Thursday, January 31, 2013


In the Fall of 2006, I became e-acquainted with a lady from Singapore.  In September, I had been on a long prayer walk in northern Minnesota, and then at a spiritual warfare conference in Grand Forks, North Dakota, just across the state line.  She contacted me a few weeks later. She certainly wasn't there and I don't know who told her about me and my focus on spiritual mapping.  [I love how the Lord does that for us; a total surprise!]

A year later, in 2007, I edited a spiritual warfare book she had written.  Since it was being shared in the U.S. and Canada, and much of it was aimed at Asian thinking and spiritual history, some of it needed adjustment or further explanation.

We e-communicated frequently.

Now, also, in the Summer and Fall of '07, while editing, some heavy extended-family issues crushed my heart.  Then, in early November, I had an appendectomy, and, even after a flu shot, I was hit hard twice with flues during the next few weeks.  In those months I had become very weak, physically and emotionally -- and believe it was spiritual, too.

I hit one of my hardest depressions in years.  I began to wonder if the Lord was disappointed in me -- I knew others were -- and if I should just stay at home, isolated, alone .... forever.  [My poor sweet husband having to deal with my sad heart.  So sorry for him.]

One day near Christmas, I was walking through my house crying and overwhelmed with sadness...

AND the doorbell rang.

I went and Patti, our USPS lady, handed me a package, a bit torn, and taped by the post office.

It was from Singapore.  I thought, "WHAT?"

I opened it up... and cried again... but from joy, instead of depression.

WHY?   Gifts were from Serene.  One small inner package had lovely chopsticks wrapped in cloth napkins held together with ribbons.  And, then, when I took the paper that covered the other piece, it truly was a gift from God.  I still laugh ... when struggling in sorrow and depression for weeks and wondering what I should do, how life should change, Serene had already mailed thisIt was running late, according to the expected arrival time, which she shared with me later when thanking her.  But it arrived exactly when it should have, spiritually speaking.  

This was a golden, blue, royalty-colored cloth.  It said to me, from the Lord, that I was a royal princess, would continue to be kept in part of His family and that serving Him -- in, out, and about -- was what counted.
I left it on my dining room table for a while so I could never NOT see it every day.  Shortly thereafter, I folded it and put it in our curio cabinet.  It's been there ever since and I still smile and think of when it arrived and why.

It's another testimony of how the Lord so kindly breaks through the heavy walls of our lives ...  and fills us with encouragement.

And today?  Filled with appreciation.  For Serene... and Him.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

PSALM 150:6


Leeds Castle, UK
Zion National Park, Utah
Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah
Our Home, Omaha
Our Home, Omaha
Rio Negro, Costa Rica
I chose small ones, except for that lovely peacock.  Couldn't pass that up!!  Wanted to use giraffes and other large ones, but went for the small.  Because?  Those of us when small in spirit need to grow more and more and be larger and larger through praise of our Lord. 

Tuesday, January 29, 2013


For most Ugandans a taxi park is a normal part of life, but Westerners rarely have this “wonderful” experience; I hadn’t done it for several years. I arrived at the park in the blazing afternoon heat after spending three hours in transit, beginning with a walk, then a very uncomfortable ride on the back of a bicycle, followed by a 10-mile hot and dusty motorbike ride. Finally, I was ensconced in a matatu and finished my intense jaunt to Kampala.

Not only emotionally and physically exhausted from ministry in a refugee portion of Uganda, unbeknownst to me, I was in the beginning phase of malaria. I plowed through the crowd, juggling around my heavy duffle and my bulky backpack. I knew when I reached the street I could find a ride to a hotel. However, I felt totally overwhelmed, not sure I could make it.

At that very moment, a young teen stepped up and asked if I wanted a “special hire”(a non-public taxi) and I said I did. He said “We'll find and I'll carry.” He reached for my bag. I told him “I don't have any ‘small’.” (I had no money for a tip.) In spite of this, he took my bag and said he didn't want money. I was absolutely stunned and couldn’t believe him. Even though he was slightly built and my duffle was very heavy, I was nearly certain that when we reached the park’s outside area, an accomplice would grab the bag from him and make a run for it; consequently, as hampered as I was by the crowd and the heavy back pack, I rushed along, carefully keeping him in view. Amazingly, he was faithful. When we reached the street, he said he would find a special hire and asked me how much I would pay. I said 7,000// [Uganda shillings]. He said, "You can get for 5,000//.” Another miracle – even if he could have hired a taxi for 5,000//, it would have been normal that he tell me it was 7,000// and pocket the difference. Then he asked, “Do you know why I am helping you? My Pastor said we should bless our elders and God would bless us.” I nearly cried on the spot. I felt God’s hands encompass me with His gentle and very timely care.

