If you have, you know the horrible feeling of helplessness—the intense angst. And when you found them to be safe, you know the ecstasy of relief that washes over you.

The Lost Toddler

When my son was two years old, he went missing right at dusk. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner when I realized the house had gotten quiet. I called his name. No answer. I went to look for him and found the front door open. His older brother and sister must have left it open when they left. I looked out the door and down the row of apartments, calling his name and scanning all around me for the little blond toddler. He was nowhere in sight. I ran back in the house and searched under beds, in closets, behind curtains, even in cabinets–everywhere a two-year-old could hide. Panicking I ran back outside and pounded on the doors of my neighbors. We had only lived there a few months and I didn’t know anyone. People came out and watched me search. Sadly no one helped. I raced to the swimming pool, playground, and laundry building.

It grew darker and streetlights in the complex came on. Suddenly, I realized he could have gone behind the apartment building where he could be lost in the acres of thick forest that grew back there. Tears filled my eyes. I ran behind the buildings but saw nothing but trees and their lengthening shadows. I hurried back in front of our apartment. Various thoughts played in my head. Call the police. Someone has taken him. He’s in one of these apartments and they are hiding him from me. Desperate, I screamed his name and frantically searched the complex again. No sight of him. Neighbors stood at their doors with their children and stared. Tears streamed down my face and blurred my vision. Sobbing, I prayed.

The Angel Hero

Then, in the far distance, movement caught my eye. I wiped my eyes and looked again. Soon, I could make out the figure of a man walking toward me, followed by a group of children. My heart leapt with hope.

I raced down the sidewalk toward them praying, “Please God, let my baby be with them.” And as I neared them, I was overcome with joy. My baby was being carried down the sidewalk on the shoulders of a large, very tall, very black man surrounded by several laughing and skipping children following him. The man grinned, a beautiful wide smile. He must have seen my relief. He chuckled and stood Micheál on the sidewalk. I hurried to him with open arms, and he padded toward me giggling.

I scooped him up and hugged him tight while I cried out my thanks to God and gave continuous gratitude to the stranger, this Angel, who found him. The man said his kids had found Micheál wandering around the apartment complex. He had placed Micheál on his shoulders so everyone could see the little blond, white boy in hopes someone would claim him before he had to call the police. God used this kind man to answer my prayers. My heart was full of rejoicing. I couldn’t stop grinning as I carried him home down the long sidewalk lined with cheering and clapping neighbors. Just the remembrance brings fresh joy.

Luke 14:4 The Lost Sheep

The relief and joy I felt reminds me of the parable in Luke 15:4 where Jesus told of the sheep who had gone astray. He said the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine and looks for this one lost sheep until he finds it. And when he does, he calls all his neighbors and celebrates. The anguish Jesus must feel when we, like sheep, wonder away not realizing that we’re lost and in danger. But Jesus, like the shepherd, will find us and carry us home. Jesus said, “I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

Luke 15:8 The Lost Coin

We often think of a coin as just “change” but what if it were your only coin representing all you owned? In Luke 15:8 Jesus tells of a woman who had lost her coin and swept her house looking everywhere until she found it. She too celebrated with great joy. Jesus said, “In the same way, I tell you, there will be rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Luke 15:11 The Lost Teenager

The LORD knows how many times we feel we’ve lost our teen. These years are the most agonizing for the teen and their parents. Our prodigal children can be lost in their own room, within their own thoughts. When we cannot reach them, we feel helpless. It is as if they have wandered out the door, like a toddler, and vanished. We search fretfully, cry and pray. But as Jesus tells us in the story of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15:11, when the boy came to his senses, he returned to the Father and with open arms his father received him and celebrated his homecoming.

Matthew 28 and John 15 The Lost Hope

In Matthew 28 and John 16, we read about the women who went to prepare Jesus’ body, but it was not in the tomb. Imagine their shock. Mary was grieved that someone had taken the Savior’s body. He was their hope, and not only had he died, but his body was gone. As the women walked along the path, they met a man they didn’t recognize as Jesus, but when Jesus identified himself, they became overwhelmed with joy and ran to drop on their knees and hug his feet. What relief and joy. The Savior was not only found but was alive!

The Celebration

We rejoice with genuine praise and thanksgiving when what we have lost is found. Our tears of grief turn to tears of joy. When all seems lost, we realize our only hope is in Jesus. There is no other who can soothe our sorrow, mend a broken heart, and give courage in the face of fear like Jesus can. He alone can return hope to our lives and to the lives of others. Praise God, even when you feel lost. Know that you are never really lost from Him. He always knows right where you are, right where your loved ones are, and He never leaves us or them alone. Trust Him. Our Hope.

