http://lds.org/church/news/addiction-recovery-program-brings-individuals-to-christ?lang=eng
Please feel free to share this article with anyone in your life who is suffering because of their own addiction or because of the addiction of a loved one.Wednesday, June 1, 2011
"Addiction Recovery Program Brings Individuals to Christ"
This is a wonderful article on the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Addiction Recovery Program. It was posted yesterday on the Church's web site . The Lord has given us a wonderful program to help us come unto Him for the direction and power we so desperately need to change our lives and live in recovery from any type of addiction.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
I Am a Child of God
My brother Bryce has produced a new musical Mormon Message based on the children’s song, “I am a Child of God”. It was recently posted on the LDS.org homepage, YouTube, the Mormon Channel and other locations. I wanted to share it with you.
Thanks so much, and please feel free to SHARE it with others.
Here are a couple of links:
https://lds.org/pages/i-am-a-child-of-god-mormon-message?lang=eng&cid=email-shared
http://www.youtube.com/user/MormonMessages#p/c/4E784EC0770935C0/0/JOrcqqpHCt8
Thanks so much, and please feel free to SHARE it with others.
Here are a couple of links:
https://lds.org/pages/i-am-a-
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Elder Ballard Speaks Out on Addiction and Recovery
Recently Elder Ballard was interviewed about the problem of addiction and the possibility of recovery. I thought you might be interested in what he had to say.
His interview was broadcast on KUTV Channel 2 May 10, 2011 at 10:00 pm
here is the link:
http://connect2utah.com/libraries/nxd/media/index.php?data=media_player&v=259827
His interview was broadcast on KUTV Channel 2 May 10, 2011 at 10:00 pm
here is the link:
http://connect2utah.com/
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Sabbath Dance
It’s one of those chilly gray February mornings. I wake up and look outside and wonder why I was so anxious to take the tree down and get all those cheery lights and decorations into the boxes and back into the garage. During the wee hours of Sunday morning new snow has been added to the glacier spread out across the front yard of our home. We face the North Pole and for the first several months of every new year it looks like Narnia, “Where it is always winter and never Christmas.”
I’m a streak of dismal brown as I dash into the church and slide on to one end of a long empty bench: brown skirt, brown sweater, brown boots. I throw my coat down to save a spot for my daughter and her family.
Before the downbeat of the opening song, across the bench scoots my 2 year old granddaughter, Esther. Her daddy slips off her coat. Esther has no idea it’s the bleak midwinter. At her insistence Esther is wearing a butter-cream yellow dress with a pale pink sash, embroidered flowers at the hem, a pink gathered underskirt, and capped sleeves. Her bright blue eyes meet mine (brown, of course, to match my outfit). She shakes her little crown of yellow curls and whispers loudly in my direction, “Grandma, it’s a party dress!”
The next part of the meeting proceeds in a fairly conventional way. Esther sits on daddy’s lap while mommy takes fussy baby sister to the foyer. A library book comes out of the large “Sunday go to church and meet any emergency” bag. Mommy returns. Daddy takes fussy baby sister out. You’ve got the picture. The first speaker concludes. One of the young men checks the tuning on his cello, and the choir and cello perform “I Need Thee Every Hour.”
It was truly beautiful; however the loveliest thing to me was not what was happening in the choir loft in front of me, but what was happening in the little space beside me. At the sound of the music the little “party dress” girl lifts her baby soft ivory arms into the air and with her feet on the ground, in the tiny space between our bench and the next, she dances. Without a sound she sways and she twirls, and at the final “I come unto Thee,” she lowers her ballerina arms and says, not in a polite whisper and to no one inparticular, “That was beautiful!”
That was beautiful, Esther. I don’t suppose we can help growing older and ever so practical. I pull on either my black or my brown boots every Sunday from Thanksgiving to Easter and I don’t know when I last wore my party dress to church. I know I’ve never danced in the chapel and I’m not going to recommend it either. But Esther, on Sunday you reminded me of something wonderful. It was as if you were saying, “Grandma, the Sabbath is a celebration. Think of it as your “New-Birth-Day” party. And Grandma, you may be too old and too big to dance between the benches, but because of Jesus and what he has done and what He is doing in your life and your heart, your spirit can dance and dance and dance for joy from one end of the Sabbath to the other!
By Nannette W., Posted Tuesday, March 7, 2011
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
I’m a streak of dismal brown as I dash into the church and slide on to one end of a long empty bench: brown skirt, brown sweater, brown boots. I throw my coat down to save a spot for my daughter and her family.
Before the downbeat of the opening song, across the bench scoots my 2 year old granddaughter, Esther. Her daddy slips off her coat. Esther has no idea it’s the bleak midwinter. At her insistence Esther is wearing a butter-cream yellow dress with a pale pink sash, embroidered flowers at the hem, a pink gathered underskirt, and capped sleeves. Her bright blue eyes meet mine (brown, of course, to match my outfit). She shakes her little crown of yellow curls and whispers loudly in my direction, “Grandma, it’s a party dress!”
The next part of the meeting proceeds in a fairly conventional way. Esther sits on daddy’s lap while mommy takes fussy baby sister to the foyer. A library book comes out of the large “Sunday go to church and meet any emergency” bag. Mommy returns. Daddy takes fussy baby sister out. You’ve got the picture. The first speaker concludes. One of the young men checks the tuning on his cello, and the choir and cello perform “I Need Thee Every Hour.”
