Red, White and Blue Fountain

Thursday evening Jonathan and I discovered that the fountain a mile away from us was going off in red, white and blue colors!

We hurried down there to capture some photos.  

And then last night, after Jonathan had flown back to South Dakota and Crystal had arrived to stay with me a few days, she and I went down again.

Sure enough, the fountain was still lit up in three colors!

Crystal and I managed to walk all the way around that big lake. It took us about 40 minutes. I didn't know if I could make it, with the bones in front of my legs so sore, but I made it.  The heat was not so bad as it was earlier in the month.

Down at the far end of the lake is a Veterans Memorial that is lit up at night so beautifully.  

When Jonathan and I walked by three nights ago, there was just enough breeze to have Old Glory as well as the Arizona and POW flag unfurled beautifully.   

Apparently the red, white, and blue colors of the fountain were in commemoration of 9/11. 

It was certainly a beautiful sight! 

The same fountain made so much more beautiful by colors.  

Father in heaven, thank You for the beauties You allow us to enjoy, but most of all for the"fountain filled with blood, drawn from Immanuel's veins."

For "sinners plunged beneath that flood

Lose all their guilty stains."

Heron on the Rooftop--Really?? When Things Don't Belong But They are There

Sunday morning Jonathan and I took a little walk down by Fountain Lake. We didn't walk far; I was too tired and weak. But we enjoyed seeing the ducks and hearing the dove cooing nearby. 

 

There was even a heron! Didn't seem like herons would be in Arizona, but they are. I guess if there are lakes, there are herons!

We watched that heron as it fluttered up on top of the disc golf basket.

Not the place a heron exactly belonged, but it was there--sort of like cancer isn't supposed to be in this body of mine, but there it has perched, pretending to be king of this body's universe. 

And the next thing we knew, as we dared to step closer to the heron, it flopped off on strong and sturdy wings--and landed on the top of a high roof nearby--like it was playing King of the Mountain!

I'd never seen a heron on an Arizona roof before! 

It seemed bizarre and out-of-place to me. 

Just like disease and pain are, when we see them land on someone we love--or on ourselves.

We know this doesn't belong, but there it is. 

It has turned our lives upside down, like this woodpecker in an Arizona tree. 

And it's bizarre and unreal and it shouldn't be, but it is.

 

Do we accept what should not be but yet is?

Do we fight it?

Do we try to change it?

It depends, of course. 

Cancer should not be, but it is.

This is something that does not belong in my body.  

And God is making a difference in this thing that should not be.

I read this morning in Psalm 103 that God "healeth all our diseases."
It said "all." 

That word jumped out at me. Not the word "healeth" or "diseases" but "all."

That means cancer, too.

 

It doesn't belong in the body of this lady who belongs to God. 

His Word says that He heals all our diseases--the diseases that don't belong but are here, perched on our roof like they own the place,

when they don't own it all. 

God owns it. 

He owns my soul and my body.

And He said in His Word that He heals all my diseases.  

 That's what His Word says, and despite the symptoms that are still perching like they are still trying to be king of the mountain, I believe God's Word. 

A tough treatment is coming up tomorrow. May it be part of my Great Physician's means of healing what is wrong with my body--to make it whole again,

because it all belongs to Him. 

Arizona Ducks in a Row--and When Ours Aren't

  Jonathan couldn't help himself yesterday. After visiting a small and very hot farmers market with vendors set up in the parking lot of Tractor Supply, he and I went inside for some cool air. But the clearance racks, as usual, caught our attention.

 This was about 75% off and he just had to get it.

"Ducks in a row? (Mine keep wandering off!)" it said.

 Little did we know that the very next morning we'd end up taking our morning walk down at Fountain Lake--where there would be ducks in a row. 

With our own ducks quite out of order, at least it was nice to see three ducks in a row somewhere down there at Fountain Lake.

Even they didn't stay in a row very long. But it was fun watching them and several others, peacefully swimming and dabbling about, just they way they were made to do. 

We had just been up the hill earlier in the morning, about 6:15, watching the sunrise one more time. It's kinda fun seeing how many different places we can end up watching sunrises on the mornings when there are good clouds and the promise of a good sunrise.

Here we were standing uphill from a luxury golf course in the middle of gated communities. I wonder what elites live there?

I'm content in a simple condo with a little old and somewhat beat-up Honda, running around the streets like teenagers looking for fresh fun each morning. 

 

You wouldn't know the little lady crossing the street and squatting down in front of the prickly pear for a photo has been fighting stage 4 cancer.  

'Cause she sure isn't letting it keep her down--not when there are bouganvillae still blooming and Arizona sunrises to enjoy and ducks to watch, all in a row--or not.

Her own ducks aren't in such a good row, but she's still swimming. Or at least dabbling her feet in the pool like she did with Jonathan last night. We sat there dabbling in the darkness, feet sloshing in the cool water. It helps us get right to sleep to walk up there some evenings and dabble in the pool.