Remember, wherever you are you are in the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post FROM LOST TO FOUND appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Have you yet been dealt a handful of health issues to contend with? It’s one thing to be a caregiver for others and help meet their needs, but it is quite a different feeling to need help yourself.

My experience these past months has been a lesson in coping with health issues. It’s not fun being sick. Just taking medication can be tiring, confusing, and stressful.

Medication

If you are dealing with health issues that require a complicated medication regimen, I recommend having a nurse help you set a schedule for when to take your various medications and then follow it. Otherwise, it can be overwhelming:

• Take this medication before any others.
• Take this med two hours apart from other meds
• take this other med three times a day.
• and this med four times a day
• and these meds two times a day

One medication had to be taken five times a day. All in addition to my usual daily medications.

What a schedule! Try to remember all that. Praise God many of them were short term medications and I am finally finished with that regimen, for now. I’m sure many of you can relate. When you are ill, there are doctor appointments, test appointments, follow-up visits, pharmacy trips, and physical therapy exercises to be done; certain foods to eat, or not eat, and it can be stressful when you have other things to do besides being sick.

Editor Appointment

In the middle of all this, I had an editor Zoom appointment to present two of my books in a new novel series. One of the books is complete, the other is still in progress. Funny story, the editor interview was within five minutes of one of my doctor appointments and the doctor allowed me to stay in the exam room to take the call.

Good News

The editor wants to see both books and said to tell the agent to send them to her.

“Woo-hoo!!” I shouted when I hung up. How exciting. But even good news can be stressful. Now I had to finish the second book, and I just couldn’t think. On top of that, my doctor recommended I needed to relieve some stress. Therefore, though I am excited, I’ve had to take some time off from writing to deal with these health issues and tension. I’ve had to adjust my attitude and accept a slowdown in my life.

I read a lot while lying around and have gained knowledge and encouragement. Especially from Allie Pleiter’s book, How to Write When Everything Goes Wrong.

Peace and an Attitude Adjustment

Between the medication and rest, I am feeling better. I still have a few follow up tests and appointments, but with the peace and attitude change, I think I’m ready to get back to the writing I feel God has called me to do.

You would think as much as I love to talk, that I would have no problem writing, but if you think it’s easy, it’s not. Writing requires a lot of thought and daydreaming and can produce anxiety. (Remember high school English papers?) I often think of something I want to write about then after I’ve written it, I second guess the idea and put it off.

Meanwhile, time passes.

Thankfully, Pleiter’s book has practical exercises that helped me get back on track. But it is her acknowledgement that creativity is harder when your mind is cluttered, that I found the most encouraging. I thought, She gets me.

I’d love to hear from you, my readers to know what you’d like me to talk about, and have you share ideas and experiences of your own. Please take this opportunity to leave a comment.

Remember wherever you are you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post When Health and Life Collide appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Have you ever felt like your prayers were dry? Cold?

Sometimes I shoot out bullet prayers. Quick, short and to the point: “God watch over this person.” Or “Thank you Lord for protecting me from that wreck I almost had.”  “Forgive me God. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Or I might see a homeless person and pray, “LORD I don’t know their circumstances, but you do. Be with them, give them peace and help them find shelter and warmth in You.” I might see a hitchhiker and pray, “LORD be with that person and with anyone who picks them up. Keep them both safe. I pray they are neither one evil. “

At times I lay awake at night and pray. “LORD, here I am again. I can’t sleep. Lots of things are on my mind.” I run names through my mind like counting sheep, trying to focus so I can rest my thoughts. I pray for forgiveness and for Him to help me to help others, and to care about others more. “

I just tell God things throughout the day and during the night when thoughts pop up. I’m talking to God, and that is prayer, isn’t it? Maybe. I like to think it’s what Paul meant when he said, “pray without ceasing?” But is that an excuse for not spending more extended time with God?

I don’t know. I only know that I’m hungry for more. I’m hungry for the satisfaction of feeling God’s Spirit move me when I pray. I want to feel His presence so intensely that I get chill bumps. To shed tears of joy or of conviction. To have an emotional experience.

If I’m praying all the time over everything I see in the news or see on the side of the road and if I’m asking God to do things for me and others, but don’t hear Him speak back, how do I know He hears me? How do I know He cares?

And yet you know what?

He does speak back. Even now I hear Him saying how He hears me–that He speaks to me through His word, through nature, circumstances and through other believers. I’m just not listening.

I do Bible studies and read teacher’s and preacher’s opinions and examine their interpretations of what scripture says, but unless I read it for myself daily, I find sporadic reading of this scripture and that, is like nibbling. I’m not getting a full meal and therefore, I’m missing the full satisfaction of God‘s word.

How do you pray?