It was truly beautiful; however the loveliest thing to me was not what was happening in the choir loft in front of me, but what was happening in the little space beside me. At the sound of the music the little “party dress” girl lifts her baby soft ivory arms into the air and with her feet on the ground, in the tiny space between our bench and the next, she dances. Without a sound she sways and she twirls, and at the final “I come unto Thee,” she lowers her ballerina arms and says, not in a polite whisper and to no one inparticular, “That was beautiful!”
That was beautiful, Esther. I don’t suppose we can help growing older and ever so practical. I pull on either my black or my brown boots every Sunday from Thanksgiving to Easter and I don’t know when I last wore my party dress to church. I know I’ve never danced in the chapel and I’m not going to recommend it either. But Esther, on Sunday you reminded me of something wonderful. It was as if you were saying, “Grandma, the Sabbath is a celebration. Think of it as your “New-Birth-Day” party. And Grandma, you may be too old and too big to dance between the benches, but because of Jesus and what he has done and what He is doing in your life and your heart, your spirit can dance and dance and dance for joy from one end of the Sabbath to the other!
By Nannette W., Posted Tuesday, March 7, 2011
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Monday, December 6, 2010
The Family Fifty – Step 12 Carrying the Message
I’ll bet that “I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus” is on everyone’s list of top ten Primary songs. Lately, while observing the actions of others, several times I’ve had the Spirit poke me on the shoulder and say, “Look at that Nannette! That’s like Jesus.” Here’s just one example:
“Feed the Fire!” That’s what we call any activity that puts members of our family into the great outdoors. “Feed the Fire” activities usually involve some physical exertion. Sometimes we “Feed the Fire” solo and sometimes in groups. We’ve individually tackled mountains going up and mountains coming down (my personal favorite). We’ve relayed and triathloned and marathoned, and beyond. We’ve biked, hiked, walked, run and swum (is that a word?). We’ve gone 5k, 10k, half the day, and days and days. We’ve put our kids on our backs, drove them beside, pulled them behind, and left them behind. We have experienced the thrill of our own little victories, like crossing the finish line and the agony of defeat. Or should I say the agony of “de-feet.” We’ve beat our time and wiped out trying to stop on a dime and pretended we were “fime.” We’ve broken bones and been heard to moan…OK I’ll stop! As you can tell I’m no poet, but I think you get the idea. We’ve had a variety of together experiences and a lot of fun.
Each summer I try to participate in at least one “Feed the Fire” activity that stretches me a bit. This last spring I received a mass family e-mail from my nephew, inviting me to participate in a fifty mile bike ride. I replied immediately. “Yes! I’m in!”
I’m not what you would call a serious biker, but on my fiftieth birthday, during my surprise party lunch at Mimi’s, I glanced out the window while I was opening my gifts and my son was riding a brand new little mountain bike up and down the street in front of the restaurant hoping to get my attention. Since that day my birthday bike and I have put in some serious miles an hour at a time but never fifty all at once. I was excited!
I got as prepared as I knew how; took some nice one hour rides throughout the spring and early summer and made sure they included a few hills. I knew I’d be slow compared to the others, but I couldn’t afford a new road bike so I focused my preparation on my need to be comfortable; new sunglasses I could actually see through, biker pants with padding where most needed, and a speedometer to let me know if I was breaking the speed limit and to document every one of those fifty miles.
My nephew, the instigator or this activity is a twenty-eight year old husband, daddy of two boys and one little girl, with a baby on the way. He’s a nurse at a local hospital. He’s a great guy and quite the outdoorsman. I imagined him greasing up his “super bike” and getting it all ready for the big day. He’s also very spontaneous and usually pretty casual about things. I figured this would be a pretty loosely run event.
As the pre-activity weeks progressed I was very surprised to receive regular e-mails, “Hey everyone, I hope you’re still planning on the 50 mile ride. I’m so excited! Hope you are!” His final e-mail announced plans for transporting us and our bikes to the starting point. “At mile 30 we will be stopping for a little brunch in a park overlooking the lake. Hope you’re all getting ready. I’m excited!!!” I was beginning to get the idea that this adventure was not just being thrown together. This was an event!
Well, the morning of the “Feed the Fire Family Fifty” finally arrived. My bike was tuned up, the speedometer installed, and my camelback was ready to go. I had no idea where we were going or if I could make it all the way, but I was going. The transport arrived before dawn. There was a bit of a chill in the air. All bikes were loaded in the back of a Suburban, and we headed to the designated starting point.
After we were gathered we each received a sticky-backed logo to place on our bike in a visible place --“FTF” for “Feed the Fire!” Very Cool!!!
My nephew’s car was packed up with emergency equipment along with the brunch food. The plan was for someone to drive the car along with our group in case of any emergency, exhaustion, or need for supplies. We would take turns.
My nephew opted to take the first turn as driver of the emergency vehicle. Then he took the second turn and the third turn and the fourth turn…
“Wait a minute!” I said after a little careful observation, “You need to ride too!”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“You mean you planned this whole thing, went to all this effort and you’re not going to even get on your bike?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ve ridden this route lots of times to prepare for this. Believe me, I know every turn in the road. I just want to make sure everyone has a good experience and makes it to the finish.”
So eleven of us pedaled and chatted and enjoyed the view of the lake and the mountains, and he drove ahead and waited until we had all safely past. Then he would drive on a little more. Sometimes he’d stop us and give some instructions like, “In about a mile we have to ride on the highway for a little stint. Be sure to ride single file.” Sometimes he would just encourage us, “The next part is up hill, but it’s pretty gradual, you can make it!” At one point we had to ride through a city, maneuver through quite a bit of traffic, pretend we were all cars, and get into the left-hand lane and turn. It was tricky but before we did it he explained exactly what was coming up and what had to be done.