Joseph found a car, arranged the fee, and escorted me to the hotel. At the reception desk, bending over to retrieve my passport from my backpack, I started to fall on the floor, fainting. A couple of the hotel reception people held me and walked me to a seating area, then brought me some juice.  While there
, resting, My Angel sat near me, watching with great concern. A little later, able to change larger bills into some smaller denominations, I paid the driver. Then I gave Joseph 2,000// (four times more than what I would have paid at the park), which he tried to decline. I said, “You said God would bless you for helping. He is.”

I had many adventures in Uganda, some very difficult and sad and some very funny. But among the most wonderful was this amazing encounter with Joseph, my Taxi Park Angel.

Today, while reading my daily devotional, the date hit me.  And then I thought of the Taxi Park Angel again, and had to smile ... and had to share this story again.

It happened on January 27, 2004.

Even though I usually took a LOT of photos, and have hundreds from that stretch in Uganda, now I was too tired.  Couldn't do my hobby.  So, during my 3 days at the hotel, these were the only ones from my window.  Cute, huh?  Our life is SO different.

See my sweet birdie??  Ain't small, be tall!!!!
Hey, you local builders, see how tough this can be??
On January 28th, in the early evening, the hotel transported me to a doctor's office.  In the next couple hours, the nurse and doctor took care of me, gave me a shot, pills for my headache, a prescription for the malaria drug, which I received nearby, and then I was taken back to the hotel.  The reason I'm being detailed is because with all of those helps, the total cost came to the big amount of $28.00.  Think we could live with that???

And Dave was arriving January 30th, 2-1/2 months since we'd been together. I missed him so much; could hardly wait for his arrival at Entebbe. I really wanted to be a few steps healthier by then. I wanted to take him around to meet my new Soroti friends and visit our former friends who had moved to other parts of Uganda.  We'd be heading home on February 12th.   Most of that didn't come to pass, because of my exhaustion connected to PTS and a bit of the left-over malaria. 

NOW TO CLOSE: Joseph truly was My Angel.  I have no idea how things would have come to pass for me without his help.  Would love to find him again.  And bless HIM, because he blessed me. 

Tell Me a Story

Monday, January 28, 2013


... one of my favorite places in the world. 


Every time I drive or walk through that park, as I said, one of my favorite places in the world, I have to laugh at the strange time I spent there when I was about 13 years old.  MANY, many years ago, obviously.

I was 9 years old and in 4th grade when my family changed homes in Tacoma.  In our new neighborhood, I soon met Marilyn and we became friends.  Same age, same grade, same school. As friends, we usually did well; but we sometimes did not. For instance, Marilyn would be very angry at me, and refuse to talk to me, but wouldn't tell me why.  She, going past my house on the way to school, would stop for me.  We'd walk that next few blocks.  She'd walk, but wouldn't talk and wouldn't look at me. No matter what a fuss was, a few days later, even though I usually had no idea what it was about, she would suddenly start smiling and talking, but never told me she was sorry or explained why she'd been upset.  Strange relationship, fair friendship.  We kept moving along until after 9th grade and my family left  Tacoma during the summer when I turned 15.

Like mine, her parents were alcoholics. But big difference:  she was the only of their kids who lived at home; her next sister was about 10 years older.  [I, as most of you know, was the oldest of 6 girls.] Consequently, she could deal with her parents more easily than I could.  

We did some really strange things.  One "funny" one: I had come to spend the night with her, and I climbed in her bedroom window on the side of their house.  Marilyn wanted me there that night, but her dad had not given permission, so I snuck in, and stayed on the floor by the bed.  Her dad popped in a couple times that night -- I'm sure he heard us whispering and snickering [who'd a thunk that?] -- but each time I was so well hidden on the wall-side of the bed on the floor, he didn't see me.  Did I have a good time?  Did I sleep, covered with blankets?  Not much.  BUT we broke his rule and we won.  That's what counted with us.