Bullet prayers? How do you spend your quiet time? Nibbling on God’s word? Or do you get nourished with a full meal? Sometimes, I write in my journal, bring concerns to the LORD, and read a daily Bible verse, but again it’s just nibbling, not really getting what I need. I’m not being fed when I dabble. I’m hungry so when I’m not satisfied, what do I do? I go grab some chips or chocolate, but what I need to do is grab some chapters out of the scripture. Not just a verse or two.

What does it say about me that I’m not satisfied with my prayer life? That after sixty some-odd years of being a Christian that I still struggle with prayer? Do you struggle? I may not have the formula down, but I know I talk to God, and I know that is what prayer is and I trust/have faith that He hears me and will answer me if I listen. I also know listening involves reading bigger chunks of His word.

Bless the Lord oh my soul and all that is within me, bless His holy name. Bless the Lord oh my soul and forget not all His benefits for He pardons me, He heals me, He redeems me, He crowns me, He satisfies me, and He renews me. Psalms 103: 1-5

Father, God let me turn to You more. Let me feed on your word, memorize it, and help me remember it’s okay to hunger for You, LORD. It doesn’t mean I am not close to you. It just means I want to be even closer. As the deer pants for streams of water so my soul pants for You, God. Psalms 42:1

Hope you, my friends, are inspired to seek God in bigger chunks of time and bigger chunks of His word.

Remember, you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post Do You Ever Hunger for God? appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Christmas trees have been decorated since the 16^th century and even have some history dating further back than that. They have been my favorite to decorate for years and yet they can sometimes be the most expensive.

My husband and I have experienced fifty years of decorating for Christmas together. Our first was before we married. We were just beginning to date. He brought two tall, beautiful fir trees to my parent’s house. One for us and one for our church. He made quite an impression on our pastor and my mother, though my dad was a bit humbug about it. Skeptical, he wanted to know where he got them, how much they cost, and how he could afford two of them. I didn’t hear the answers. I must have been too busy decorating.

William’s Tree Yard

However, our first Christmas as a married couple, my husband took me to get our first Christmas tree. Strangely, we went to his friend, William’s house. I thought maybe he and his family were going tree shopping with us. But no. Instead, William led us into his back yard where Christmas trees lined the wooden fence. He said I had my pick. Some were tall and some short and round, some were thin and bare. I thought of the trees so generously given the year before, and my dad’s response. I surveyed the fence line. Knowing, but not wanting to know the answers to Dad’s questions. That was the last time we went Christmas tree shopping at William’s “tree yard”.

Years later, the truth came out. Late at night, (two years in a row) in the cover of dark, after a neighborhood Christmas tree lot had closed, two inebriated young men stealthily lined Christmas trees on their side in two rows just wide enough apart for a ‘67 Mustang to drive between them. Then as the Mustang steadily made its way down the center, each young man leaned out the window on his side of the Mustang, and each grabbed the lower branch of a tree. Then gunning the engine and spinning the wheels the driver took off. Hanging onto the trees, they dragged them down the street beside them, heading through a neighborhood to a small brick house with a wooden fenced back yard. Returning to get another set . . . or two. (What is the statute of limitations for stealing Christmas trees? I hope we are past it as I publish this story.)

More Traditional Adventures

After that revelation, we’ve had more traditional adventures finding a Christmas tree. Once, we hiked through the East Texas woods where we’d bought property, which we no longer own, in an area called Cactus Jack. When we found the best tree we could find, we hauled it through the briars and underbrush back to our car and tied it on the top.  Another year, we just found a stand of young pine saplings and tied several together to make them into one tree full enough to decorate. Through the years, we bought trees from tree lots too. Having a tree is always important to me.

I guess I am dazzled with the idea of bringing the outdoors in, and the lights and ornaments seem like a celebration. And now, I know it is. It has, for me, become the glorious celebration of the birth of our Savior, Jesus, THE Christ. There is a children’s story of how a tree became the manger, then another tree became the cross, and since then, trees have come to represent the coming of the Lord of All. How the Holy Prince of Peace lowered Himself to be born a human. Humbled Himself to live among us so that He who knew no pain could feel our pain. He came to suffer in our place to pay for the crimes we commit against the Throne of God. Since the penalty of the crime against God is death, Jesus came to pay the price of death for us. As a man, He endured the pain and suffering, but as God, He conquered death. When He rose from the grave, He made the way for each of us to find freedom to approach the Holy Throne of God and be forgiven. But we must approach the Throne and ask for forgiveness to be forgiven.

We celebrate the baby Jesus, but the baby becomes a man, a God-Man. I love the tale of the Prince and the Pauper, where the prince chooses to live among his people, to see what life is like for them. But Jesus didn’t just live among us, He took the ridicule and defacement and then died as a pauper, only to be glorified by His Father the King as He came alive again. The Christmas tree reminds me of all this. Of the Heavenly realm. A world we know little about. A world of Angels and light. Where Beauty overcomes the dark places of our brokenness.