He served us as a group, but he also served us individually. For some reason my bike is just not as fast as everyone else’s. Whenever I’m riding with other people I pump my little legs off trying to catch up and stay up. Well, this time was no exception. It was worse! For the life of me I could not keep up with the group. My friend and brother-in-law kept me company for several miles. At one point he said, “You're working harder and making less headway than any of us. What’s the deal? Let’s trade bikes for a minute.” We traded and I zoomed out ahead. When we met up with my nephew, he checked out my bike, the one I had been riding for 40 miles. “Aunt Nan, one of your brakes has been clamped on the whole time you’ve been riding!” He quickly fixed the problem and my worn out legs were off to the finish line. What a difference the release of a little old brake can make. When we got back to our cars, my speedometer read 48.9 miles so I took a few turns around the parking lot until I had scientific evidence that I had finished the “Family Fifty.” We all finished. It was a “Feed the Fire” success!
Now here’s the point. All I had done was show up. All I had was the willingness to take a very long ride. I was really not physically trained for such a ride and I had no idea where I was going. This was a “Feed the Fire” success because someone else had been willing to feed “The Fire” inside of each one of us.
“Look Nannette. That’s like Jesus” I heard the Spirit whisper as I thought back on the day. We sing “I’m Trying To Be Like Jesus” and we are trying. Just look around at the ordinary people in your life. Every day someone in our lives does something remarkable that’s “like” Jesus in some aspect. It might be something Jesus never did while He was on the earth. The person may be wearing biking shorts or jeans or a suit. It’s like Him only dressed up in “today.” But when they do what they do, it teaches us about Him, His understanding, His power, His character, his love…always His love. There is no story in the New Testament about Jesus sacrificing to facilitate a family bike ride but somehow my experience with my nephew–just an ordinary guy– taught me about Jesus, brought me to Him. When someone is like Jesus in some little way it does something remarkable for other people.
My sincere thanks to all the blessed individuals I have the opportunity to be with in the flesh who help me come to know someone I can only be with in the Spirit. You help bridge the gap. You are not the Savior, but you show Him to me. Your actions and attitudes are much more than instruction on Christ-like behavior. They are a physical picture or reminder of the One who loves me. The One I can count on to lead me home. The one who might have said, “I’m fine. I’ve taken this ride countless times in preparation for your journey. Believe me, I know every turn in the road. I just want to make sure everyone has a good experience and makes it to the finish.”
By Nannette W., Posted Monday, December 6, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
“Feed the Fire!” That’s what we call any activity that puts members of our family into the great outdoors. “Feed the Fire” activities usually involve some physical exertion. Sometimes we “Feed the Fire” solo and sometimes in groups. We’ve individually tackled mountains going up and mountains coming down (my personal favorite). We’ve relayed and triathloned and marathoned, and beyond. We’ve biked, hiked, walked, run and swum (is that a word?). We’ve gone 5k, 10k, half the day, and days and days. We’ve put our kids on our backs, drove them beside, pulled them behind, and left them behind. We have experienced the thrill of our own little victories, like crossing the finish line and the agony of defeat. Or should I say the agony of “de-feet.” We’ve beat our time and wiped out trying to stop on a dime and pretended we were “fime.” We’ve broken bones and been heard to moan…OK I’ll stop! As you can tell I’m no poet, but I think you get the idea. We’ve had a variety of together experiences and a lot of fun.
Each summer I try to participate in at least one “Feed the Fire” activity that stretches me a bit. This last spring I received a mass family e-mail from my nephew, inviting me to participate in a fifty mile bike ride. I replied immediately. “Yes! I’m in!”
I’m not what you would call a serious biker, but on my fiftieth birthday, during my surprise party lunch at Mimi’s, I glanced out the window while I was opening my gifts and my son was riding a brand new little mountain bike up and down the street in front of the restaurant hoping to get my attention. Since that day my birthday bike and I have put in some serious miles an hour at a time but never fifty all at once. I was excited!
I got as prepared as I knew how; took some nice one hour rides throughout the spring and early summer and made sure they included a few hills. I knew I’d be slow compared to the others, but I couldn’t afford a new road bike so I focused my preparation on my need to be comfortable; new sunglasses I could actually see through, biker pants with padding where most needed, and a speedometer to let me know if I was breaking the speed limit and to document every one of those fifty miles.
My nephew, the instigator or this activity is a twenty-eight year old husband, daddy of two boys and one little girl, with a baby on the way. He’s a nurse at a local hospital. He’s a great guy and quite the outdoorsman. I imagined him greasing up his “super bike” and getting it all ready for the big day. He’s also very spontaneous and usually pretty casual about things. I figured this would be a pretty loosely run event.
As the pre-activity weeks progressed I was very surprised to receive regular e-mails, “Hey everyone, I hope you’re still planning on the 50 mile ride. I’m so excited! Hope you are!” His final e-mail announced plans for transporting us and our bikes to the starting point. “At mile 30 we will be stopping for a little brunch in a park overlooking the lake. Hope you’re all getting ready. I’m excited!!!” I was beginning to get the idea that this adventure was not just being thrown together. This was an event!
Well, the morning of the “Feed the Fire Family Fifty” finally arrived. My bike was tuned up, the speedometer installed, and my camelback was ready to go. I had no idea where we were going or if I could make it all the way, but I was going. The transport arrived before dawn. There was a bit of a chill in the air. All bikes were loaded in the back of a Suburban, and we headed to the designated starting point.
