s wild palmetto and scrub brush in front and on both sides, has had a seclusion invasion.

A new house is being built on the lot next door. All the trees and brush on the north side of our home have been leveled and we are adjusting to the fact that very soon, a view of looming walls will be replacing nature on our northern horizon.

Our quiet acre of paradise has been invaded by backhoes, construction trucks and crews of workers wielding high decibel power tools and playing loud music, while attempting to converse over top of all the racket they are making. 

Two weeks ago we went outside after a rain and noticed water runoff, beginning near the side of the newly constructed foundation and flowing down, through the mulched area that stretches along the edge of our driveway between the two properties. A tiny rivulet of scooped out earth had formed and washed some of the bark mulch into our driveway gravel.

We pointed this out to the general contractor who promised to take care of it right away. 

He didn’t. 

A few days later after another hard rain, the first stream was larger and several more had formed. Now mulch and sand was washing down the driveway all over the cemented section in front of the garage. While I cleaned it up, the boss man looked it over and said he’d take care of it right away. 

He didn’t.

Several evenings ago we had one of the hardest rains I’ve seen in a while; one of those monsoon varieties with continuous thunder, lightning and a wide open fire hydrant sky, pouring torrential waters down from the heavens for well over an hour. It was one of Florida’s crazy, hazy summer afternoon rain storms.

When we went outside the next morning, an entire section of mulch and gravel and about one inch of sand that makes up the lower part of our driveway and its landscaped edge was washed up nearly to the garage door and under our cars. 

It was a mess. And I was upset!

I won’t bore you with the all the details of what happened next.  I will say that as soon as I went to the shed for a shovel and started digging the trench myself (that had been repeatedly promised) between our property and the construction site, reinforcements were quickly called in to help clean up the mess in our driveway. It took five of us about four hours to shovel, rake, sweep and pressure wash the driveway back to its original state. 

Apparently a fence company has been called and is supposed to come ASAP to put up a silt barrier. It will be buried eight inches under the ground along the edge of our property to stop the run-off and erosion into our driveway. I’m praying they come before it rains again.

I had a light bulb moment for my own heart, when I commented to Mike yesterday, “We all could have been spared four hours worth of sweaty, back breaking work in the hot sun if this had been taken care of back at the onset of the problem.”  

Hebrews 12:1 talks about the besetting sins that hinder us from finishing the course of our life; Song of Solomon 2:15, about the “little foxes that spoil the vine”; Hebrews 12:15, about the root of bitterness that left unchecked, grows until it defiles not only me, but many others; James 1:15 lays out the course of sin from a seemingly petty initial desire to conception and the end result.

It’s impossible to contain a river once it overflows. When I hand the destructive forces of my life over to God at their beginnings, while they’re still small, it allows for the eradication of problems that eventually swell out of control and run loose all over everything and everyone. I need to deal with my stuff before it’s gone too far. 

Inside the human condition, every tiny trickle and tributary left without God’s blueprinted boundary is potentially a mess in the making; a river of self destruction that flows farther and wider than we ever intended. Yes, thank God. He can restore. He can put us back together. He can repair the breach and clean up our mess, but it’s so much better if we just don’t go there at all.

May God help me commit every tiny area of my heart to His work of redemption, so the only thing flowing outward is the living waters of a life lived in Jesus. 

I pray every day what gushes from within me and all over you, is more and more of Him and whole lot less of me.

John 7:38 (ESV) Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’”

“A little thorn may cause much suffering. A little cloud may hide the sun. Little foxes spoil the vines; and little sins do mischief to the tender heart.”  ~Charles Spurgeon~

“Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.”  ~14thCentury Proverb~