In our early years together, Bill and I didn’t get many Christmas gifts for each other, and if all I could get would be the tree, it was enough.  I’m so determined to have a tree to decorate, that one year, I took a Wild Holly branch and stuck it in a bucket and decorated it.

Christmas Tree Farm

The most fun and most memorable times involving a Christmas tree I can remember, is when we went to a Christmas tree farm several years in a row with my sister, Laura and her husband, Frank. Hot chocolate, a hand saw, and acres of trees to choose from. We usually found perfect trees. But one year we all looked for what seemed hours and couldn’t decide on a tree. Bill and I came up with a brilliant idea. Pick the most unique, ugly tree and save it. Soon we saw it from a distance. A tree of long bare limbs with rounded puffs of green needles on the ends among a mix of full-needled branches stood about eight-foot-tall. The top leaned over in an arch with a heavy tuft of green ball on its end. For some reason it reminded me of a Grinch Christmas tree. We loved it and decorated it with fun, festive, and colorful ornaments. The kids all loved it. The once sad, neglected tree was well loved.

Another year, we found a seven-foot-tree with a perfect shaped top for the first foot, then a two-foot bald trunk which descended into limbs that lay flattened across the top of a flared, full, thick, three-foot bottom. We decorated the flattened area with artificial snow and lay a little toy, battery operated train on a track that circled the tree. Another fun, yet beautiful tree.

We spent many years at that tree farm hunting trees. The farm has since closed, and Laura and Frank have moved to the hill country. We miss those fun times and creative effort to find and decorate our tree. Now, we have an artificial tree, courtesy of QVC. It snaps together with lights already in place.

Our kids are grown and live away. They have families and Christmas trees of their own now, so the tree decorations are hung mostly by me. (A few by Bill.) A mug of hot chocolate or coffee and some Christmas music plays in the background. I still love putting the decorations on the tree. Then I sit and look at the memories decorating our tree. Trinkets and treasures my children have made. Tiny collections I’ve held on to. Little gifts for a Joyful praise. A Hallelujah. A tribute of Joy to the New Born King. A dazzling delight to be the focus for the nativity scene that rests in the quiet branches of solemn awe that rise with a crescendo of angels, bells and lights toward the Heavens— to the star on top that reminds me of the star that shown so bright that night.

Why do you decorate a tree? Or do you?

Some say, “Why bother, no one will be here to see it.” Others don’t decorate a tree because they can’t afford the perfect tree, or don’t have room. Please write and share your story with us. Maybe decorating a tree isn’t a tradition or even important to you. For me, memories surrounding our Christmas trees through the years have been meaningful. Not always good memories, but meaningful ones.

I wish you a Joyous Christmas. A time of reflection and a time of Peace. A time of celebration. Whether you are alone or in a house full of family and friends. Jesus sees you. He loves you. Celebrate Him.

Remember, wherever you are, you are in the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

The post The Christmas Tree appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Have you ever experienced a miracle? Would you believe it if you did? Do you even believe in miracles? Maybe you call it a coincidence, but we all have miracles in our lives. It’s just a matter of recognizing them. I believe miracles are God’s way of showing us He cares, and that He’s watching over us. If you will notice, miracles require us to need something. We are struggling with some aspect of our lives. We are either praying for ourselves or someone else to recover, overcome, or succeed in some endeavor. Don’t get me wrong, I know there are times I need a miracle and I don’t get one. God doesn’t always reveal to us why.

Miracles don’t happen when everything is going smooth. I realized this while listening to a podcast this week by April Perry (LearnDoBecome.com) She shared a story from the Old Testament of a widow who during a drought had gotten down to her last meal. The Prophet Elijah came to her hungry and thirsty. He requested water and bread. The widow gave him a cup of water, but had to admit she only had enough flour and oil to make bread for her and her son’s last meal. Then they would wait to die—starve.

Elijah told her not to be afraid. He told her to first make a small loaf of bread for him, and then make something for herself and her son. Then he added: “For this is what the Lord God of Israel says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain on the land.’”

I don’t know about you, but that sounds like an extremely bold request from Elijah. That widow had to trust him to speak the truth of God, and then have faith God would provide for her and her son.  The widow must have had a heart for God and discerned this was a possible miracle for, unselfishly, she baked a bread cake for Elijah first. She then went back into the kitchen, and to her surprise was able to make another loaf for her son and herself. She continued to have enough oil and flour to support them until the Lord sent rain. Just as Elijah said, it did not run out. (I Kings 17:10-16)

It was a depressing time in my life. I had been laid off work and we only had one income. Living from payday to payday, again. This wasn’t my first rodeo. Do you know what I mean? We had encountered several financial setbacks, and my pantry and fridge were bare again. I felt like that widow. But I had been here before, and knew God would provide.