After we were gathered we each received a sticky-backed logo to place on our bike in a visible place --“FTF” for “Feed the Fire!” Very Cool!!!
My nephew’s car was packed up with emergency equipment along with the brunch food. The plan was for someone to drive the car along with our group in case of any emergency, exhaustion, or need for supplies. We would take turns.
My nephew opted to take the first turn as driver of the emergency vehicle. Then he took the second turn and the third turn and the fourth turn…
“Wait a minute!” I said after a little careful observation, “You need to ride too!”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“You mean you planned this whole thing, went to all this effort and you’re not going to even get on your bike?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ve ridden this route lots of times to prepare for this. Believe me, I know every turn in the road. I just want to make sure everyone has a good experience and makes it to the finish.”
So eleven of us pedaled and chatted and enjoyed the view of the lake and the mountains, and he drove ahead and waited until we had all safely past. Then he would drive on a little more. Sometimes he’d stop us and give some instructions like, “In about a mile we have to ride on the highway for a little stint. Be sure to ride single file.” Sometimes he would just encourage us, “The next part is up hill, but it’s pretty gradual, you can make it!” At one point we had to ride through a city, maneuver through quite a bit of traffic, pretend we were all cars, and get into the left-hand lane and turn. It was tricky but before we did it he explained exactly what was coming up and what had to be done.
He served us as a group, but he also served us individually. For some reason my bike is just not as fast as everyone else’s. Whenever I’m riding with other people I pump my little legs off trying to catch up and stay up. Well, this time was no exception. It was worse! For the life of me I could not keep up with the group. My friend and brother-in-law kept me company for several miles. At one point he said, “You're working harder and making less headway than any of us. What’s the deal? Let’s trade bikes for a minute.” We traded and I zoomed out ahead. When we met up with my nephew, he checked out my bike, the one I had been riding for 40 miles. “Aunt Nan, one of your brakes has been clamped on the whole time you’ve been riding!” He quickly fixed the problem and my worn out legs were off to the finish line. What a difference the release of a little old brake can make. When we got back to our cars, my speedometer read 48.9 miles so I took a few turns around the parking lot until I had scientific evidence that I had finished the “Family Fifty.” We all finished. It was a “Feed the Fire” success!
Now here’s the point. All I had done was show up. All I had was the willingness to take a very long ride. I was really not physically trained for such a ride and I had no idea where I was going. This was a “Feed the Fire” success because someone else had been willing to feed “The Fire” inside of each one of us.
“Look Nannette. That’s like Jesus” I heard the Spirit whisper as I thought back on the day. We sing “I’m Trying To Be Like Jesus” and we are trying. Just look around at the ordinary people in your life. Every day someone in our lives does something remarkable that’s “like” Jesus in some aspect. It might be something Jesus never did while He was on the earth. The person may be wearing biking shorts or jeans or a suit. It’s like Him only dressed up in “today.” But when they do what they do, it teaches us about Him, His understanding, His power, His character, his love…always His love. There is no story in the New Testament about Jesus sacrificing to facilitate a family bike ride but somehow my experience with my nephew–just an ordinary guy– taught me about Jesus, brought me to Him. When someone is like Jesus in some little way it does something remarkable for other people.
My sincere thanks to all the blessed individuals I have the opportunity to be with in the flesh who help me come to know someone I can only be with in the Spirit. You help bridge the gap. You are not the Savior, but you show Him to me. Your actions and attitudes are much more than instruction on Christ-like behavior. They are a physical picture or reminder of the One who loves me. The One I can count on to lead me home. The one who might have said, “I’m fine. I’ve taken this ride countless times in preparation for your journey. Believe me, I know every turn in the road. I just want to make sure everyone has a good experience and makes it to the finish.”
By Nannette W., Posted Monday, December 6, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Chocolate Chip Cookie Minus the Chips
Disclaimer: If the struggle that brings you to this Blog is compulsive eating, as mine is, please know that the cookie in the starring role is symbolic and is in no way meant to be a trigger. Please do not use this as an excuse to start baking. If you think this will be a problem read no further.
The Chocolate Chip Cookie Minus the Chips
There’s an old classic movie starring the late President of the USA, Ronald Reagan, called “Bedtime for Bonzo.” Bonzo is an unruly, very bright chimpanzee living with a scientist and a foster mother. Their objective is to use modern child rearing techniques in raising Bonzo and prove that nurture is more powerful than nature.
When I was in the middle of motherhood I used the title of the movie to add a little levity to that time of day when kids seem to wind up and moms want to wind down. At dusk I’d scoop my own little chimp (of the pre-school variety) into my arms and say with authority, “It’s bedtime for Bonzo!” Those were words that conveyed to the child that the awake part of their day was very close to being over and that the bedtime routine was about to begin – the toothbrush, the potty, a little Dr. Seuss, a bit of scripture, a prayer, and the final seal on the deal, a small drink of water.
I have presently worked myself out of a job and my children have worked themselves into one. Enforcing “Bedtime for Bonzo” is no longer my work, but sometimes I get a play by play report from one of my children. The following is a bedtime account with a message.
“Gracie, it’s time to come in!” calls my daughter out the back door.
Gracie walks through the French door with a smile on her face.
“Time to go upstairs and get ready for bed,” says Mommy.
“Can I have a goodnight snack?” counters Gracie hopefully.
“Sure, do you want a cookie?”
Then Gracie gets a bit particular. “I want a chocolate chip cookie,” she says with a “that’s the only thing I’ll accept,” look in her eyes.
