What a Difference a Day Makes or How I Love Vacuuming!

What a difference a day makes. Or in my case, "what a difference several months make".

It's been four and a half months since I finished my chemo. Hooo, Boy! Do I feel good! Not only do I feel physically good but I feel mentally and emotionally good, too. And since ovarian cancer is not exactly something that is ever considered "cured", I figure I'm going to enjoy every day. Even moments like today when I decided to do deep cleaning for Thanksgiving week. We're having company! Yayyyy, Company!

Hubby began the vacuuming by cleaning the large downstairs room that doubles as a TV/guest room. Then it was my turn and I cleaned the old basement laundry room, furnace room and storage room. Those three rooms are "utility" rooms. Concrete floor, bare walls, wood rafter ceilings. Over the summer months a few wispy spider webs make their appearance along with a few dead bugs, dirt, construction dust. Those rooms are now dust-free. I'll be able to run downstairs barefoot and not feel grit between my toes. I hate gritty floors.

Next stop for the vacuum cleaner was the garage. I figured I'd have to put in a new bag anyway, so why not fill this one to the brim. Again spider webs, dead crickets, debris tracked in with our feet. Tossed the old rug that stood at the entrance cause it was 'done for'. Drained the garden hose. Tidied the area. Put the clutter items out of sight underneath the steps to the kitchen. Placed a 'new' used rug before the door.

There's something about having things clean and tidy. It makes me breathe an appreciative sigh. I can let things go only so far before they begin to bug me. Sometimes I let them go a bit longer like when I was doing chemo or just because sometimes I procrastinate. I'm pretty good at procrastinating. But then, when cleaning begins, I go like gangbusters.

Tomorrow I need to check my grocery list and begin some baking.

I'm thankful that I'm feeling good these days. I hope that you, too, are looking forward to Thanksgiving this year with friends and family and with much thankfulness.


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Everything Is Relative, Ya Know!

Here in the Upper Midwest, in western Iowa, it seems some complain constantly about the weather!

"It's too hot." "We need some rain!" "Sure wish this rain would stop!" "It's sooo dry, the farmer's need rain!" "I hate this bitter cold!" "The humidity is terrible!" "Sure wish it would snow!" "Oh, I wish this snow would melt." "I hate the ice." "Sure don't like all this mud!" "Doncha hate this weather!"

Lest I put too much emphasis on that, I should add that on pleasant days there are remarks such as "Isn't this a Great Day!", or "Wish we had more days like this one. It's just lovely!" "Doncha love this weather!"

I suppose it is human nature to moan and complain about the bitter stuff and sometimes to forget to enjoy the lovely days.

The following statement is a quote from Bill who lives in Wasilla, Alaska. Yep, Wasilla. That's Sarah Palin's hometown. And nope, Bill does not blog about Wasilla's most famous citizen. Instead he daily gives us a quiet glimpse into the life of Wasilla. (You can read Bill's blog here.") Today, Bill mentions this little bit of info about Barrow, Alaska.

"Today, in Barrow, the sun rose in the south, then set in the south an hour later. It will come up for just half-an-hour, will go down and then won't rise again until January 23."

Today I will not complain. Nope. Not about the coolish weather nor about the sometimes cloudy days nor about anything else in regard to the weather. Nope! Today I am grateful that I do not live in Barrow, Alaska.

It's all relative, Ya Know! Just like everything else in life...it can always be better/worse somewhere else. Take what you have and just get on about the business of Living! And be grateful! And if you live in Barrow, come spend the winter in Iowa!

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Why Do We Keep Count? And Is Our Count Accurate?

The unexpected always catches us by surprise. (Duh! Yahhh!.)

Last night when the women walked into the classroom I realized we had a full house. Packed! I was momentarily taken aback because I had planned for only twelve. I had brought in 12 copies of the lesson and here we had eighteen women! I handed out the lesson, asking friends to share.

Why do I keep count? Surely the count doesn't count, right? God is the one who keeps count, not we.

Somehow, it has always bugged me when Christians report a "count" after presenting some mission venture or children's day camp or any sort of meeting where the gospel was presented. The statement seems to go something like this....and I exaggerate a bit..."We had 982.5 people come to Christ last night!" Or..."There were 982 and a half people who were saved last night." And in the meantime, perhaps all but a few of those people will have gone their merry way, continuing to live life as they have always lived it, never again thinking a single thought about who God is and who they are in relationship to Him. But We! Oh, we have self-satisfaction in presenting the "NUMBER"!