Like the time we lived in Galveston and a bunch of teenagers stayed the week on our living room floor. We had been fishing and crabbing to put meat on the table, and not always with much luck. One morning, I tiptoed through the bodies, pillows, and blankets strewn on the living room floor to get to the kitchen where I found a sink full of crabs and fish iced down. Those kids had been fishing all night. We made enough gumbo and fried fish to last until payday. What a miracle that was.

Another time, when my kids were little and we were down to a can of creamed style corn, flour, peanut butter and syrup, I made what we called Indian bread. Mixing it all together and frying it into pan cakes, then smearing them with peanut butter and syrup. We’d had it before multiple times, but then it was a treat. This time, it was all we had left as we struggled to wait until payday again. This was on a Sunday after church, and my brother-in-law came to visit for the afternoon. He had a cup of coffee and left. He came back later with bags of groceries including formula for the baby. I believe God sent him to us that day.

But this day I had felt beat down. More so than the times before. I knew like the widow that we would be ok, but I mean at my age, why were we fighting this battle again? My hope and frustrations overwhelmed me. Needing a refreshing word, I went to a women’s Bible study. After the study, the women planned a meal for a family in need, and too proud to admit I was also in need, I agreed to bring potato salad. It was the one thing I knew I had the ingredients for without having to go to the store.

When I got home, I gathered eggs from the hen house and set them and some potatoes to boil. I made a double portion as well as a pot of pinto beans and cornbread for my family’s dinner. I pulled and washed green onions from our garden, and once the potatoes and eggs were cooled and peeled, I set out the condiments. When I reached for the large jar of pickles in the back of the refrigerator, I realized it only had juice. I stirred, and looked, and stirred again. No pickles.

I sank to the floor in front of the refrigerator with that jar in my arms, and cried. It wasn’t really the pickles or even my pride of not being able to make the potato salad. It was like the last straw that broke the camel’s back. I just couldn’t bear anymore. The burden of life seemed so heavy. After a good cleansing cry, I prayed and as usual, found God’s peace. I sniffed and stood, set the jar of juice on the counter and revised my plan. The green onion would give the potato salad color and the pickle juice would provide the needed bit of flavor.

I chopped the eggs, onions and potatoes, added mayonnaise and mustard, and with another sniff and a sigh, I dipped a tablespoon into the pickle juice. The spoon met with something solid. I looked inside the wide mouth jar and didn’t see anything but cloudy juice. Slanting the gallon jar, I leaned over to see what I was hitting, and was shocked to see a pickle floating around on the bottom.

What? I knew I had looked good the first time and there were no pickles. I was sure. Wasn’t I? Yes, I was sure. Very sure. God produced that pickle from my tears and prayers, and no one can tell me any different. I didn’t really need it for the potato salad. My plan would have worked well enough, but I needed that pickle to remind me God cares. He’s always watching out. Even for the smallest things.

Do you have miracles in your life you are chalking up to coincidences? Take another look. You may be overlooking a miracle. When times are tough, Miracles happen. Next time your life seems too heavy to bear, have a good cry and look for the miracle. Expect it. It may be small,  seeming coincidental, but God wants to show you He loves you. He’s there watching out for you.

Remember, wherever you are in life, you are at the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post MIRACLE PICKLE appeared first on Shelia Shook.

CONCLUSION

I kept putting off writing this blog post because I thought it was going to be hard, mind-boggling, time-consuming, and I was afraid of being embarrassed and possibly rejected by you, my readers. I found though, once I got started, I was interested and felt drawn to discover more about procrastination and myself. I discovered Dr. Barbara Oakley’s website as well as LearnDoBecome.com with Alice and Eric Perry. Two great sites which I have added to my favorites. Writing this article is important to me. Very important. I’m glad I finally got started. Having written it, I can say in all honesty, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I am no longer overwhelmed by it. And I faced my fear of rejection and found I can allow myself to be vulnerable to you.

In Procrastination Part I we discussed the definition of procrastination. LearnDoBecome.com Radio, Podcast Episode #21, Alice Perry has a great interview with Dr. Matthew May where he explains there is a healthy form and an unhealthy form of procrastination. He says procrastination is “sometimes necessary”. It’s true, we are forced to procrastinate when we set priorities. So, it isn’t always that we don’t want to do a task, just that it is not as important as something else. This is where we need to consider the connection to our values. Dr. May says negative, unhealthy procrastination comes in to play when we repeatedly put off a task. That’s why it’s important to ask why we procrastinate one task more often than others.

