Janet's Blog

I'm not a Christian simply because I go to church every Sunday.  I'm not a Christian because I graduated from a Christian college.  I'm not a Christian because I play bass with the worship team, or because I help with children's ministries.  I'm not a Christian just because I've been baptized.  I'm not a Christian because I read and study the Bible.  I'm not a Christian because I can quote numerous verses of Scripture. I'm not a Christian because of what I do; I'm a Christian because of what Christ has done for me and in me. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.   Ephesians 2: 8-9

I am scheduled to have eye surgery on March 6th, to repair a macular hole in the retina of my left eye.  In the meantime, I'm living with greatly reduced vision and a headache by early afternoon, most days.  I'm not looking forward to the out-patient surgery in Denver, but I'm even less excited about the five days after the surgery, when I have to spend 99% of my time face-down, in a motel room, with no reading or computer use allowed.  I can't come home right away because I can't change altitude right after the surgery.  And after all of that, I don't have any guarantee that I will regain vision in that eye, although the surgeon hopes that I will get back at least 50% of the vision I've lost. It's easy to feel discouraged about the prospect of this surgery and the aftermath.  I'm still not feeling 100% after my bout with a sinus infection and bronchitis last month, and I'm certainly not ready to miss even more school days.  However, I'v...

I had just turned nine when we moved to our apartment in the Hotel MaryEtta.  Because we lived on the fourth floor, we were able to use the old Otis elevator--we all built up our biceps opening that heavy glass door and metal gate several times a day, just so we could ride up or down in the elevator. And, we were intrigued to find that our front door had a peephole.  Of course, as a typical nine year old, I wasn't quite tall enough to use it.  Realistically, it wasn't used by anyone very often.  On those rare occasions when someone rang our doorbell during the day, we just opened the door.  But, at night, Mom or Dad usually looked through the tiny peephole before they opened the door, and we were instructed to never open the locked door after dark, unless an adult had checked first to see who was there. As I became older and taller, I used the peephole, too, especially after dark.  Looking through a peephole gives a distorted view of the person on the ot...

It's been forty years since Bill and I spent our first Valentine's Day together.  We had only known each other for a month or so, but it was long enough for both of us to realize that we might be spending a lifetime together. We had met in the middle of January at a Methodist church in Lincoln, where we had both been asked to play guitar and lead singing for a weekend Lay Witness Mission.  It was funny, really, because we knew many of the same people, who assumed that we already knew each other, too. I remember the first time I saw him, as Bill came in the door of the church on that bitter cold Saturday, red-headed, bigger than life, wearing a bulky down jacket and "waffle stompers"--boots that made his feet look even bigger than they were--and carrying his guitar.  For a split second, it was as if God was shining a spotlight on Bill, just for me to see, as if to say "Here he is!"  I remember feeling mildly astonished, and then totally unconvinced tha...

The fog is finally receding again.  It lasted longer than I like, and little wisps remain around my horizon, but sunny skies are returning at last. I've been sick for far too long this time.  Weeks of annoying asthma issues collided with a nasty virus to produce a sinus infection that just wouldn't quit, and then bronchitis and walking pneumonia.  I'm no longer taking the gift of breath for granted.  Restful sleep is still a precious commodity.  I don't yet have enough breath or stamina to work a full day--maybe next week. I've spent too much of my adult life in the fog of fibromyalgia.  Gradually, I've come up with a rather tenuous mixture of medications and lifestyle that have sustained me in a state of near-remission for the past few years.  Unfortunately, an illness like this most recent one can trigger those old fibromyalgia symptoms to resurface.  I know one thing--I don't ever want to go there again! I'll admit that I felt more...

I love fresh, lightly buttered popcorn, with just a little salt, and a tall glass of ice water on the side.  Even though popcorn doesn't have much nutritional value, it's a perfect snack, really--low in calories and high in fiber.  Microwaved popcorn will do in a pinch, but there's nothing like the popcorn made in our Stir Crazy corn popper, or even popped, the old-fashioned way, on top of the stove. Bill has been fixing me a lot of popcorn lately, since I've been sick, because it helps get the gunk out of my throat. In fact, I haven't eaten so much popcorn since we lived in Michigan.  Back then, thirty-some years ago, Bill fixed popcorn almost every winter evening, after supper.  It was cheap, easy to make, filling, and delicious.  Then, more often than not, he would lie down on our furry brown couch, propped on a couple of pillows, with his bowl of popcorn balanced securely in the crook of his arm, while I sat cross-legged on the floor beside him....

  When I think about celebrating Epiphany, I remember Pastor Fitz, his long, black cape billowing in the gentle Michigan breeze, as he led the people in prayer before the towering bonfire was lit in the church parking lot.  Epiphany signals the end of the traditional twelve days of Christmas, so I suppose that's the reason the Christmas trees were burned after the evening Epiphany service.  That roaring bonfire still crackles warmly in my memory. Epiphany is a Christian holiday, falling on January 6.  The word epiphany means “manifestation” or “revelation," and is usually associated with the visit of the Wise Men to Bethlehem to see the Christ Child.  Even though they were gentiles, the men known as Magi came to worship Jesus, whom they hailed as King of the Jews.  The Magi were the first non-Jews to recognize Jesus as the one who was sent from God to rescue all people of every nationality. Many people assume that three Wise Men traveled from the Ea...