I was even able to go with Jonathan to church this morning. Yesterday the nurse called and told me that as of the last chemo treatment, I have zero immune system (based on the blood test afterward), but Jonathan was sick all week and I didn't get sick. The Mesa Bible Holiness Church is quite large with only a few people in it. It's summer here when snow birds are up north. So I figured I'd just go and stay away from people (which didn't work exactly because the man near us came to shake hands before we could prudently disappear).

 

 Luke Forsee plays the piano so nicely and preaches excellent messages. He preached from I John 2:28, how we can have confidence at Christ's return rather than shame before Him at His coming. The secret is abiding in Him.

I was asking Jonathan what it meant to abide in Him, because Luke was saying it begins with spending time with God before going out in our world. Being with God so that we will abide and overflow. But what about when you have to hurry to go outside for an early morning walk before the temperature is so hot you can't endure it in an Arizona summer? And then you have cancer protocol before rushing off to be at the clinic by 8 or 8:30 in the morning for IV hookup and treatments?

And then you come home and have to give yourself two more injections and try to eat something and wash the dishes and take out the trash and bring in laundry from the dryer and try to stay cool? 

And collect and turn in medical bills and write down an appointment so you won't forget, and write some thank you cards and print off letters and do your dry brushing to keep your lymph system going, and go outside on the patio just long enough to ground, and answer texts from your children and update your family and friends about your ducks that may or most likely may not be in a row on that particular day.

My days have been kinda like that. 

I snatch a verse or two of Scripture before our walk, have my prayer time when I'm down with a cancer treatment, pray out loud sometimes with Jonathan on our way to the clinic, and then I'm with people most of the rest of the day.

How can I abide? How can I be quiet with God when my ducks are not in a nice little row?

When I really don't even have any ducks, just a bunch of skittery quail in a motley little bunch?  

Just a bunch of poor little quail looking for something for breakfast?

For me the secret is abiding whether I have quiet time or not, whether I'm with people or not. If I have quiet time, I abide in God. I worship Him and thank Him and share my heart with Him. 

But if I'm scrambling all day and around people most of the day, I still abide. I take God with me everywhere--just a breath away, and in and around me and above me and under me--the everlasting arms. 

If quiet times elude me, and I'm with clinic people all around and needles poking into my port (that still hurts twice a week) and IVs roughing up my veins and leaving me whoozy and almost sick, and tattooed nurses taking my vitals and explaining what this and that IV is next, and staff are coming in to ask questions or tell me what to fast for tomorrow,

and therapists are letting me know it's time to go for this or that treatment...and then I go home and crash...

I just keep abiding. 

No time for silly guilt trips over did I have enough devotions this morning???

Just abide in Jesus.

Always thanking Him, remembering Him, watching for little opportunities to share Him with others, like an anxious fellow patient who comes to me and asks questions, as does another one who tells me how encouraging it is to hear that I am healing and there is no longer sign of cancer in my liver or lymph. 

When she tells me that she notices my laughter in the clinic.

They see my joy and my peace.

Because of Jesus.

Because in the middle of the muddle

the little lady with cancer, even if the morning is upside down, just simply and restfully abides in Him--

the wonderful Jesus Who doesn't need us to have all our ducks in a row for Him to abide in us.

When Love and Memories Give Life to Even Statues

 Statues aren't my favorite thing in the world. But the ones all over the place here in Fountain Hills are some of the most charming ones I've ever seen.
"This place is the most beautiful place in the valley," a lady said whom we met on our walk down near the Fountain Hills library/museum one morning. I was sure it was true.

 Just to keep my spirits up, I try to walk somewhere different as often as possible--even if it is just a new street a few blocks away. We never know what we will find. This particular morning we found a whole area full of these statues.

These were the first ones we saw as we came around the corner, having mostly just seen business fronts with glass windows and city sidewalks. But all of a sudden there were these! A group of musicians playing and singing. Just an old fashioned group of people having fun with music.

And old memories came back to both of us--the music we used to do in those olden days--

 

me playing the glockenspiel (this one, just like the one I used to play, was at the Musical Instrument Museum we visited) and vibraharp and bells,

and Jonathan playing the baritone horn in band, and both of us singing in family or choir. 

Memories make statues come alive. 

Like this one--a newspaper boy--of all things!--as my father used to be! Dad took over his older brother's newspaper route when Dad was about 8 years old, and delivered a hundred papers a day up and down streets in Grove City. For about ten years, he became quite skilled at tossing papers from his bicycle--the Sharon Herald, as my mom recalled--when I emailed her this picture. 

I looked and looked at that statue, face to face with the little boy that was my dad in his boyhood days in Grove City, PA. 

The statue may as well have been alive.

It was my dad--minus the bicycle.

And then, well, this was my mom. 

The plaque says, "A Good Book."

Yep, that's my mom. I mean, yes, that's my mom. She was an English teacher and liked excellent speech and language, and didn't like for us to say "yep."

So yes, this was my mom, reading us stories and chapter books like Heidi and Bambi when we were little. 