In Part II, we looked at way to stop procrastinating by identifying our attitude toward the task and changing it. Then linking the task to our values. I used the task of weeding flower beds as an example. It is a dirty, ongoing task that I often put off, sometimes for good reasons, other times because I simply don’t want to do it. Repeatedly putting it off has made it monstrous—overwhelming. Do you know what I mean? Well, I have worked on the flower beds in my courtyard all week and wanted to be able to tell you in this blog that I completed that monstrous task, but then Tropical Storm Imelda blew in and all my efforts were washed up. Literally. However, I am elated that I have made such strides in completing this task and I am committed to finish when the weather clears again. Watch my Facebook page to see before and after photos.

In Part III, I wanted to share a couple of tips that have helped me the most.

First, just get started! Remember, getting started is half the battle.

Second, if you can’t finish a project in one sitting, eat that elephant “one bite at a time.” Try setting a timer. Chomp on part of the project until the timer goes off. Like Alice Perry says, boil it down to the very next step. Make a list of these “next steps” and spend ten minutes focused on getting as much done as possible before the timer goes off. You can then stop or go to the next step. These small increments give you the opportunity to feel a sense of accomplishment in just a short time.

Third, JUST GET STARTED. (It bears repeating.)

Procrastination is tricky. It takes commitment, but the peace of mind provided by tackling it is a great reward. We’ve only touched on some of the problems it can create for us, and I’m sure we will come back to it. Hopefully, each time we can’t seem to get a task underway, we will ask those hard questions found in Part I and discover why not”? And why not start, now?

I’ve learned a lot from studying this subject and it’s been good for me. Remember the poem I shared in Part I that I’d written in college? Well, I want to share a little poem I wrote this morning in answer to that one. Hope you like it.

Looking back, I can see

The life I’ve lived,

I’ve lived for Thee.

My dreams, my plans, not far ahead.

I live out loud,

Not in my head.

I’ll change my world as I onward go,

With where I’ve been, with who I know.

No wondering what I’m going to be;

 I know who I am, who others see.

Oh, but tomorrow,

Still illusive it seems.

I live today and continue to dream.

Excited and hopeful,

I now understand,

Today is tomorrow

Again, and again.

Write and tell me the task you most often procrastinate. Do you know why? Have you overcome a habit of procrastination you would like to share? Write and tell us how you overcame it.

Remember, wherever you are, you are at the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post PROCRASTINATION PART III appeared first on Shelia Shook.

IN THE PRESENCE OF A KING

Standing in my black power suit and heels amidst soldiers in ancient armor; in a room with at least twenty-foot ceilings and folds of gold and purple fabric covering the walls, I felt small. The power suit had lost its power when the soldiers lifted me by the arms off the cobblestone street in the middle of some ancient marketplace. How did I get here? In this time and in this place? And where is here?

A large winged creature with beautiful sea-blue eyes hovered in front of a jeweled throne facing me, blocking my full view. There were no windows in this room, yet light filled the room. The stones embedded in the gold throne shimmered and sent their colors like a rainbow out from it. All around me, I saw throngs of people wearing gleaming white robes held together by a red sash and sitting on white carved stone benches that rose like stadium seats. Red hoods covered their heads and shoulders. I couldn’t tell if they were male or female.

All at once, I was on my knees. The soldiers and the crowd had fallen to their knees as well. Only the winged creature remained erect. Then he folded his wings and sank to the ground on one knee in front of me. His blue eyes held mine until he pivoted and lay prostrate on the floor facing the throne. That’s when I saw the source of light came not from the jewels, but from the brilliant figure of a man seated on the throne. It was impossible to see his face. The light burned my eyes like the sun at noon on a cloudless day.

I lowered my head, unable to look into the light. Instead, I looked at the ragged edges of my black skirt, the tattered jacket and once crisp white blouse now a dingy gray-like so many washings in tainted water. Unbeckoned, tears filled my eyes and my throat tightened. I clutched my aching chest. Emotion overwhelmed my resolve to remain strong. I closed my eyes against all the light. I felt exposed. I tried to pull my tattered jacket around me and tore a seam down the back. Wet with perspiration, the dingy white blouse became transparent. I felt naked and ashamed. Sobbing in front of the throne. When the figure stood, I fell flat on my face to the cold marble floor. I wanted the ground to absorb me.

Once my tears were spent and my shame revealed, I sensed a quiet peace. The crowd collectively breathed a sigh, and I lifted my chin from the floor. The figure on the throne now stood before me, His feet covered in old brown leather sandals. Each foot bore scars the size of a quarter. I followed the muscled legs to the hem of a brilliant white robe tied with a purple sash. He wore a purple hood that draped his head and shoulders. I couldn’t make out his face. The light too bright. But when his strong, lean hands reached to lift me up, I saw scars like those on his feet marked his palms and I knew who He was. Before He gently pulled me to my feet, I knew Him. I knew where I stood, and who I stood before.