“Well, that’s good cuz that’s what we’ve got,” responds Mommy as she reaches her hand into the Ziploc bag, picks up a cookie, and hands it to Gracie.
With the cookie in hand Gracie takes one glance and says with redheaded, three year old intensity, “I want a chocolate chip cookie!!!”
Gracie’s mommy reports, “Just as I was trying to turn the cookie over and show her that 10-15 chocolate chips had settled and were visible from the bottom, she broke the cookie in half and in dramatic frustration threw it across the room crying, “It doesn’t have any chocolate chips!
With that my daughter scooped up her little Bonzo and headed toward bed.
Gracie’s mom and I had a good laugh as she rehearsed this incident. Making chocolate chip cookies is not rocket science and neither is the message in this story. All I have to do is cast the Lord in the parent role and myself as the demanding three year old. I know there have been many times when the Lord has delivered to me just what I requested. But I have to wonder how many times I’ve seen His perfect gift as a chocolate chip cookie minus the chocolate chips and with impatience and suspicion hastily discarded it with an angry flare and the unspoken thought, “I knew He wouldn’t give me what I wanted!”
I’ll never know how many divine gifts I’ve recklessly rejected. Like Gracie, I imagine the Lord picks my belligerent self up in his arms and takes me to my room for a little time out with a “Sorry, no snack for you tonight!”
The Lord knows our tendency to doubt His goodness. He tries to reassure us with these words:
"And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?" (Luke 11:9-13)
In recovery we come to know that we have a Savior who can be trusted. His joy is to bless us with exactly the thing we need most. Today I practice trusting that what the Lord sends my way this very hour is for the best, my best. He wants me to take a good hard look at the thing in question until I find the good part, the part that might not be visible at first glance, the part that lies beneath the surface and sometimes well beneath. I’m not perfect at living continually in this frame of mind, but I am making progress. The times when I throw the cookie across the room are getting to be fewer and farther between.
James testified that, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning”(James 1:17).
It’s a powerful, joyful, “Christmas every-day” thing to live in anticipation of the Lord’s generosity. So my friends, turn that cookie over. Pray for eyes to see. Look at it from every angle. The Lord doesn’t want you to miss out on single chocolate chip!
By Nannette W. Posted Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
PS This post is a bit of a landmark for me. It’s my 200th post. I want to thank you all for reading and for your kind comments. They fuel the fire that keeps me writing. Some of you I may never have the opportunity to meet. Please know that my prayers are with all of you. I know that the Lord is aware of each of you individually. I know that He loves you and will bless you in whatever challenges you face. My prayer is that the gospel principles that each of these thoughts represent will impact your lives for good.
The Chocolate Chip Cookie Minus the Chips
There’s an old classic movie starring the late President of the USA, Ronald Reagan, called “Bedtime for Bonzo.” Bonzo is an unruly, very bright chimpanzee living with a scientist and a foster mother. Their objective is to use modern child rearing techniques in raising Bonzo and prove that nurture is more powerful than nature.
When I was in the middle of motherhood I used the title of the movie to add a little levity to that time of day when kids seem to wind up and moms want to wind down. At dusk I’d scoop my own little chimp (of the pre-school variety) into my arms and say with authority, “It’s bedtime for Bonzo!” Those were words that conveyed to the child that the awake part of their day was very close to being over and that the bedtime routine was about to begin – the toothbrush, the potty, a little Dr. Seuss, a bit of scripture, a prayer, and the final seal on the deal, a small drink of water.
I have presently worked myself out of a job and my children have worked themselves into one. Enforcing “Bedtime for Bonzo” is no longer my work, but sometimes I get a play by play report from one of my children. The following is a bedtime account with a message.
“Gracie, it’s time to come in!” calls my daughter out the back door.
Gracie walks through the French door with a smile on her face.
“Time to go upstairs and get ready for bed,” says Mommy.
“Can I have a goodnight snack?” counters Gracie hopefully.
“Sure, do you want a cookie?”
Then Gracie gets a bit particular. “I want a chocolate chip cookie,” she says with a “that’s the only thing I’ll accept,” look in her eyes.
“Well, that’s good cuz that’s what we’ve got,” responds Mommy as she reaches her hand into the Ziploc bag, picks up a cookie, and hands it to Gracie.
With the cookie in hand Gracie takes one glance and says with redheaded, three year old intensity, “I want a chocolate chip cookie!!!”
Gracie’s mommy reports, “Just as I was trying to turn the cookie over and show her that 10-15 chocolate chips had settled and were visible from the bottom, she broke the cookie in half and in dramatic frustration threw it across the room crying, “It doesn’t have any chocolate chips!
With that my daughter scooped up her little Bonzo and headed toward bed.
Gracie’s mom and I had a good laugh as she rehearsed this incident. Making chocolate chip cookies is not rocket science and neither is the message in this story. All I have to do is cast the Lord in the parent role and myself as the demanding three year old. I know there have been many times when the Lord has delivered to me just what I requested. But I have to wonder how many times I’ve seen His perfect gift as a chocolate chip cookie minus the chocolate chips and with impatience and suspicion hastily discarded it with an angry flare and the unspoken thought, “I knew He wouldn’t give me what I wanted!”
I’ll never know how many divine gifts I’ve recklessly rejected. Like Gracie, I imagine the Lord picks my belligerent self up in his arms and takes me to my room for a little time out with a “Sorry, no snack for you tonight!”
