May 4, 2013 |
I had a beautiful Jade Plant. It started out very small. It was a housewarming gift from my mother over three years ago. The back story is, nearly all my life, my mom’s had jade plants of her own. They’ve come to be a symbol of our family. When we moved, the plant moved with us. So it was only natural for her to buy me my own when I got my first house.
Last summer, the beautiful plant grew bigger. I transplanted it to a larger pot. And it continued to grow. I was very excited. As we worked to beautify and fix Bedford Manor, my Jade plant planted its roots and grew. It was very symbolic.
This last winter was one of the coldest we’d had in many years. It stayed colder, longer. The temperatures dropped below freezing at night, for many nights. I decided the smart thing to do would be to bring my Jade plant in from the elements and protect it. I was wrong.
It sat, lovingly, on the counter between the refrigerator and kitchen sink. As I would do dishes at night, I would remember to water it. I’d talk to it. Take care of it. But after a few weeks I noticed it wasn’t so healthy any more. And then I noticed it. I thought it was a sort of water stain on the succulent leaves. But it wasn’t. It turned out to be what’s known as Powdry Mildew.
Now, Jade plants are hearty, resistant plants. Hardly anything can get to it. Except, of course, this Powdry Mildew. It infiltrates the plant and can even infect the soil. Since the days were now sunny and warmer, I’d placed the Jade back on the front porch. But it was too late.
The Jade Plant.
The desert sun wasn’t as sunny as I’d needed. The warmth wasn’t as warm. My plant began to crumble. The leaves dropped and fell like, well, like leaves. Like the dead leaves that they were. Was there a connection that during this time I was going through some strong struggles at home? Finances and health are always at the top of my Prayer List. And neither seemed to be going in my favor for quite some time.
I did an internet search. “Jade plant disease”. And discovered the nasty Powdry Mildew. Thankfully, since Jades are hearty, there was hope. But it would take an extreme cure. Especially not knowing if the soil itself was infected.
The simple start is to concoct a mixture of 1 gallon water, 1/2 tablespoon liquid soap, and 1 tablespoon baking soda. Pour the mixture into a spray bottle and use it. Every morning. Spray the leaves and plant and topsoil. A very simple, inexpensive remedy. For days I sprayed the Jade. I sprayed the leaves. The trunk. The soil. But nothing helped.
On to the not-so-simple Part Two: I had to cut it back. I had to prune back and remove all of the dead and infected growth, and hope the Jade would survive.
I cried as I cut stem after stem after stem. What was left was just a few inches of trunk, sticking up from the pot like… well, like this.
My Poor Pruned Jade Plant.
Nevertheless, I was hopeful because I could still see the moist green inside the trunk. After a few days, some of the cut ends shriveled up and dropped off. I was heartbroken. This plant that was once strong, big, beautiful, gorgeous… this plant was dying. And it’s possible I killed it by bringing it inside for the winter. Jades aren’t meant to thrive inside except for short periods of time.
I refused to give up. Day after day for the last three weeks, I watered it on alternate mornings. I sprayed every cut, every trunk, every grain of soil each morning and sometimes in the evenings.
It stayed green.
And something else was happening. My finances started to improve. My health started to improve. The anemia is fading. The eczema is manageable. I’m sleeping a little better at night. The bills are getting paid. I don’t know how. But through much prayer, the bills are getting paid.
Last week, I began to pray for my Jade. It’s not just a plant. It’s a symbol of Bedford Manor. Sure. I could get another Jade. But it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be the One that’s been here for all the improvements and changes. It wouldn’t be the One my mommy gave me out of love. Anything else would just be a replacement.
Please, God. Don’t give me a replacement plant. Heal the original one. It’s symbolic. It’s history. It’s mine. Heal the one I have. Please.
And as I went to spray the Jade this evening, I saw this.
Wonderful New Growth!
Wonderful new growth!
My Jade is coming back to life. There are not less than eleven new buds just beginning to bloom. My euphoria is understated. If my treasured plant can endure, so can I.
There is Hope for Bedford Manor.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Apr 15, 2013 |
THUNK.
And then, again.
THUNK.
That’s what my friend Lisa says these types of writings do for her. When God uses me to write His message on her heart. She gets thunked.
As you’ve undoubtedly noticed from my incredible lack of writing lately, there’s not been a lot of thunking going on. Sorry, Lisa.