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Then she began to decline. Sleeping all the time, and not wanting to eat or drink. We decided the decline was because while she was in the hospital, she didn’t receive any of her routine medications and since she’d been in rehab, they’d started her back on her regimen. Thus, we hoped the medication was what made her sleepy. The doctor agreed to discontinue most all the medication, and we waited for her to perk up. But she didn’t. She steadily got weaker, continuing to sleep through most of her meals. Taking bites and sips and only that with much coaxing and cuing. When mom kept refusing to eat or drink, we agreed to call in hospice.

Even then, even with her barely conscious state, I was in denial. You would think as a long-time hospice nurse that I would recognize end of life symptoms. They were there, I was just not able to see them. I declared that Moma had eaten well just on Friday, and my younger sister pointed out that mom hadn’t eaten more than sips and bites since the Friday before. It had been more than a week, yet it seemed to me it had only been a few days. Time had stood still. Everything ran together. We had sat at her bedside night and day, taking turns for short breaks to shower. I didn’t know what day it was from one to the next. We were all living on adrenalin and coffee, napping in chairs, but we were together.

During her last days, at different times, she managed to take each one of us by the hand and bring it to her lips. She loved us and knew we loved her. I think now, she was saying goodbye. We talked about fun memories, thanking her for being our mother. We forgave and asked for forgiveness. We sang hymns and old folk songs to her. In the wee hours of the morning someone would start to hum a tune and someone else would join in until we were all awake and singing. A very sweet and poignant time we will all remember.

Not only did we lose our Mom, we lost a friend, and . . . a child. You see, in many ways, Moma was a little girl. Once she said to me, “I’m tired. You be the momma for a while.” Sweet Moma. She could be the most fun and most frustrating all at the same time. She would pout like a little girl when she didn’t get her way or if you corrected her. She had been diagnosed with dementia seven years ago, and when she passed, she had regressed to possibly a five or six-year-old. She still knew all of us, and most of the time understood where she was and what was going on. It was such a blessing that we never had to see her reach the infant stage of dementia, the stage of being bedbound, not being able to speak or feed herself.

Mother’s Day, I had helped get her ready for church. I handed her a tube of lipstick and as always, she put it on beautifully without a mirror. Of course, then she’d have to check to see if it was on straight, and yes it was, every time. She’s known quite well at church for her hearty, “Amen” comment throughout the sermon and her beautiful voice during song services. Truthfully, Moma was a little attention hog, and was not ashamed that I had to park her wheelchair in the center aisle of her church. She felt at home, surrounded by people who loved her and always stopped by to give her a hug and say hello on their way to their seat. After services we went to her favorite restaurant: Jose’s Mexican, and met my granddaughter, Daisy. She and mom had a bond, a fun banter. And this day was no different.

On Tuesday she and I played dominoes and she won. Then two weeks later, Tuesday, 5/28/19 she passed from this life to live in Heaven with Jesus and her momma, daddy, siblings, and friends who had passed before her. We all miss her terribly, and I know more intimately the loss my patient’s families suffer. I am sure I will write more later. But for now, God bless you and thank you for your indulgence.

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When plans change or we suddenly change our mind without knowing why, look out! It could be a Divine interruption in our day. Has that happened to you before? What were the circumstances? Did you meet someone new? Or run into an old friend? Maybe you find yourself making small talk with a stranger that turned out to be more significant than you thought. Let me share my story. As usual, I’ve changed the names to protect the privacy of patients and their families.

I completed my hospital visit around eleven p.m. Tired and ready to get home, I pushed the button for the elevator, but decided to run into the lady’s room next door first. I put my hand on the bathroom door and the elevator dinged its arrival. No matter, I’ll use the one downstairs. Arriving at the first floor, I left the elevator for the lady’s room. It was empty when I went in, but when I came out of the stall to wash my hands, a young thirty-something woman stood with her back to the sink. Quick eye contact. I washed my hands, and she turned to face the mirror. Again, eye contact. I smiled. She responded with a sad smile, her eyes red-rimmed. I dried my hands and turned to leave the restroom. Then I heard it. An inner voice that said one word: “Speak.”

I glanced back over my shoulder as I tossed the used hand towel. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “No.”

I moved back to her side. “I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

She started crying. “My brother-in-law. He’s in the emergency room and…” she hesitated. “It’s not good.”

I put my hand on the young woman’s shoulder, and she cried for a few minutes before explaining he’d been fighting cancer for over five years. “Now he just can’t fight anymore.”

I hugged her. Not knowing what else to do, I asked, “Can I pray for him?”

“Oh yes,” she quickly responded and took both my hands. “Let’s pray for Jimmy.”