And still reading stories to her--well, I almost said grandchildren, but by now it's her great-grandchildren!

 And this was all about my  mom, too, even if it was little children in the statue, who had pulled out the mail and were reading the letter they got. 

 

To this day my mom LOVES sending and getting mail. She's all about handwritten letters and cards. And I try to remember that. I've sent her handwritten notes and postcards from here several times. 

'Cause she's my mom, she's someone I love, and these statues reminded me of her. 

This brought back almost faded memories of us children in my family playing Ring-around-a Rosy. 

That must have been years and years and years ago.

We would get dizzy and fall flat.

At least I would get dizzy. Maybe my brothers didn't.

Memories gave life to these charming statues that morning. 

Statues that wouldn't have held half their charm without the love and the memories I cherish,

as Jonathan or I snapped one picture after another. 

"That one for Mom," I would say, "and that one, too."

And then there was this one of a mother mountain lion rescuing her baby and moving it somewhere safe--like God wants to rescue lonely people without meaning in their lives and give them a safe place to find love and a place to belong.

And then there was this one--"More Than Words."

Statues are lifeless without memories and love and meaning.

And so are words.

I could blog and say words all day--but without love and joy and meaning they would not be worth reading.

"A picture is worth more than a thousand words," my dad used to say, when he insisted that if I ever wrote a book it must have lots of pictures!

Yes, a book, or a sermon, or a blogpost is more than words.

It is memories and love and laughter and meaning and joy and spunk and sparkle and relationship!

Happy reading!

Sunrise Stillness-How Can People Enjoy it Without God?

This morning I woke up early, about 45 minutes before sunrise. I'd had a good night of sleep, and since I had no idea that the on-call nurse at the clinic would be calling in a few hours with sobering news, I called Jonathan to hurry up and come because the sunrise was going to be glorious.

I read the Bible verse for our meditation, and we took off in the Honda to our favorite Adera Canyon Trail a few minutes away. It's a spectacular place to go to watch the sunrise. It's true it was very warm, and I sorta forgot how weak I was because I so enjoy these early morning walks. 

 We got there at just the right time! The wisps of clouds were beautiful above the pinks and golds,which in turn were above the saguaro and desert bushes. 

There is nothing quite like an Arizona sunrise--unless it's a South Dakota sunrise or a Colorado sunrise. Sunrises are everywhere!

I thought about that as I sat quietly on the stone bench at the end of Easy Access Trail which is a short little trail just around the hill from Overlook Trail.

It's the trail where we ran smack dab into the javelinas three weeks ago, just after Rose, who desperately wanted to see a javelina (a wild pig), had flown back home to CO.  

This time, I sat there trying to remember Psalm 19.  Doesn't that Psalm talk about the glory of the heavens? Oh yes, the words I'd memorized under my mom and dad's instruction about 45 years ago came clearly back to me.

"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His handiwork. 

Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line has gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world." 

"What do people do who don't really know or reverence or worship God?" I wondered. "How can they really enjoy a sunrise like this without Him?" I don't know. Do you?

Yesterday I listened as the nurses at the clinic asked each other what they were going to be doing for the weekend. One was going to Vegas, nearly five hours away. One had just been to a California beach with his son. Do they enjoy a simple sunrise like I do, sitting there quietly, knowing God?

Are they as entranced with a little desert bird as I am, knowing that my heavenly Father watches over even such a small creature and cares so much more for each one of His children?

I didn't know that only three hours later the clinic nurse would be calling to tell me that my labs from yesterday had come in, revealing that my white blood cell count was--well, there are no white blood cells in existence right now. Not even "baby white blood cells," she said. 

The chemo had zapped every last one. And if any had been left, the herceptin must have done in any that were left.

"You basically have no immune system right now," she told me frankly.  

But the clinic could offer an injection of a drug that would stimulate white blood cell production if we wanted to go to the trouble of coming in for it. 

Go to the trouble?

I didn't figure I had any choice but to accept a shot of something that might help. 

We flew around--well, as fast as my whoozy self could get ready, and were soon on our way. 

Jonathan has been fighting some kind of illness for days, and people at the clinic have been taking turns being out for sickness. So I can't risk being this low without accepting something for help. But I'm also eating as much as I can. I actually have some appetite this weekend. I'm eating and eating. I discovered we still had some of our own ground beef in the freezer still, so I cooked that and had taco salad with black beans and avocado, etc. It was good. Every couple hours I'm hungry again and eating like I'm starved. Because maybe I am. 

Because weighing in at 89 pounds a few days ago was nothing to sneeze at, nor is having no white blood cells to count. 

But I still have Jesus--and a heavenly Father watching over me.

"How are you making it?" Jonathan asked.

I put my arm around his shoulder as he sat there at the table looking at a wife with no white blood cells left. 

"God has His hand on me," I said simply.

That is all I can say. 

The God of the sunrise is watching over the little lady on the stone bench, sitting there thinking about Him.