I need a respite. A retreat. I need to find a way to afford a weekend getaway to disconnect from the world and reconnect with my daughter, my writing, and my God. I need nature. To spend time in His world and renew my view. I need refreshing.
I’m tired. I’m tired all the time lately. The Cookbook Project was so fulfilling, so successful. So exhausting. Through the end stages of ordering product and processing orders, I fell under a bout of anemia. It doesn’t happen often. But if I don’t take care of myself, it can affect me.
I was already tired. So I didn’t cook too much in the last month. We ate leftovers and easy fixings: toast, eggs, oatmeal. It’s not like a homecooked meal. But I tried. Sometimes. And sometimes I didn’t. Which is why my iron levels dropped. I didn’t make the connection until one morning the dark circles under my eyes were darker. And not going away. And neither was my fatigue.
And then I remembered. I’m borderline anemic and I hadn’t eaten meat for much longer than a week. Neither had I taken vitamins.
My eczema has flared up as well. Rough, dry, itchy patches on my legs and hands. Yeah. Real attractive, right? The problem with eczema is the more it flares up, the more I rub/scratch, the more it flares up. Ugh. Talk about your Catch-22. My eczema is a result of cold, dry weather, weather changes, dietary changes, and stress. Hmm. Any of those happen lately? Let me think… I’ll take (e) for All of The Above, Alex.
Just about ten days ago I made a wonderful discovery. Something I’d not known before. Something which makes people who hate the internet, appreciate this information highway just a little. Anemia and eczema are connected.
Awesome.
I mean it. What a sigh of relief to know I don’t have a buzzillion things wrong with me; but rather one thing that is affecting me in a buzzillion ways. If I can get the anemia under control, the eczema will follow.
I’m still tired. Greatly overwhelmed. But I’m hopeful. I don’t expect my body to rebound after one red-meat meal. It will take a little time. Hope is a beautiful thing: Hope, in itself, offers promise and peace.
The anemia isn’t the only cause of my eczema. I need to release my worries and concerns. I need my body to let go of the stress it’s holding on to. That’s so much easier said than done. Am I right?
Let’s have a show of hands: Who has worries? Who has concerns? I thought so.
Worries and concerns aren’t unique. Troubles are a natural part of life. But doesn’t it seem that there are more worries and concerns lately? Isn’t the world around you more troubled than it used to be? Are you losing sleep, too? The deep-breathing thing doesn’t always help, does it? Yeah. Me either.
There’s a lot I’m not doing because I’m so tired. I’ve been unable to tend to my yardwork. I haven’t visited friends as often. And I’m not writing. Not really. I haven’t touched the novel for over two months. I haven’t even read my Bible.
My fatigue makes me feel like a failure. And causes me concern. These projects that aren’t getting done: how detrimental are these delays?
Today was it. That moment when I finally spoke aloud the words I knew were welling up inside of me. “I don’t have energy to be happy right now. I need replenishment.” Thankfully, blessedly, God heard me.
Dot nudged me to go to Church with her. I wanted to just stay in bed. But she wasn’t having any of that. I knew there would be a reason for me to go, so I went. We unexpectedly met some of my Very Favorite People there, who invited us to lunch at IHOP after.
Hey. Free food. I don’t have to cook. And I get to enjoy their company? Yeah. I’ll bite that apple. [Yes, my chocolate-chocolate chip pancakes were delicious. Thank you asking, Kenny.] Two hours later we finally disbanded. And I felt fed. Loved. Comforted. And a bit replenished.
I’ve been waiting for a Big Miracle, when the little ones are right in front of me. I can’t conquer the world. But I can conquer one task. At least, I can start.
So tonight, rather than watch TV, I turned it off and decided to pick up my Bible. I subscribe to one of those little daily prayer magazines. I haven’t looked at it in months. I figured it would be a good way to edge back into the Nightly Prayer Routine. My focus is easily distracted these days, so I can use all the guidance I can get.
After saying goodnight to Dot, I went to my room where the first distraction came about. My adorable cats were cuddled up, waiting for me. I also wanted to post an Instagram photo of my new fox necklace. That’s a separate story; but this part is important: as I was looking at the photos from those I follow, one lovely young lady posted this:
“So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid or dismayed,
for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
She posted it as a reminder to herself that He is always here. But I think God had her post it so she could THUNK me with it.
In this moment, before I started my Bible reading and prayer time, God is already soothing my soul. I am so very afraid of how terrible our finances are. I am so very worried about getting through each day. I don’t know what to do or where to turn.