The Lord knows our tendency to doubt His goodness. He tries to reassure us with these words:
"And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?" (Luke 11:9-13)
In recovery we come to know that we have a Savior who can be trusted. His joy is to bless us with exactly the thing we need most. Today I practice trusting that what the Lord sends my way this very hour is for the best, my best. He wants me to take a good hard look at the thing in question until I find the good part, the part that might not be visible at first glance, the part that lies beneath the surface and sometimes well beneath. I’m not perfect at living continually in this frame of mind, but I am making progress. The times when I throw the cookie across the room are getting to be fewer and farther between.
James testified that, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning”(James 1:17).
It’s a powerful, joyful, “Christmas every-day” thing to live in anticipation of the Lord’s generosity. So my friends, turn that cookie over. Pray for eyes to see. Look at it from every angle. The Lord doesn’t want you to miss out on single chocolate chip!
By Nannette W. Posted Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
PS This post is a bit of a landmark for me. It’s my 200th post. I want to thank you all for reading and for your kind comments. They fuel the fire that keeps me writing. Some of you I may never have the opportunity to meet. Please know that my prayers are with all of you. I know that the Lord is aware of each of you individually. I know that He loves you and will bless you in whatever challenges you face. My prayer is that the gospel principles that each of these thoughts represent will impact your lives for good.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Heart-deep Recovery Lesson 3: Plavix or Me on Plavix! (Part Four of Four)
One of the biggest frustrations of my aftercare is all the medication I have to take. I now have one of those pill containers marked with the days of the week to help me keep the whole thing sorted out, the kind of thing peoples’ grandparents use. Imagine that! The prescriptions that seem to make the most visible difference are the ones for Plavix and aspirin–the blood thinners. Bruises, bruises, bruises! I hate it! I called the doctor and told him I must surely be getting too much blood thinner because I was covered with bruises. He took no pity on me whatsoever.
I was pretty angry until one day, after I’d bumped my hip on the kitchen counter, stubbed my big toe, hit my elbow on the door jam, and accidentally slammed my head in the door going out to the garage (OK, maybe that all took two days), it dawned on me that the problem, the real problem, was not the blood thinners, it was me on blood thinners. Plavix and aspirin don’t make bruises in and of themselves. I have bruises because I’m a klutz and on blood thinners every klutzy thing I do becomes visible.
I can get rid of the bruises by getting rid of the Plavix and put myself at risk or I can get rid of the bruises by being more conscious of what I am doing.
So, instead of spending my energy trying to rid myself of all the indicators God has put in place to help me see the truth (even though the truth is colored black and blue) I choose to live in gratitude for all the clues, the things He’s placed in my life like Plavix, and children, and callings, and challenges that make the truth plain. With my awareness, He can help me make the changes I need to make in life.
Conclusion
We overcome this world by degrees. A heart attack or any kind of earth life attack is an invitation to change, to be a little different, and to reach out to the Lord for direction and power over things we’ve never ever considered. Jesus is the Lord of my progress, my conversion, my change. Because of Him and with Him, in matters of the heart both physical and spiritual, I do not have to be what I have been. So Nannette, the pickax and the Plavix are not the enemy, and if you listen, you’ll know that they speak to you for Him.
By Nannette W.
Posted Sunday, September 5, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
I was pretty angry until one day, after I’d bumped my hip on the kitchen counter, stubbed my big toe, hit my elbow on the door jam, and accidentally slammed my head in the door going out to the garage (OK, maybe that all took two days), it dawned on me that the problem, the real problem, was not the blood thinners, it was me on blood thinners. Plavix and aspirin don’t make bruises in and of themselves. I have bruises because I’m a klutz and on blood thinners every klutzy thing I do becomes visible.
I can get rid of the bruises by getting rid of the Plavix and put myself at risk or I can get rid of the bruises by being more conscious of what I am doing.
So, instead of spending my energy trying to rid myself of all the indicators God has put in place to help me see the truth (even though the truth is colored black and blue) I choose to live in gratitude for all the clues, the things He’s placed in my life like Plavix, and children, and callings, and challenges that make the truth plain. With my awareness, He can help me make the changes I need to make in life.
Conclusion
We overcome this world by degrees. A heart attack or any kind of earth life attack is an invitation to change, to be a little different, and to reach out to the Lord for direction and power over things we’ve never ever considered. Jesus is the Lord of my progress, my conversion, my change. Because of Him and with Him, in matters of the heart both physical and spiritual, I do not have to be what I have been. So Nannette, the pickax and the Plavix are not the enemy, and if you listen, you’ll know that they speak to you for Him.
By Nannette W.
Posted Sunday, September 5, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Heart-deep Recovery Lesson 2: Who’s to Blame? (Part Three of Four)
“You’d be surprised how many people have heart attacks with a snow shovel in their hands,” I heard over and over from the hospital personnel.
“That’s it!” I thought. “Let’s blame the sledge hammer and the pickax.”
It’s the most “natural man” thing in the world to search for something or someone to blame—something or someone that Is Not Us! Many people pay a therapist to “peel the onion” and see what lurks inside. King David humbly invites the Lord to take an intensive look when he says “Search me, O God, and know my heart” (Psalms 139:23). My cardiologist went in with a camera and tools for excavating. The point is to look beyond the obvious.
As we say in addiction recovery, our problem is “a symptom of other causes and conditions” (A Guide to Addiction Recovery and Healing p, 21). And so it was with the condition of my heart. It wasn’t really about the sledge hammer or the pickax, the high blood pressure or the extreme discomfort. Even the enzymes in my blood were not the enemy. They were all indicators.
