Ireland

Today as I perused some very interesting pictures from albums labeled such things as “Capturing the American Character” to “Thrill Seekers and World Wonders”; to “Children of War” I felt air trickle from my lungs in slow, short puffs just before tears began their journey down my cheeks to drip from my chin. My heart crushed for the smiling or down-trodden looks on the faces of children living in war-torn countries, my adrenaline heightened at various acts of adventure, followed by the inevitable aha moment!

Who are we as Americans, anyway?

Under the heading Capturing the American Character I viewed children at Lemonade Stands, learning early lessons in entrepreneurship (the American dream), a boy named Pierre working in a potato field in Washington, a Chinese woman cultivating carnations on a flower farm in Carnation, Washington, Palestinian berry harvesters in Upstate New York, a small Swedish girl cradling a chicken on a farm in the Southeast, and a seventy-year-old Irish man holding a large watermelon grown in California.

It seems that many parts of the world have developed an entirely separate category for those of us sojourning here in the States. We’re simply Americans.  A calloused, greedy lot.  

In reality we are Dutch, French, Irish, British, Chinese, Japanese, German, Hungarian, Indian, Native American, Australian, Swedish, Jewish, Scottish, Palestinian, Mexican, Italian, African… and any combination thereof.  In every instance some sort of sacrifice was made.

Growing up I was told that I was Irish/Dutch. That brought a mysterious swell of pride to my chest. A sense of belonging – belonging to something bigger than me.

To this day, Celtic music ignites an amazing sense of familiarity within my soul.  So many are the times I feel transported.  Flown over ocean and vale to overlook the rolling hills of my homeland, finding myself right in the middle of an Irish celebration for which I had somehow never left.  As if my ancestors had never immigrated to America and fallen to their knees in thanks to their God as the grand Statue of Liberty came into view, exciting a sense of victory down to their very marrow.

The picture at the beginning of this blog is of my grandmother, Nettie Leigh (Delcie) Kelly Ayers.  She provided a large helping of my Irish heritage.  The picture at left is of my grandmother, Delcie, and my grandfather, Iverson (Bo) Ayers, Irish as well.  Can’t you just see him standing atop one of those luscious green hills, the wind blowing through his wavy, Irish hair? I can and it fills me with thanksgiving for my rich heritage.

You knew this would lead to something about my God.  It had to. 

An overused cliché some may call it, but it is as true as rain, fresh as spring and as comforting as a cup of hot mint tea on a cool May morning – we all, as Christians, are also sojourners here.  We belong to a different land, a kingdom, and a grand kingdom it is. Full of abundant heritage, provided to us through the great sacrifice of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

As much as I long to stand proud on a high, green hill in Ireland, Celtic music vibrating the foggy mist above the water, I long for the Kingdom of Heaven far more. John 14:2-3, Rev. 3:12, Mark 13:27

Ireland beckons me come, more so, Heaven calls me home!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ls8JGSxwjZQ (Love this song!)

Love and Blessings, Laura K.

The Truck and The Sippy Cup

This is a picture of my nephew, Isaac, just after his adenoid removal surgery. The look on his precious face makes me smile every time I look at it. He looks so satisfied. His mother, Joanna, told me, “Yep, he had his truck, his Sippy cup and he was good to go.”

Wow! Can you imagine the joy we could have if all we needed was a cup and a toy truck?

This really got me thinking. What two things could I rest in?

Dare I honestly proclaim to you today, “Yep, I’ve got Jesus, and the Word of God and I’m good to go”?

I so wish I could. And at the beginning of each day that is a very real statement. Yet, as the day progresses, my arms get loaded down with numerous, unnecessary things.

Worries, fear, heartbreak, selfishness, chores, work, wants, needs, and the list just goes on and on.

So… what’s a girl to do?

Let’s climb into the lap of Jesus together. 

Now it happened on the third day that Esther put on her royal robes and stood in the inner court of the king’s palace, across from the king’s house, while the king sat on his royal throne in the royal house, facing the entrance of the house. Ester 5:1

Have you ever imagined that you are dressed in your royal robes as you come to Jesus?

I have. Sometimes I even imagine that I am standing in His royal court. He beckons me to come. I get so excited and giddy I almost trip over the jewel-toned, iridescent fabric in my haste, hoisting it up as I plop down in His lap.

The royal daughter is all glorious within the palace; her clothing is woven with gold. Psalm 35:14

Wow!

You shall also be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. Isaiah 62:3

Euphoria does not even begin to explain my joy!

Then, He speaks to me.

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way. Psalm 37:23

Uphold my steps in Your paths, that my footsteps may not slip. Psalm 17:5

Anxiety in the heart of man causes depression, but a good word makes it glad. Psalm 12:25

A man has joy by the answer of his mouth, and a word spoken in due season, how good it is! Psalm 15:23

Yet, I leave my Lord’s lap to drudge on with my menial life, allowing every vexation to knock “the truck and Sippy cup” out of my hands.

So… I have a proposition for you. Let’s make a pact. We will make it a point to remind ourselves at least five times throughout the day of who we are in Jesus.