But God does. And He chose someone else’s troubles to tell me.
And it doesn’t stop there. After reading that, and feeling a slight rejoicing well up inside me, I opened my little magazine. Today’s verse of the day is Isaiah 35:3-10. Isaiah is a book filled with stories of Strength and Endurance. Just look at the first word in these first two verses:
“Strengthen the feeble hands,
steady the knees that give way;
say to those with fearful hearts,
‘Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
he will come to save you.'”
I guess now I should tell you that before I read, I wrote. My journal is full of letters to God. Pouring my heart out, praising Him in thanks, offering up prayers for others. As you can imagine, tonight’s entry was full of phrases like “Rescue me” and “Fight for me” and “Why is this so hard?” and “What do I do?” I knew He would hear me. Am I so tired that I’m not hearing the answer?
And then I read Isaiah.
That alone made me giggle a little.
You see, many years ago, in choir, I was known as the Teddy Bear Rescue Mission. I’ve always collected teddy bears. Still do, when I get the chance. About ten years ago, I was going through a very rough time and constantly seeking God’s presence. I asked Him to specifically show Himself to me in ways that were meant only for me. Over several months, He blessed me. With bears. Abandoned teddy bears I found on the side of the road, took home and cleaned up. There’s Roadie, Faith, and especially Isaiah. Isaiah was a brand new Ty Beanie Baby bear that happened to be in the middle of the road just as I drove up and stopped for a signal. I only had to open my door, reach down and pick him up. To this day, that bear is a symbol of God’s promise to care for me personally, individually, and intimately. He knows me and knows not only what I need for my body, but for my mind, emotions, and soul. He continues to refresh and replenish me. Even if the world doesn’t see it. Even if the bills still don’t get paid. Even if my anemia and eczema doesn’t go away.
Bears are awesome creatures. They are big. Strong. Yet cuddly. Furious and ferocious. And I have always loved them. And foxes remind me of Disney’s Robin Hood. They are beautiful, quick, quiet. Each of these wildlife animals command respect and admiration and awe. They don’t worry. They live the lives they are designed to live. You don’t see a bear trying to be a zebra, or a fox imitating a bird. They don’t worry about tomorrow.
There are approximately 365 mentions in the Bible to “not fear”. The variations are “Don’t be afraid,” “Do not fear,” and “fear not.” 365. That’s one for every day of the year. I’d say if God says it that much, He must have known we’d need the reminders.
I didn’t have to get away to connect with nature. I didn’t need a retreat to feel restored. And I don’t have to worry about my bills and budget.
I needed only to open my eyes. And be the best Molly Jo I know how. The rest will take care of itself. Somehow.
Faith Like a Fox
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.
You may also enjoy reading:
The Bear Rug ~ A Heritage Story
A Lesson to Trust
Give Us This Day…
What I Learned on Women’s Retreat [The Big Whammy!]
Destination Mission Inn
Jan 10, 2013 |
Dear Mom,
You know I love you. You know, next to my daughter, you’re the most important person to me on this earth. I love that we are Three Generations of Desert Women: strong, durable. Louis L’Amour would be the first to praise your character. How tough you are, how strong and resourceful and faithful and determined. You are our rock, our foundation, our example. You’ve taught us how to forge our way through instead of turning back to the comfort of mediocrity.
And I want to be just like you when I grow up. And I want to be you for my daughter.
The other day, two lovely old ladies came into the office. Let’s call them Beatrice and Victoria. They were wonderful. I watched them drive up in an older but well-cared for vehicle. The driver carefully stepped out and helped the other from the passenger seat. They slowly, gently walked up to the sidewalk and stepped into the office, laughing at how age has slowed their bodies but not their minds.
I knew instantly they were special. They were friends, good friends. Perhaps the best. They might even have been sisters; they looked similar and age had drawn them more alike in later years. Their crows’ feet were in the same place, their lips crinkled in the same way.
Victoria, the younger of the two, helped Beatrice into a chair then sat in the one next to her. They introduced themselves and it was then I realized Beatrice was the 92-year-old mother to 75-year-old Victoria.
They needed changes to their insurance policy. But they didn’t want one to incur the loss of discount by making the change. I offered several compromises, and as they sat at my desk discussing their options I could only think, “I want to be them.”