All recovery, cardiac or otherwise, requires that we look for clues deep within, beyond the hammer and the ice or whatever person, place, thing, or situation we’re tempted to blame. It takes courage to locate the real blockage—the actual thing that has us stuck. Today I’m grateful for physical and spiritual clues—even painful ones—that help me take positive action on the condition of my heart.
By Nannette W.
Posted Saturday, September 4, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
“That’s it!” I thought. “Let’s blame the sledge hammer and the pickax.”
It’s the most “natural man” thing in the world to search for something or someone to blame—something or someone that Is Not Us! Many people pay a therapist to “peel the onion” and see what lurks inside. King David humbly invites the Lord to take an intensive look when he says “Search me, O God, and know my heart” (Psalms 139:23). My cardiologist went in with a camera and tools for excavating. The point is to look beyond the obvious.
As we say in addiction recovery, our problem is “a symptom of other causes and conditions” (A Guide to Addiction Recovery and Healing p, 21). And so it was with the condition of my heart. It wasn’t really about the sledge hammer or the pickax, the high blood pressure or the extreme discomfort. Even the enzymes in my blood were not the enemy. They were all indicators.
All recovery, cardiac or otherwise, requires that we look for clues deep within, beyond the hammer and the ice or whatever person, place, thing, or situation we’re tempted to blame. It takes courage to locate the real blockage—the actual thing that has us stuck. Today I’m grateful for physical and spiritual clues—even painful ones—that help me take positive action on the condition of my heart.
By Nannette W.
Posted Saturday, September 4, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Heart-deep Recovery Lesson 1: Who Me? No Way! (Part Two of Four)
“But I have such a healthy life style today!” I announced to the cardiologist as I lay in bed breathing from an oxygen tube. “I exercise and eat right! I’ll have you know I’ve lost 97 lbs!”
“Past sins and heredity,” he responded with a grim smile.
Years ago I remember sitting in a hospital waiting room listening to my mom give her family history of heart disease to the physician’s assistant right before her angiogram and quadruple bypass surgery. I remember thinking. “Nannette, you really should take this personally.” I didn’t though. I didn’t get it ‘til now.
I really am a product of the strengths and weaknesses that have been passed down the family line along with all the actions, good and bad I have taken over a lifetime. I’m certainly grateful I did not weigh 97 lbs. more when I had my heart attack. Repentance is real. We can turn around. Change is real. With direction and power from God we can break cycles that are generations old, but healing the heart whether physically or spiritually, takes time and patience and willingness to cooperate. I have learned that I can’t ever take the health of my heart for granted. The way I live today both physically and spiritually has the power to reach across the years and counter what I have inherited and what I have inflicted upon myself.
My heart attack was an invitation from the Lord to do just that and though it’s been hard, I’m grateful for the wake-up call. My life’s work is to come unto Christ and overcome what all of us are challenged with, heredity and our own past sins.” So, “Yes Me!” “Why not me!”
By Nannette W.
Posted Friday, September 3, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
“Past sins and heredity,” he responded with a grim smile.
Years ago I remember sitting in a hospital waiting room listening to my mom give her family history of heart disease to the physician’s assistant right before her angiogram and quadruple bypass surgery. I remember thinking. “Nannette, you really should take this personally.” I didn’t though. I didn’t get it ‘til now.
I really am a product of the strengths and weaknesses that have been passed down the family line along with all the actions, good and bad I have taken over a lifetime. I’m certainly grateful I did not weigh 97 lbs. more when I had my heart attack. Repentance is real. We can turn around. Change is real. With direction and power from God we can break cycles that are generations old, but healing the heart whether physically or spiritually, takes time and patience and willingness to cooperate. I have learned that I can’t ever take the health of my heart for granted. The way I live today both physically and spiritually has the power to reach across the years and counter what I have inherited and what I have inflicted upon myself.
My heart attack was an invitation from the Lord to do just that and though it’s been hard, I’m grateful for the wake-up call. My life’s work is to come unto Christ and overcome what all of us are challenged with, heredity and our own past sins.” So, “Yes Me!” “Why not me!”
By Nannette W.
Posted Friday, September 3, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Heart-deep Recovery (Part One of Four)
One January 25th of 2010 it somehow got to be afternoon and I hadn’t exercised yet. After lunch I started contemplating, “Just how am I going to go about getting just enough exercise to appease my conscience today?” I got a little creative. My husband had left to run some errands. Out in the street in front of our house was a thick slab of ice. He had been working on it for days, trying to clear it out so we’d have more available parking. Our house faces north and I’ve often joked that we live in a glacier. Every year, as the grass greens up and the daffodils bloom in the yards across the street we still enjoy enough white on the lawn to build a good size snowman.
Well this January afternoon that thick slice of dirty, frozen, white winter called my name. I had never used a sledge hammer, but I knew where it was kept, and the idea of swinging and making my mark on that ice filled me with some kind of delight. I opened the garage door and grabbed the tool. This activity was going to count for gym time, so I gave it everything I had. My goal suddenly became not simply to get a little exercise but to have that ice entirely broken up before my husband returned. I knew I didn’t have long so I went at it hard! There was something very satisfying about swinging that sledge hammer--the centrifugal pull on my shoulders, the power of letting it fall on the freeze and the sound of thick ice cracking. About half-way through I glanced in the garage and noticed that right there next to where the sledge hammer was kept was a pickax. “Why not,” I said to myself. “This might be even more effective!”