Swish that imaginary gown, straighten that crown, and speak those royal words to the nations! (Or… well, your neighborhood, place of business… J)

Can’t wait to hear how it goes.

Hmm, Now I have to come up with some princely scriptures for Isaac!

Until next time!

Love and Blessings, Laura K.

Parach Gerem Harar

 

Mamas and Their Babies

Today, I was perusing Mamas and Their Babies in Pictures (I have included some of those here), and viewed some of the sweetest animal mamas loving their babies.

Some of them reminding me of Leslie and me when she was a little one. We went together like peanut butter and jelly; hogs and slop; bread and butter; a fluffy white cloud and a baby blue sky. I carried her perched on my hip until she was four. At that point she was almost bigger than me, so I had to give it up!

Yes, at times, it was tiring. But I loved her so much (and still do); walking barefoot over hot coals would have seemed like a walk in the park when doing it for her.

Mamas love their babies.

After beholding some of the nurturing photos, I came upon a tigress looking as if someone had threatened her young cub. On the surface, um, not a loving sight. Nope, not one little bit.

Motherhood is randomly etched with very fine lines. Knowing when to and when to not cross those almost invisible plumb lines can be most bewildering.

And when you find yourself the mother of a developmentally delayed child, the ante is upped one hundred percent.

So… what’s a girl to do?

Pray, pray, pray! Sometimes the gleaned answers are unexpected. Causing us mothers to move outside our comfort zones. And believe me, I LOVE my comfort zone.

We are asked to go to bat for our children when we would rather sit tight and “wait on the Lord”. I like that phrase – wait on the Lord. It just rolls off the tongue. Don’t you think?

Just recently I found myself sitting in the lap of Jesus relishing in that very phrase when, out of nowhere, He stood up and I hit reality with a boom! “Go. Say what I tell you to say. I will be there with you.”

Whew! You can imagine my response. “Yes, sir!” I said, as I stood rubbing my backside. “But… I was just thinking. Wouldn’t it be more effective if you said it and I sort of hung out there for You?” I’m not sure, but I think He chucked just before He gave me a gentle push.

I love that Man, God, King! And I gotta tell ya, it was for Him that I obeyed. My Leslie’s sweet spirit is enough to cause me to do just about anything on her behalf. So you can imagine how much I love my Jesus. I hope beyond hope that, if it came down to it, I would have the courage to die for Him.

What He was asking me to do was huge, but compared to what He did for me and Leslie (suffering on the cross), it was a tiny drop in the ocean.

I obeyed Him. Now I just wait for the results. Whatever that might be.

Please join me this week in praying for Leslie’s future. May it, above all, honor and glorify the King!

Until Next Time!

Love and Blessings, Laura K.

Katie Milady and The Secret Kingdom

 

A Princess of the Most High God!

Today I decided to get a little personal.

As many of you know, my daughter, Leslie, is developmentally delayed. A condition that will follow her the rest of her life unless, of course, God decides to heal her. Her reading is very limited, her vision is poor, she is susceptible to seizures, she needs help grooming, and she is unclear on some daily tasks as to their complete meaning.

For instance, I can tell her, “Lock the door, and do not open it for anyone while I run to the Post Office.” She will do what I say, but she might or might not understand why. Even though I have explained it to her numerous times.

This leads me to my origin for this blog. I am Facebook friends with Carol Kent. Her son is serving life in prison for fatally shooting his wife’s ex-husband.  I mentioned him in a previous blog, but today I felt I wanted to muse a little regarding my and Carol’s common ground as mothers.

Her son will not have an opportunity to experience a “normal” life. That’s where I find my thoughts at inopportune times throughout my day when thinking about Leslie. I have read that Carol, as well, allows herself to meander down that road from time to time when focusing on her son.

For different reasons we as mothers (Carol and I) must face all the life-limitations that our children have been dealt. I know with her son it was a choice. In an attempt to protect his new step-daughter, he killed the man that continued to abuse her. Leslie’s confines were decided as no choice of her own. Yet, still, their situations are similar when viewed through a mother’s eyes. He in actual mortar and bars prison – my Leslie in the prison of her mind and body.

Every mother wants the best for her child. Better than she had or will ever have. So when she finds that her child will not have the best life can offer, and there is nothing she can do to change that, depression, hopelessness and defeat rush at her like a tidal wave.

Mornings dawn and shock renders her motionless. The realization, that she is still trapped inside the nightmare of her child’s life limitations, brings more waves crashing down. She wants to go back to sleep and try again and again. Hoping beyond hope that she will eventually wake up and the storm will be over.

She prays and knocks at the gates of Heaven. She begs God to give her child a chance. She attempts to strike a deal. “I will never sin again, if you will just heal my child.” She pleads. “What did I do to cause my child to suffer in this way? Is there any chance to remedy my wrongful ways?”

I know many of you immediately think to respond with encouraging words. “It was nothing you did. God loves your child and has a plan for her life.” And, please know those words are appreciated, but still do not completely dispel the torturous thoughts of the mother.