Even all these years later, though, when I'm driving through Point Defiance, I laugh. This is what happened: 

One morning the summer when we were 13, her dad still asleep from his drunk night, Marilyn went through his pockets and wallet and took his spare cash.  Her reasoning?  He wouldn't think it was stolen; he'd think he'd bought more beer for others at the bar than he had planned.  SO, she took the money and came to my house.  I happened to have the day off from babysitting my 5 sisters.  That summer my parents occasionally hired a lady to watch them, especially now that my youngest sister, Kristan, was less than a year old. The sitter would leave mid-afternoon, so I'd be free until about 3:00.  Believe me, I was a happy kid.

Marilyn came at 9 o'clock that morning and said we should go to Point Defiance on our bikes and she wanted to ride horses there.  I'd never ridden a bike nearly that far, always stuck to the neighborhood area, and I'd never been on a horse.  Point Defiance was about 4 miles away, riding up and down some hilly streets, and, once inside the park, another 1/2 mile or so to the horse area.  And, remember, in those days, folks, bikes weren't filled with all the easiness our present-day ones have.  They had a saddle w/o pads, regular wheels, pedals, and handlebars. Very basic. "Easy Riding" wasn't always easy. But... we did it.  [And, what was a helmet???]

Marilyn and I rode for about an hour to get to Point Defiance.  Then, we rode horses for an hour or two along the paths, through the tree and leafy areas and looking over the Puget Sound.  Then we rode the bikes back home. After reaching the house about 2 o'clock, I was exhausted from those hours of bike-and-horse-riding. We did it a couple times that week, but never again.

Did I have fun?  YES!!!  My first chance to do anything like that, because we were so poor and I had so much household responsibility and little free time.  Did I feel guilty?  YES!!! I KNEW her dad had been robbed.  I KNEW when and how it had been done, and who had done it.  I KNEW I had taken advantage to have the money used on me.

Did Marilyn ever wonder, feel guilty?  I don't know.  She was angry at her parents for their unparenting.  She felt angry that her sister had come out better than she did.

I haven't seen her since I was 20.  Returning to Tacoma for a job when having left Seattle, I connected with her through another former neighborhood friend. Marilyn was planning her marriage. I had a short visit at her apartment.  She seemed pleased with life.

I hope her life has improved as beautifully as mine has.  I hope to see her in heaven.  I can thank her for many things over those several years -- she really did some nice things for me. 

However, as much as I still grin about it at Point Defiance, when seeing the former horse-path area, in heaven it wouldn't be OK for me to thank her for providing excitingly fun horse-riding that week.  No matter how I might want to approach it, it wouldn't be OK, since the "fun" came as the result of stealing money from her dad.

But I DO hope to see her in heaven.  When there, we'd both be much spiritually-oriented happy ladies, forever.  And can walk, bike, and horse-ride for eternity ... however those activities are provided through angels.

Tell Me a Story

PSALM 92:15

This is the verse that the Lord dropped into me
 this morning when I was in the Word.  I was pleased. 
 Means I'm back with my friends again.
It's been 10 days since I've posted.  WHY?   The Lord had me reorganizing my home office, restructuring hourly portions that would be more and more involved in scanning photos -- thousands -- and writing/editing/rewriting hundreds of pages for stories/teachings/sharings/poems/plays/skits, all either short or long --some go back about 40 years.  Not finished, OF COURSE, with the photos and writings -- just beginning this part -- but am moving forward.  During this stretch of housework, I donated books to my church; gave away house items; sorted, resorted, and shredded hundreds and hundreds of papers (income tax stuff from the past years and years, and lots of  family filing I had done over the past stretch that could be discarded).

And, because of the office re-organization, I had to adjust and re-organize a couple other portions of our house.  [Including, removing the Christmas tree and re-doing the living room at this same time.]  I've been one busy cookie for a week.

 So, NOW, I'm BACK.  Not entirely done -- as I said, the writing and photo scanning are just in the beginning organizing process -- but I'm BACK.   

[Hopefully, in the next 3 months THOSE basics will be in place.  That's my goal.]

Friday, January 18, 2013

PSALM 119:136



Thursday, January 17, 2013


And I have posted more than once about how he was born miraculously... not just from bodies, but from the encouragement for abortion from my doctors.  I'll put most of that in after this next bit of "miracle" news.

He is 42 today now.  I can't forget any of the situations that were piled on me for the 8 months of my pregnancy to his birth.  It was filled with scariness from the Doctors in the Redwood City, CA., area.