I'm joking, of course, about the half. It's the presentation of a "count" that bugs me. The numbers are always presented as if 982 people are now most assuredly "in the kingdom". People who prior to the meeting (of whatever kind) were not. Not saved, that is. Not saved until we were able to count them.

This is how I see it. Just because someone raises their hand or "comes forward" or "says a prayer" does not mean they have become believers. The pressure of the situation, the desire to please, the "crowd think", or even a momentary hopeful whim can all be part of anyone's particular "assent". Many times, in presenting the gospel and asking for a response, a subtle manipulation occurs that isn't even subtle. And we do that because we want the "number". For indeed (to our way of thinking) if we do not have the numbers, then our work was for nought. (Please note that I am not speaking here of a sincere message by the messenger that every hearer can freely come to Christ with his plea for salvation and his prayer of repentance. That is a true call to the hearer.)

Sometimes we use numbers out of a mistaken notion (error, if you please) that our work is all about us and all about numbers. But you see....the work is not ours! The work is God's work. He is the "author" of salvation, the One who calls, the One who regenerates, the One who gives spiritual life to another soul. It is our task merely to present the gospel...the "story of God's dealing with man".....the creation, man's fall, God's provision for redemption.

Romans 1:16 says that the "gospel" is the power of God for salvation for those who hear. It is the presentation of the gospel, the good news that God provides redemption for His people, that brings people to Him. It is not our job to count. It is not our job to manipulate. It IS our job to speak the gospel, to let people know of God's great work on their behalf.

We also know this...that only God knows a man's heart. And it is only God who knows whether any of those people are counted as one of His. In fact He is the one who initiates. He does the calling. He does the regenerating. He does the work. We just do the talking. And the loving.

And if this is so...that it is God's work and God's work alone that causes a heart to turn to Him, then shouldn't we be a bit careful in stating (as if it were the truth) that 982.5 people were indeed "brought into the kingdom" at that last event? Isn't that profound presumption on our part? And in that presumption aren't we giving glory to ourselves rather than glory to God?

So having said all of the above, let me assure you that I am not quoting "numbers" for the sake of making some wild claim. I'm merely stating that last night we had a LOT of ladies come to class.

So even though I count, I am not counting as if I have accomplished any great thing. I keep track of the ladies for specific purposes. I have them "sign in" at the beginning of class for several reasons.

First, I want to know how many on a given night are brand-new faces. If they are there for the first time I recognize that I must keep the lesson solidly basic for those new faces. Any new face may be with us only a class or two and so I try to present the basic gospel every night. It may be the only opportunity to do so for certain individuals.

Secondly, if the women are in for a long time and have been or will be coming to class week after week, then I want to not only lay the basics, but also to add upon what I've laid out the week before. To go deeper.

And thirdly, having names in front of me helps me, indeed reminds me, to pray for these women. (Some of them were praying for me, too, during my cancer treatment!)

Last night we talked about God the Creator. Our lesson was taken from study notes in the Reformation Study Bible (click for more info). Three main points and accompanying scriptures.

The three main points...

1. In the work of creation, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit acted together. (You can touch the scriptures and "read" the verses)
   Genesis 1:1-2, Psalm 33:6, Psalm 33:9, John 1:1-3, Colossians 1:15-16, Hebrews 1:2, Hebrews 11:3
2. God is self-existent and self-sustaining. The created universe is held together by God and without this activity of the divine Son, every creature of every kind, including ourselves, would cease to exist. Colossians 1:17, Hebrews 1:3, Acts 17:25-28
3. God has created each one of us and knows each one of us before we were born. Psalm 139:13 and Psalm 139:16

For next week's class I will print out 20 copies of the lesson and pray that I will need every copy! Can you tell I love these ladies!

P.S. You can read R.C. Sproul's introduction to the Reformation Study Bible here.


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We're Saving 95.5 Percent on Our Heat and Cooling Bills!

Hmmmm...that title may be a bit overstated...but read on.

We've packed just about everything into this year that you can imagine. Early in the year we made it through two hospital stays, six chemo sessions, loss of hair (mine, not my hubby's, although his is a good deal whiter than it was before my cancer diagnosis). And finally, after chemo, a couple months of "normal". And hair again!

During that "normal" time we've put a new roof on the house and moved our laundry area from the basement to the kitchen. No, we didn't do the work ourselves. Although we're both fairly handy at do-it-yourself stuff, we're getting a bit long in the tooth. (For those of you who haven't a clue..."long in the tooth" is a phrase that was once used to indicate an aged horse. And since you probably drive a nifty Volkswagon or Chevy or Ford and may never have owned a horse, you've probably never contemplated the mystery of determining the age of a horse by his teeth. But I digress.)