 I don’t remember the words I used, but I prayed that God would give Jimmy and his family comfort and peace; and give wisdom to the doctors. We don’t always know and understand God’s will, but I prayed His will be done in the situation. Then, my new friend, Marie, said a short prayer and we hugged. It was as if we’d known one another for years. We agreed we felt like long-lost sisters or something. I asked if Jimmy believed in life after death and she said she didn’t know. She didn’t think so because she’d tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen to her. We prayed again for God to open Jimmy’s heart and send someone to talk to him—someone he would listen to. We stood in that first-floor bathroom for nearly an hour, praying and talking. Marie was a missionary and often spoke to people about God’s love and mercy. I explained I had first stopped at the restroom on the second floor. She admitted she had no idea why she had even come to the lady’s room, she didn’t have to use it. She’d just felt the need to come to this restroom, and not the one in the ER. We both laughed at how God had planned our meeting. Marie’s faith was so strong, it occurred to me I might be in the presence of an Angel.

My clipboard, sitting on the sink, had the name of my hospice company where I worked, and she asked for a business card. I gave her my name and number.

“Please call me, anytime you need to talk or pray. I will keep you and Jimmy and your family in my prayers.”

She thanked me, we hugged again, and said goodbye. As I drove out of the hospital parking lot, I wanted to go back and find Marie and Jimmy. Why hadn’t I offered to pray with Jimmy tonight—share my belief in life after death? I wanted to go back and help him find hope, but I only knew their first names. I’d have to search each cubicle to find them. I turned onto the road leading home and prayed, knowing God could answer prayers with or without my being present. I felt blessed and gratified with a smile I couldn’t erase. I’d had a chance encounter. God had a plan to help this young woman find peace and a friend, and He allowed me to participate. Thank you, Lord.

The next day, I awoke with the incident on my mind, and again prayed for Marie and Jimmy, and their family. When given report for my shift that night, I was told I had a new admission in the Emergency Department, named Jimmy. My jaw dropped, my eyes widened, and my heart beat faster. Surely this was “my” Jimmy. I couldn’t wait to see Marie again and meet Jimmy and the family. And sure enough, when I arrived, Marie was there. I was thrilled.

“I knew it was going to be you,” she said and hugged me. “I just knew it!” Her excitement was contagious. She introduced me to Jimmy’s wife and teenage daughter, along with the rest of his family. They greeted me with hugs. Jimmy was wearing an oxygen mask and appeared asleep. He opened his eyes, but was so weak he could hardly speak. He began to mouth words I didn’t understand. His family came close, and as they communicated in Spanish, I prayed. They introduced me, and he smiled weakly. Afterward, I spoke to the ED doctor and nurse managing his care. Then, his wife and her sister met me in a small area where we discussed the hospice philosophy and end of life progression. Resigned, his wife had accepted Jimmy would not get any better, and said he was tired of fighting the cancer. I consoled her and allowed her to grieve and ask questions. Once she signed the admission paperwork, we moved back to the ED cubicle where I completed the nursing assessment and admitted Jimmy to hospice. He and his family were grateful.

Before leaving, I asked Jimmy again if he were in pain. “No,” he said.

I watched his face. He looked tortured. Though he wasn’t in physical pain, I could see he was still hurting. I heard the internal voice: “Pray.” My own heart pounded, and I fought apprehension. I didn’t know if it would upset him or his family. I swallowed. “Can I pray for you?” I asked.

Our eyes met. “Yes,” he said clearly, and nodded his head.

Immediately, I felt excitement in the room. The family gathered around the bed and held hands. I took Jimmy’s hand and my new friend Marie’s. Leaning toward his ear, I prayed for God to reveal Himself to Jimmy, for Jimmy to know he didn’t have to be afraid, that he could trust God to take care of his family. I prayed for him to know and trust God for his own life—to feel God’s mighty presence and know without doubt that Jesus Christ made a way for him to have life after this and to know he could see his family again someday. Honestly, I began to feel Jimmy’s anxiety. He tried to sit up. I hesitated. Should I stop praying? I didn’t know, but I continued to pray aloud as we helped him sit up. I prayed for God to give him peace and courage. Then closed the prayer in Jesus’ name. Exhausted, Jimmy laid back down. I hoped I hadn’t worn him out, but his family assured me I had done the right thing to pray for him. Then, Jimmy nodded in agreement and breathlessly thanked me for praying.

I wrote the doctor’s orders and gave report to the ED nurse, then returned to the cubicle where we all exchanged hugs again. I left blessed. Had I not gone to the first-floor lady’s room the night before; had I not turned back and prayed for Marie; and had I not given her my name and number, I would have missed this divine encounter. I know God could have used someone else, but I thank Him for using me. Jimmy passed away less than twenty-four hours later. Though I don’t know Jimmy’s spiritual outcome, I do know I was honored and blessed to be a part of God’s plan.

Next time you find yourself in an unplanned situation, watch for a chance encounter of the Divine kind. Let God interrupt your day—say, “Yes”, when He invites you to be part of His plan.

Wherever you are, you’re at the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

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