Tomorrow Dave and I are meeting Steve and his son, Dyllon, at our house.  Don't know where we'll go, what we'll do, but being with them counts significantly. 

And, again, here's the story of how he arrived...


Every year when January 22nd hits, and the pro-choice and pro-life groups hit the news, I always want to stand up and holler, "LISTEN TO ME!!!!"
The key: My son was born on January 17th, 1973. Last week he turned 39. And it's a miracle he was born.

In the Spring, 1972, I became pregnant for the severaleth time. I had had at least two miscarriages in the previous two years, and, while driving home from church that Sunday afternoon, the pain began again; I was only 6 weeks pregnant. It was the exact feeling and timing of the other miscarriages. I went to a Doctor immediately on that Sunday afternoon, and after checking me, he suggested that I not have this baby, that I let "Nature" bring this to an end. He gave me some pills to take "whenever I felt that pain." At home, even when in pain, I didn't take any pills; I'm not a medicine-oriented person. What I discovered many months later was that the pills would not have relieved the pain, but would have caused a medical abortion.

 Occasionally, during the next several months, other doctors tried to convince me to let them bring the birth to an end. I was told that this baby would be a mental and physical vegetable, that I would always have to care for "it" and would never be free OR that the baby could die very soon and I would suffer from that death; "Mother Nature" had tried to free it "now."

Well, I refused. Can't say I wasn't frightened about what the results would be. In fact, I was terrified during the pregnancy, especially when I was forced to be in bed for about two months that summer and had this fear pouring through my heart and mind constantly. But, I knew it wasn't what God would want me to do, so I simply couldn't; sometimes I felt Him hold my hand and encourage me to stand in that rocky area. The baby's Dad, my former husband, basically just told me to do what I needed to do. Except for one spiritual Mom who gave me a Word when she could, I walked through this alone.

 [You must recall or know that in those days talking to a pastor about these physical issues was not reasonable, going to a counselor wasn't easy (especially since I couldn't afford it), and ultrasound wasn't a medical part of our lives. Life has most certainly changed now. I also had no family I could talk to.]

The baby was due on January 12. On the 16th, I was rushed to Stanford University for the delivery. Labor had kicked in early that evening. When the baby was being delivered, about 6:30 AM the 17th, the nurse asked if I wanted to look in the mirror so I could watch the baby come out. I was obviously more terrified than anyone, including me, knew it. I screamed, "NO!!!"

And then the baby came. And HE was not a vegetable. He looked exactly like his sister had who had arrived about 3 years earlier, he was an ounce heavier than she had been, and 1/2 inch longer  in length. That was all. Period.

I was in the hospital for a few days. Didn't know anything about the Roe v. Wade abortion approval, even though this picture was taken that very day, January 22nd.

In fact, I didn't know anything about that for some time; life was extremely stressful and my recovery took several months. Survival was my only focus then.

But to know that the Lord gave me a son at the same time that law came into being, and that He had helped me walk through those horrible times with very caring and concerned doctors, probably some of the most seriously compelled to do the best for me and the "fetus", still just fills my heart with appreciation for Him.  
Steve and Dyllon, 2 years ago on Steve's 40th B-day
Steve's sister, Renae, and his step-dad and I.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013


The Lord laid it on me recently to read -- re-read -- the book written by his three co-partners, "Praying Hyde".  The portions were written in the early 1900s, and the book is considered a prayer classic.

John Hyde was born in Carthage, Illinois, in 1865.  His dad was a Presbyterian pastor.  Then, after collage, in 1892, John went to India.  And, except for very few times when going to other countries to rest and intercede or preach and teach at revivals, he remained only in India.  He died in Massachusetts at his sister's, forced to return to the States because of an extremely serious heart problem.  He arrived shortly before his death.

His main God-job, from 1892 until his death in 1912, was intercession.

However, in the book a paragraph struck me.   Hard.

This was written about him by a prayer companion:

We feared his poor weak body would sink under the strain, but how marvelously he was sustained all the time!  At times that agony was dumb [i.e. quiet], at times it was his crying out for the millions perishing before our eyes; yet it was always lit up with hope.  Hope in the love of God --- Hope in the God of love.

