Janet's Blog

Last week's snowstorm in the northeastern and mid-Atlantic states was a doozie, by all accounts. Parts of seven states received snowfall in excess of thirty inches. More than 100 million people were affected by the two-day storm. Schools and businesses were closed, traffic came to a standstill in many areas, thousands of flights were cancelled, more than 50 people lost their lives because of the widespread storm. Over the past few days, another storm has been predicted. This one is scheduled to hit the middle of our country on Monday and Tuesday. Early models predicted as much as 30-45 inches of snow along with 20 mph winds across Iowa, with upwards of a foot of snow for much of Nebraska and the rest of the Midwest. I've noticed that the weather forecasters have tempered their predictions by insisting that the exact path of the storm and amount of snow will definitely change, but current weather patterns indicate that someone, somewhere, will get a lot of snow and probably

I've heard it said many times and, the older I get, the truer it seems to be: "They grow up so fast!" I'm talking about babies, specifically, my children and grandchildren. It doesn't seem so long ago that my oldest daughters were babies, yet, here they are, grown women living independent lives. And my first grandson, Tobin, was just born, wasn't he? Yet, he will be four years old on Friday. And our little Evelyn must still be a baby, but here she is, two years old, and a big sister already. Lydia Joy is the baby now, one week old, settling into life at home with her family. Both Meagan and Andy claim to have chosen her name. I think that's a good thing, don't you? "Lydia" is a feminine first name of Greek origin, meaning "woman from Lydia."  Lydia was mentioned in the Bible as a woman of God; she loved to hear God's word and put it into action. She also sold expensive purple clothing to the only people who could afford to b

Our Lifegroup meets in our pastor's home almost every Tuesday night for supper and Bible study. Bill and I have loved getting to know some of the people from our church. The food has been amazing. The fellowship has been wonderful. The Bible Studies have been meaningful, even life-changing for some of us. The prayer time has brought us closer to God and each other. Lately, our Lifegroup has been praying together for several pastors that some of us know. Or, perhaps I should say "former pastors." That's why we are praying for them. These men have not only left the ministry, but some have left their wives and families, as well as their jobs. And, worst of all, after years, or even decades of ministry, they are "burned out." They have turned their backs on God, refusing to attend any church, refusing to read their Bibles or pray, refusing to associate with Christians. Invariably, each one feels as though God has failed him. It's a common mala

I was still a student at Fairbury High School when Mini Skirt Drive opened for business. It must have been a sign of the times. The premise was simple. Mini Skirt Drive was a gas station, staffed by young women wearing mini skirts, who pumped the gas, washed windshields, and took the money. It was a popular business--for a short time. Gas was cheap back then, maybe as much as 35 cents a gallon for regular (leaded) gas. And all gas stations were full service; self service was nearly unknown at that time. Until then, most gas stations were staffed exclusively by men, so it was quite a novelty for any gas station to have female employees, let alone women wearing ultra short skirts. No one in Fairbury really stopped to think that Mini Skirt Drive might be a sexist name for a gas station, or that the young women who worked there were being sexually exploited in order to bring in some additional business. The gas station was considered to be a novelty, for sure. I'm certain t

When it became evident that Bill and I might have a long wait before we could have the baby we longed for, we decided that we should get...a dog! We had been married for five or six years by then, and we were definitely getting used to a rather carefree lifestyle. As we wended our way through fertility treatments and adoption agencies, we felt like we needed to get used to having someone besides ourselves to tend to, so we headed to the local Humane Society to pick out a puppy. It was the middle of winter, probably not the best time to train a new puppy. But, if we had used reasonable weather as our main criteria, our time frame would have been cut down to four or five months. After all, winter lasts for six months in Traverse City, Michigan, followed by at least a month of mud. So, in spite of the weather, we were ready to adopt our puppy. At the Humane Society, we were surprised to find a large assortment of dogs, eagerly yapping at us from their cages. One cage was unique,