She hears the words, “God must think your child is very special. She’s so innocent and sweet. You are truly blessed.” Yet, would any one of them trade places? Would they really want to worry about their child’s future - the one without them? In old age, absent the ones she depends on for her day to day livelihood? Left to strangers who may or may not take care of her. Knowing she must completely depend on these people she may or may not have chosen. No possibility of a joyous wedding day. No children.

So… What’s a girl to do?

Whew! (I said that for you)

She crawls up into the lap of Jesus and cries her eyes out. Then she wipes her eyes and blows her nose, and hugs him real tight. He tells her it will be okay, and hugs her back. He tells her to look at the beautiful flowers and listen to the melodious song of the birds. He tells her of all the ways He has protected and provided for her and her child.

Beautiful stories flow from the mouth of her Savior that encourage her and strengthen her. She finds that she is not of this world, but of a kingdom. A kingdom where angels sing, the streets are the purest gold, her purpose is clear and her daughter is whole. She sees her precious child running through a meadow, happy and free - reading and achieving, thinking and understanding – making friends and soaring with the eagles. Angels are revealed as protectors, warriors and teachers.

She wonders if her daughter has a very special gift after all? To possibly aid in the healing of others even if her own healing goes undone? But how?

Then she is told that her little Leslie is a very important princess of the Most High God!

Thus, the story of Katie Milady…

Please check back next time for an excerpt from The Secret Kingdom.

Love and Blessings, Laura K.

Synopsis!!

I’m working on my synopsis, and I’m pretty sure God did not invent the idea.  It was obviously thought up by a torture inducing, misanthrope-sadist.  You’re probably thinking what an extra savvy writer I must be because I used the word misanthrope. Well, think again. I had to look it up.  It means “hater of all people”.

As much as I love to write, the word synopsis has now been struck from my dictionary.  Seriously, I found the Webster’s on my bookshelf, searched for the word “synopsis”, took out my red marker, and X’ed it out! Whew, I need some Krispy Kreme donuts, and a Dr. Pepper.

I’ve been thinking about this (I’m stalling), and I have deduced from hours of research (like I said – I’m stalling) that it is an absolute, ineluctable requirement to send in a synopsis with your first three chapters.  Don’t be impressed with the word ineluctable either.  I looked it up when I was defacing my dictionary.

Okay, I’ve stalled long enough.  Since it’s pretty certain I’m not going to find an agent that will forgo the synopsis and just let me drone on and on about my fabulous book. In person. In my living room. I’ll go back to my desk, pull up my synopsis on my computer and… eat a donut.

All prayers are (and will always be) greatly appreciated!

Until next time, love and blessings!

On Sunday, May 1, 2011, Pope Benedict XVI gave personal effort in moving his predecessor, John Paul II, one step closer to sainthood in the form of a resounding Mass drawing more than a million people to Rome.

Benedict beatified John Paul II, proclaiming him “blessed” by openly venerating his life work.

If you are like me, you might need a definition for beatify. If so, I have included one at the end of the blog, as well as, an explanation of canonization.

During said ceremony Cardinals kissed the casket of the late Pope John Paul, II in St. Peter’s Basilica following his beatification. (Picture above)

Later, the reliquary containing the blood of Pope John Paul II was placed on a pedestal by Sister Marie Simon Pierre.  Sister Marie testified that she was cured of Parkinson’s disease after praying to John Paul II.

A picture of the reliquary is at left.

Cristiana Arru, a lawyer from Rome, said, “Anyone who was in the piazza when he spoke felt as though he was speaking directly to them.”

The pomp and circumstance around the event seemed displaced. To use an old adage taken from a Shakespearean play, it was a lot of “much ado about nothing”. 

As I researched Sunday’s Vatican soiree I could not help but think of Jesus. After all He is the only true intercessor (Romans 8:34). And if you want someone to speak directly to you, try having a little talk with Him.

My imagination began to run wild.  For those that know me this does not come as a surprise. I imagined all the celebratory goings on in Heaven when one becomes a Christian (a saint), acknowledges the blood sacrifice and accepts the free gift of salvation.

Celestial beings, prophets of old, sacrificial saints, and all manner of animals jumping and cheering, while clanking cymbals; tinkling, drumming and blowing on an assortment of shimmering, silver instruments. Large choirs of angels singing as one smooth voice, rising and falling in volume. The beautiful smiling face of Jesus. Wow!  What a sight!

Now that's much ado about something!

Until next time, love and blessings!

Beatify - A recognition accorded by the Catholic Church of a dead person’s entrance into Heaven and capacity to intercede on behalf of individuals who pray in his or her name (intercession of saints). Beatification is the third of the four steps in the canonization process.  A person who is beatified is given the title “Blessed”.

Canonization - It is the act by which a Christian church declares a deceased person to be a saint, upon which declaration the person is included in the canon, or list, of recognized saints. Originally, individuals were recognized as saints without any formal process.Canonization, whether formal or informal, does not make someone a saint; it is only a declaration that the person is a saint and was a saint even before canonization.