As my husband rounded the corner I was done breaking up the entire sheet of ice and was finishing my afternoon workout by shoveling pieces of ice into the street for quick melting. My very surprised husband was happy to take the shovel and finish the job. Pretty satisfied that this twenty-five minute extreme workout could compensate for an hour at the gym I walked into the house.
As I entered my room a sick feeling I had never experienced before washed over my body. I knew that I was not only done exercising, I was done in! I was not in what you might call a great deal of pain, but a tremendous weariness seemed to emanate from my chest and fill my entire body.
I was removing my wet clothes when my friend Pat called. I put the phone to my ear and lay down on my bed. As she chattered away the feeling grew worse until I excused myself for a minute. I had a borrowed blood pressure monitor and it came into my mind that it was time to try it out. It registered 191 over 115. Back in October a doctor had given me a prescription of nitroglycerin after a less severe rise in my blood pressure. I went back to the phone, reported my findings and told my friend that perhaps this was the moment to put one of those small white pills under my tongue. I called my husband in, chewed up an aspirin, and asked my husband for a blessing. The pressure came down a few notches. I called my doctor who thought it was simply the result of my intense exercise. He suggested I give it a little time and all would be well.
“That’s good,” I thought and proceeded to make dinner. I continued to check my blood pressure every hour. Not much changed. Determined I was not going to spend the night in the ER, by gum, I took charge of the situation. I tried the “don’t think about it” system…the relax and make dinner system…the relax and watch a movie system. But at midnight my blood pressure was still extremely elevated, and my daughters, who are registered nurses, insisted I go to the emergency room. After several revealing tests, the attending physician insisted that I spend the night. I was admitted into the hospital. I soon realized that the only thing I was going to be in charge of was one of those nice beds with a thin mattress and a remote control.
I’d started the day feeling like a young 55 and now I lay in a hospital bed feeling old and trying to wrap my mind around what was happening. The blood work confirmed a heart attack. The next morning the angiogram revealed a blockage in my heart and the cardiologist placed a stent in one of my arteries.
I left the hospital with a 172 page Heart Care Handbook, prescriptions for eight medications to lower my blood pressure, thin my blood, and prevent cholesterol from playing havoc in my arteries, and finally, a referral to cardiac rehab. Wow!
Often the Lord is subtle and I have to really be on the lookout for what He might be trying to teach me. Other times there are events in life were His message is loud, clear, and unmistakable. This was just such an event.
By Nannette W.
Posted Thursday, September 2, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Well this January afternoon that thick slice of dirty, frozen, white winter called my name. I had never used a sledge hammer, but I knew where it was kept, and the idea of swinging and making my mark on that ice filled me with some kind of delight. I opened the garage door and grabbed the tool. This activity was going to count for gym time, so I gave it everything I had. My goal suddenly became not simply to get a little exercise but to have that ice entirely broken up before my husband returned. I knew I didn’t have long so I went at it hard! There was something very satisfying about swinging that sledge hammer--the centrifugal pull on my shoulders, the power of letting it fall on the freeze and the sound of thick ice cracking. About half-way through I glanced in the garage and noticed that right there next to where the sledge hammer was kept was a pickax. “Why not,” I said to myself. “This might be even more effective!”
As my husband rounded the corner I was done breaking up the entire sheet of ice and was finishing my afternoon workout by shoveling pieces of ice into the street for quick melting. My very surprised husband was happy to take the shovel and finish the job. Pretty satisfied that this twenty-five minute extreme workout could compensate for an hour at the gym I walked into the house.
As I entered my room a sick feeling I had never experienced before washed over my body. I knew that I was not only done exercising, I was done in! I was not in what you might call a great deal of pain, but a tremendous weariness seemed to emanate from my chest and fill my entire body.
I was removing my wet clothes when my friend Pat called. I put the phone to my ear and lay down on my bed. As she chattered away the feeling grew worse until I excused myself for a minute. I had a borrowed blood pressure monitor and it came into my mind that it was time to try it out. It registered 191 over 115. Back in October a doctor had given me a prescription of nitroglycerin after a less severe rise in my blood pressure. I went back to the phone, reported my findings and told my friend that perhaps this was the moment to put one of those small white pills under my tongue. I called my husband in, chewed up an aspirin, and asked my husband for a blessing. The pressure came down a few notches. I called my doctor who thought it was simply the result of my intense exercise. He suggested I give it a little time and all would be well.
“That’s good,” I thought and proceeded to make dinner. I continued to check my blood pressure every hour. Not much changed. Determined I was not going to spend the night in the ER, by gum, I took charge of the situation. I tried the “don’t think about it” system…the relax and make dinner system…the relax and watch a movie system. But at midnight my blood pressure was still extremely elevated, and my daughters, who are registered nurses, insisted I go to the emergency room. After several revealing tests, the attending physician insisted that I spend the night. I was admitted into the hospital. I soon realized that the only thing I was going to be in charge of was one of those nice beds with a thin mattress and a remote control.
I’d started the day feeling like a young 55 and now I lay in a hospital bed feeling old and trying to wrap my mind around what was happening. The blood work confirmed a heart attack. The next morning the angiogram revealed a blockage in my heart and the cardiologist placed a stent in one of my arteries.
I left the hospital with a 172 page Heart Care Handbook, prescriptions for eight medications to lower my blood pressure, thin my blood, and prevent cholesterol from playing havoc in my arteries, and finally, a referral to cardiac rehab. Wow!
Often the Lord is subtle and I have to really be on the lookout for what He might be trying to teach me. Other times there are events in life were His message is loud, clear, and unmistakable. This was just such an event.
By Nannette W.
Posted Thursday, September 2, 2010
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.
All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
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