As I said, two construction jobs done. Roof. Laundry. But we're not done yet. Today Doug the "Plmber" (as his personalized license plate reads) made a pretty nasty mess of our bathroom. The old cast-iron tub went out the door in pieces. Along with the tub went tile and sheet-rock. The new larger tub is in place but not yet hooked up. Doug the "Plmber" will be back tomorrow (and perhaps Wednesday) to finish the tub installation.

Once that is done, we'll have Roger the Handyman come in to finish removing tile, take out the old vanity, install the new vinyl floor and the new vanity and put in cupboard storage along one wall. Somewhere in there Doug the Plmber will remove and re-set the toilet.

But, hey, we're not done yet!

We've just about winterized this house enough to save 95.5 percent on our fuel bills (I exaggerate slightly, ever so slightly). We have decided to enhance that a bit (perhaps to 98.5) by removing the 45-year-old single-pane windows and having them replaced with new ones produced by Gerkin. Gerkin's windows are manufactured less than 40 miles from our house...the Green People will love us!

Jeff the Window Installer will be here the first of December. We're figuring with the addition of these energy-conserving windows we'll be able to heat this place with body heat alone. And if either of us runs a fever (God forbid!), we'll have to open the windows a bit to dissipate the heat. (I do tend to exaggerate, don't I !)

I told Hubby that "someday some new family is going to move into an awfully nice house". After all, we're not spring chickens, so it's not like we're going to live in this nicely renovated house for another 50 years. (Maybe 49, though. I have high hopes. Said with a silly grin.)

Perhaps next year will be "easy" time. This year was a whopper. But this I do know...we've been blessed this past year. God is good. No matter what.

Today's Verse? Psalm 146:2 "I will praise the LORD while I live; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being". And again in in Psalm 146:5-6 "Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the LORD his God, who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, who keeps faith forever;"

On my good days I will praise God. And in my days of suffering (should they come again), I will continue to praise Him for the sure salvation He provides for His people.

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Dark Stormy Clouds Promise Only Storms - Get Out From Under Them!

Worry can settle over us like a dark stormy cloud. Really dark, promising heavy and destructive storm. It's especially true of anyone diagnosed with a life-threatening ailment -- in my case cancer. I regularly visit an online "ovarian cancer" forum and read how others are dealing with this disease. Some deal with the uncertainty of their life with optimism and complete faith that God cares for them no matter what. Others sink into depression and despondency. Every last one of us is acutely aware of every twinge in our body, worrying that this new "twinge", this slight discomfort, this unexplained pain, may be the signal of recurrence.

So, then, how do we deal with this new, heightened sensitivity to the "life is fragile" scene? Initially, of course, we are stunned. Stunned that this body that we thought was healthy is instead harboring a deadly ailment. And we begin a process of "education" in the medical terminology and statistics of our particular ailment.

It's been nearly 10 months since my original diagnosis. I'm no longer stunned. I'm quite aware of the statistics. I'm in tune with my body. And thanks to the medical establishment, a good surgeon, appropriate chemo, I am feeling good. I feel really good.

For those who may be walking the same (or similar) road I want to offer this slight word of wisdom. It is this. One of the most important things in life is to remember that you live in the "now". We cannot live "tomorrow" while it is "today". We cannot live "next year" while it is today. We live "now".

Is it wise to make plans and preparations for tomorrow? Yes, it is. But use your common sense. For when all is said and done, one cannot control what will happen in life, neither next hour or next day or next year. I have long ago decided to live sensibly and wisely, and take care of "right now".

That means "right now" I need to get out of this chair and take care of today's tasks. I'm feeling good and well today. I have many things to do today. And I am glad for "today". I'll leave "tomorrow" in God's hands until it becomes "today".

Today's verse? Matthew 6:34 "So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

The Mystery Girl Has Her Debut! And What a Debut This Is!

The mysterious "Sock Girl" is making her first public debut. (You can click the images for a closer view.) Mind you, Sock Girl thinks she is quite lovely, so if you must leave a comment, please do not disabuse her of her self-worth. Remember that it is better to be kind than to be sorry. (Besides which, Scripture says the tongue speaks from the heart, and if you make fun of her, we will know exactly what your heart is like!)


Having warned you not to hurt her feelings I am certain you will use none but the kindest of words. However, I will say a few things myself and hope that Sock Girl does not read my blog. I try to keep her away from the computer, and besides, she doesn't even know I have a blog.