Part of my spirit is heavily involved in intercession ... but rarely is my body in the "closet" that is so needed and necessary for prayer.  Mine is often [too often??] a walking, driving, looking-in-faces, watching-the-world-overview phase of life.  And, the only description of John that fits me, is heart pounding, stomach wrenching, spirit crying, body trembling -- aspects just like his life.  He, however, sometimes saw the face of our Lord, the angels surrounding circumstances, seeing the heavenly eternal world which encouraged him to keep on keeping on.

Crying for days, travailing for India and the world --- and, then, seeing godly consequences, he would rejoice.

What a blessing that would be today.  For me.  For many others.

Oh, and John's last words at death:  

"Shout the Victory of Jesus!" 


Tell Me a Story

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Monday, January 14, 2013


That is mine.  Now.  I've thought about how to describe it for some years.  

I tried to be a good, faithful, consistent ministry person in the past.  Then, I felt guilty, because it didn't seem to work out for me very well.  I got side-tracked too easily.  [Who, ME???]  

The benefit now?  If there's a sudden need, I fit in more easily.  Why?  I don't usually have anything specific on my schedule that can't be readjusted.  Not the same with most of the others who are serving the Lord.  I did it, too, in the past, back in the '70s and '80s to mid-90s.  Mostly, teaching 5th grade-to-teens with my self-written Bible studies, and writing plays, monologues, and skits, and directing or acting.  That was fun for me -- and for them.

Then life changed.  Churches changed.  I didn't fit in very well; or, at least that's the way I felt.

However, I began traveling often in the '90s.  I drove many places around the country and went to Uganda and Morocco when the Lord called me.  And that has continued.  Usually, it amounted to at least a total of 1/3 of the year, on the road and visiting and helping. And, in the past 3 years, much of it has become local connected to the Bhutanese refugees.  Very local, mostly in just a couple blocks. AND, no matter what I'm doing or where I'm going, I have a husband who, when he can't go with me, prays over me, gives me the blessing, and simply trusts the Lord for the consequences.

So.  Here are some "knee-jerk" photos, over the years, that the Lord dropped in:

 Mom's 90th birthday and much of my family, 2010

Morocco Berber Village Kids, 2001

 Our Ugandan son, Sam, when we first connected, '94

Costa Rica, 2000

Minnesota with Susie, 2010
[but frequently visit]

 British Columbia, to see my visiting
 Ugandan "son", Francis,
and his wife and [very] tiny baby, 2011

 My Bhutanese grandson, Sai, and my great-granddaughter,
 Sneha, at birth, 2011 [one of the six babies I've helped deliver at our local hospital.  WOW!!]

Soroti, Uganda, praying for woman who is dying, her family losing her.  Heart-breaking, blessed, moment. 2003
A special man the Lord dropped into my life during my last trip to the Northwest last Fall.  We are friends now, after meeting at rest areas.  Amazing.

Many of my Bhutanese "family" from this past 3 years.  Some came from Nepal as Christians, but many of them came as Buddhist or Hindu and came to the Lord since arriving.
Now, the newest?  Deidra Riggs has put together a blog retreat not far from me.  She lives in Lincoln; I live in Omaha, 50 miles apart.  The retreat is about half-way in between.  I signed up right away, because I want to meet blog friends that have been dropped  into my life in this past three years.  AND when I was thinking about it after I signed in, the fact that I live a few minutes from the Omaha airport, I suggested that I work out a way to pick up and drop off the ladies.  THEN, because I knee-jerk, if anyone needs to go to an ER, pick up a med they forgot, or just about anything else, that is what I will do to help.  But, hugging my "sisters" is something I can hardly wait to do.

One decision I've also made:  any of us who are picking up and wouldn't be recognized are going to wear purple.  I will wear my sparkly purple ball cap.

After the retreat, I might need to rest a bit, but my adrenalin could still be popping.

Anyhow, that's my ministry explanation.  And, sometimes I do nothing for weeks, except normal house and yard work and grocery shopping, and living in the Word and Godly books laid on my spirit. THEN, something happens, and life changes, and, whether actually or theoretically described, I hit the road.

YIPPEE!!! Love my God-job.