These wonderful women finished each others’ sentences. They smiled and laughed at conversations only they were aware of. And in the few minutes they were in my presence, I was enthralled with the closeness they exhibited. Their friendship, their care, and their attitude toward the world. These are two women who made it through many hard times, and didn’t let it get them down. These are two women who clung together and still manage to laugh at life.
Promise me, in another 40 years or so, we’ll still be just like them. Promise me we’ll laugh at these hard times, learn our lessons, and laugh out loud. A lot.
Promise me, when I’m older then than you are now, that we’ll still be best friends. And walk into someone’s office and make them smile.
And want to be just like us.
With much love, hugs, and laughter,
Your loving daughter,
~Me
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Nov 22, 2012 |
Far be it from me to stray from what so many will post about today: reasons to be Thankful. While I’d love to discourse on how this beautiful feast first began, I’d much rather spend time with my family and friends. As, I’m sure, you do too.
And so in lieu of a lengthy post, here’s my simple statement.
I met a homeless man outside the office tonight. He asked me how I was, and I said, “I’m good.” And then I surprised him by asking his name, and how he was. His name is David. And he responded with, “I’ve seen better days. But I’m still breathing.” And then he smiled weakly.
Can I get an Amen for David?
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Invisible Person in a Sea of People: Robin H. and the 99-cent Sin
The Catering Business
The Adventures of Will Power and the Basket of Blessings
Dear Amy, I’m Just So Sorry For Your Loss.
TGIF
Oct 11, 2012 |
I’m not gonna sugarcoat this: Life is hard. I mean, it’s hard. And it’s easy to slip into the “I have it harder than you do” mentality. Trust me. Been there, done that.
It’s not much of a surprise that I’ve been pretty bitter about Life’s Lemons. Long-term unemployment. Chronic injuries. Financial fiascoes. Throw in the struggles of family and friends, and my heart is heavy with the weight of the world.
When we were young, my older brother was a wise-cracking, joke-telling genius. One of his favorites (that for some reason I played along with every time, even though I knew the ending) was when he’d say, “I can teach you a foreign language. Repeat after me.”
“Owah. Ta-jer. Kay-yam.”
Now. You say it. Out loud. Fast. Faster.
Get it now?
Here. Let me change the spelling a little bit for you:
“O-wha-tajer-kiam.”
One more time. A little more clearly.
“OH, WHAT A JERK I AM.”
Yup. That’s it. And that’s me.
I’m the Queen of the Party. The Pity Party, that is. I can feel sorry for myself quicker than you can nod your head. And it comes oh-so-naturally, I don’t even know I’m doing it.
Maybe it’s because I’ve always been more sensitive than others. Maybe it’s because I feel things deeper and harder and stronger and longer than others. Maybe I overthink or underthink or just don’t think at all.
Maybe it’s just me.
I haven’t been sleeping well for a few nights. The worries float around keeping my eyes busy with visions of things yet to come. Noise isn’t a distraction, and silence isn’t soothing. I just can’t seem to sleep very well.
So by the time I was functioning this morning, I had to remind myself that I wasn’t sick, I wasn’t angry, there wasn’t anything wrong. I was just tired. Just tired. Nothing else. And when I took the other non-possibilities out of the equation, the day seemed easier to manage.
I could drive, go to the grocery store, balance the checkbook, make dinner, clean house… all those things I didn’t want to do but should do. I did them. Because being tired isn’t an excuse to not take care of business. I wouldn’t call in sick to work just because I was tired. And right now, home is my work. And I’m the boss. I did not give myself a sick day.
And for that, I’m thankful. I’m really thankful. And I want it to show.
I still have my house. I still have my car. Dot is a full-time college student. I have family and friends. We have our health. And we have food in the house.
With all of these blessings, it struck me that I was still asking God for more than I was thanking Him for.
How’s that for gratitude?
Do I really trust Him to provide for me if I’m whining about not having milk for one day? We were able to put a full tank of gas in the car yesterday. I’m thankful we could afford it. When I ask God to give us our Daily Bread, is it honoring to Him for me to wish for more than what’s on the table? Instead of complaining that cleaning out the fridge is not our favorite meal, I’ve become extremely thankful that we have food in the fridge to begin with.
God is doing a most wonderful job of taking care of us. In ways I’m not even aware of; in ways I’ll probably never know.
I woke up this morning. In my own home with my family around me.
I’d say I’m pretty blessed.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
“Give Us This Day…”
The Adventures of Will Power and the Basket of Blessings
My Thanksgiving List