As you can see, Sock Girl comes by her name rightly...her lineage goes back to (you guessed it) socks. I found this pair on sale after last Valentine's Day. I thought they were pretty nifty but I cannot bear to wear socks with elastic, so they lay in my sock drawer until this past month.

It was easy enough forming her body and her arms and legs. A snip here, a tuck there, a few stitches where needed. I stuffed her with batting and added buttons for eyes. But that wasn't enough, Oh, No! Sock Girl had different ideas.


I thought Sock Girl should remain a simple girl, but, No! She insisted on a little razzle-dazzle and as much as I tried to talk to her about "inner beauty" versus the exterior, she still went for all the frills. Glitzy metallic eyelashes. Earrings. Necklace. And the ever-dramatic crazy eyes! She has spent a bundle on teeth whiteners as you can see. I should be so critical...my teeth should be so straight!


Sock Girl is a little weird. I admit it. And You Know It. But please don't tell her. She'll find out soon enough....like the first time she looks into a mirror.

On the other hand, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And perhaps she beholds beauty in a different manner than the rest of us.

Once Upon a Time in a Classroom of Thirty

Once upon a time I was a single, divorced mother of a young teen daughter, working a 40-hour week and attending night school full time. I was concerned that I might need to move to another location and if I moved, I was concerned that I might not find a job that would support the two of us. Hence the night school.

Twice a week I left work early, took a 30-minute nap, then headed south 65 miles to the campus, attended two 2.5 hour classes back to back, then drove home, arriving there at just ten minutes past midnight. It was hard...working 40 hours...being a Mom...studying intensely for the classwork. Ours was a compressed schedule, meaning we completed two college classes every 8 weeks. Tough economically (tuition $$$$$$ spelled with a capital $) and tough mentally and physically.

But that's where I was 22 years ago. Sitting in a business class that was driving me bohnkers. Here are my notes for that evening...you will see why this was not my favorite class.

My notes of Feb 18, 1987, 9:20 PM
Topic - Steelworkers Trilogy & Arbitration

The class has bogged down in questions re: the issue of arbitration clauses in union-management disputes.

I look around the room. Craig, sitting in front of me, is doodling flowers on his notes. Kim (the blonde one) is seated with both feet extended in front of her propped on the desk there. She's looking around the room rather confusedly. The dark-haired Kim is rubbing her eyes. Craig draws stems on his flowers. Connie, who seems to be suffering burn-out (aren't we all), is asking pointed questions in an obnoxious manner. Bill, a rather even-tempered, intelligent and likeable fellow points out two directly contradictory statements in one paragraph. He's right. They are contradictory. The whole book is contradictory.

Everyone is tired. The guy who works in an emergency room at a trauma center somewhere is tired tonight. He's chewing his fingernails. Dan is yawning and holding his head in his hands. Everyone appears to be taking notes. I wonder if they, like me, are writing something totally useless for studying for our final. This guy makes things so confusing.

We take a break.

Back from break. Probably six have gone home and not returned. Twenty-three remain.

The instructor, Mr. Say, makes a point re: arbitration and authority of the court in a given situation. The guy to the left questions in paraphrase. Say restates. Still not clear. "If you have problems with the paragraph, reading outside of class will not help." Huh? Why, then, are we reading the book?

Say, "Granted, it is technical; it is detailed. You can't really go outside of it and have a general gloss over as to what it means. There is going to be something re: the effects of the trilogy on the exam. Bear with it and hash it through. Any questions?"

There are no questions. I have been sleepy in other classes other nights but I am more tired this PM than any other night here. We've spent two hours now on four pages. The test we take Wednesday will cover four chapters of nearly 100 pages. Progress is slow.

Bill, the intelligent one, left during break. So did Craig, the flower doodler. I see other empty seats. I can't remember the faces. Jim left. The custodian from Woodbine asks a question.

I'm not listening. The least I could do is spend this time reading the material except it is difficult to concentrate. At least this way, half-listening, I pick up a point here and there.

Say says, "If you read it later and it still presents a problem, ask. There is going to be a question on the trilogy case."

My thought is that we're spending a lot of time on one 3-point question.

Mark with the moustache looks as if he's napping. Wish I were.

To sum up: I succeeded in completing my courses and obtaining a BA in business. Never had to apply for another job as I was able to stay where I was. Still..all that hard work was good for me. I had a sense of satisfaction in completing the classes and spending time in the classroom probably went a long ways towards keeping me out of mischief. Busy hands and busy mind don't have a lot of time to get into trouble elsewhere.