Tell Me a Story

Saturday, January 12, 2013


Twenty five years ago, I was speaking at a local treatment center that had alcoholics, drug addicts, food addicts, and codependents.  I had been there a couple months earlier as a codep.  I wrote this story to speak, not able to be based much on the Lord, but wanted to open minds and hearts about how and where and when they could grow.  Ain't perfect, but not boring.  However, as I said, I couldn't mix the Lord in the way I wanted, because of the social situations in that place, at that time.
 I always knew I was "poor white trash."  I wasn't raised in the South during the Civil War or Reconstruction, but, from 5th grade to junior high age, every book I read on those subjects confirmed it to me.  As I read I didn't identify with a southern belle; in fact, such silliness and coy behavior that was described was far beyond me.  I didn't understand the southern gentleman, who succumbed to the silliness and rode off to war with his lady's perfumed hanky tucked into the cuff of his uniform.  I identified a little with the outrageous behavior of Scarlet O'Hara, but was disgusted with her deceit and deviousness.  I always thought she got what she deserved from Rhett.  I felt extremely sorry for the slaves, and began fighting for civil rights from the tip of my pen in 7th grade -- – and was chosen to speak in our school auditorium -- and, if possible, would have marched in Selma, Alabama, a few years later.  I understood the plight of the sharecropper -- somewhat.  In my thinking, he was an honest, hardworking man who did the best he could with what he had.  This was epitomized by Johnny Cash's lyrics -- where people were poor, but worked together to build a strong family system and sense of values.  Disappointed?  Yes.  Frequently.  The old "down but not out" way of life.

What I really identified with was a step or so lower than that.  I always felt like the dregs of society.  No one had to tell me I was, although more than one person was quick to point it out to me.  Dad was the town drunk -- or the neighborhood drunk -- depending where we lived.  And Mom was a drunk bully.  We kids were ruffians, or hellians, or misfits -- at school or at church or in polite society in general.  Actually, we were examples of IMpolite society.  WE were the negative examples parents gave their children:

 --    "If you don't brush your teeth, they'll grow green scum like Joanne's."

--    "If you don't take a bath, you'll smell like one of the Lee girls."

--    "Can you believe it?  Joanne's clothes were inside out when she came to school today."

I also heard, "I can be your friend at church, but not at school.  My other friends don't like you."

I tried to break free of the reputation, but made some horrible social blunders.   Usually I didn't even know it until someone took me aside to explain that this or that simply wasn't done.   

I fantasized about being a fairy princess, riding off in the arms of Prince Charming -- and then awoke to the life of Cinderella  -- prior to the fairy godmother and her helpers.  I read about all the possibilities available to a bright, studious girl of the '50's.  Weren't nuclear scientists and physicists in great demand?  Wouldn't that demand only increase?  Couldn't I be one?  My 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Swarm, on a photo, wrote, "I shall be waiting to hear of the famous Scientist Lee some day"  

But, NOPE!  As much as I tried -- as much as I wanted to make it -- I couldn't connect ... the challenge was beyond me.

I envisioned myself as a scrawny, tangle-haired, dirt-streaked waif, a life filled with drudgery, marrying because someone won me in a poker game or traded me for a good plow mule.  But ... I always had spirit.  I'd fight and claw and someday rise above my roots.  I always knew I was smart and I knew THEY (whoever "they" might be) would figure that out ... and there would follow a string of intrigues and successes such as the world had never seen.    And, no, I'd never become a southern belle -- I couldn't ever be that giddy or faint that gracefully.  But I would rise to a level where I could choose my own husband ... and I would know how to put proper shoes on my feet and smell nice and take more than one bath a week (IF I wanted to).   And I would be a white Harriett Tubman, leading untold thousands of "poor white trash" girls like myself on the road to freedom from poverty and humiliation and all the other ills of life on the other side of the tracks -- in fact, the other side of the other side of the tracks.

Anyway, that was my fantasy.  And it didn't work out the way I planned.  I'm "out" now -- after years of struggle and frustration.  And in the final assessment, my brains and spirit didn't do it -- God did. 

Is it too late?  I hope not.  If it is, can I be content?  Probably not.  If it's not too late, where can I begin?  I still have a "shining knight in charging armor" syndrome.  I was born with it -- and I'm convinced mine is a terminal case. I'm sure it is one description that could be engraved on my tombstone.  "Here lies the Princess Joanne; she got caught in the armor and trampled by her horse; but she never stopped believing in fairy tale endings -- or heavenly beginnings."

Friday, January 11, 2013

Thursday, January 10, 2013

PSALM 31:3


Wednesday, January 9, 2013

PSALM 63:1

Scripture laid on me today and now, sharing it with my dear ones.  -- A reminder that each one of us will need our Lord "Water" to fill/flood our spirit, soul, and body
when buried in thirst.