William and Jake and All the Others

I need to leave the house inside the hour. We're headed to Omaha for my next session of "chemo". My "real" chemo (carbo/taxel) is completed. But I'm on a clinical trial and receive an infusion via my power port of a third drug (or a placebo) every three weeks until June 2010. So we need to leave soon for the clinic.

But today is Veteran's Day. Every year I think I have a greater appreciation for our Veterans than I did the year before. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Maybe it's because I fear the younger generation doesn't always understand or appreciate the lives (and deaths) of so many of our loved ones in WWII, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the wars of the Middle East, and other times and other places where they were asked to go into harm's way.

I don't have time to write a long post and so I will refer you to the following.

You can read about my husband's great-uncle here. In October 1917 William Henry Kuckku left Emmett, Idaho for army camp where he spent four weeks (that's 4 WEEKS) training before being shipped overseas. He died in March 1918 in France at the Battle of Cantigny during WWI.

My Uncle Jake served in Europe during WWII. He came home after the war but was recalled into the service during the Korean War where he was wounded by a rifle bullet to the chest. You can read a tiny bit about his life here. His wound paralyzed him from the chest down and the only memories I have of him are of him in a wheelchair. He was the sweetest man, kind, gentle, laughing. A couple times he drove non-stop from California to our farm in Iowa to visit. This gave him sores on his hip bones and he spent the time flat on his back on the sofa so the skin could heal before heading back to California. Uncle Jake died young because of the complications of the paralysis.

My brother served as part of a helicopter crew aboard the USS Kearsarge during the Vietnam War, coming home after completing his 4-year enlistment. He still buddies around with his friend, Sam, a classmate who enlisted with him. The two are a couple of clowns.

Another brother spent four years in the Air Force, serving stateside. My hubby put in time in the Air Force in Korea.

Currently I have a niece (and her husband) and a nephew in the service, all having served overseas in Iraq and Korea.

This post is not witty, nor wise, nor anything of great literary value (perhaps none of my posts are any of that!). But I just wanted to recognize our servicemen today. Those who have gone before, those who did not come home, those who Did come home, those who still serve.

God bless you all. And the Moms that love you.

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Of Which We Admire Maru the Cat

I have become enamored of Maru the Cat who has his own blog here. Maru is Japanese and speaks English only haltingly. I wish he would come visit at my house.

Sunlight at the Curb

Yesterday I stood in the sunlight at the curb, saying a last few words to a friend after a pleasant hour's visit at her dining room table in the City (the nearby City). When I call her "friend", I almost feel as if I should capitalize the word. Friend. She's my Friend.

Each one of us has numerous friends around us...people whose circle of life overlaps with our own personal circle. People with whom we may work, play, volunteer, worship, or even email. People we see daily and people we have never seen (the email buddies). Some friends are "friends". Some are "Friends".

Let's go back nearly 25 years when this Friend and I went through some hard times together. She lived two houses down from me and her daughter and my daughter were two skinny little kids who spent every possible moment together, building blanket tents in the backyard, riding their bikes around town, and once, wading through floodwater downtown after an unexpected 10-inch rain. Her daughter still lives nearby. My daughter has moved on to the City, the Big City, which means a five-hour drive when she visits us or we visit her. I'm thankful it's not a ten-hour drive.

My Friend's husband was a louse. Worse than a louse. A scruvy, cruddy, rotten shell of a man who later spent some time in prison and returned, unreformed and unchanged. He's still scurvy and rotten. In my own marriage I had suddenly discovered that my then-husband was no better. Worse. Rottenly worse. He, too, should have spent time in prison. A long time in prison. He's dead now. 'Nuff said.

So my Friend and I both left, taking our respective kids, moving into new lodgings. She found a small house across town, which in our little town wasn't very far, a matter of a few blocks. My daughter and I moved into an upper floor apartment a few blocks in the other direction. Regardless of our shared lack-of-wisdom, we both loved our kids more than anything. We loved our kids. Neither one of us was very old, not as wise as we should have been, but doing the best we knew how under the circumstances.

For some time after the "Leaving", we were often together. We were both going through the same fire and we often sat at the kitchen table (hers or mine) sharing what was happening in our lives, chattering on and on. Sometimes crying. Sometimes laughing. Sometimes quiet.

Life went on. Our children grew up. I retired. She moved to the City and continues to work. We seldom see each other anymore.

But yesterday, while in the City on another errand, I called my Friend and asked if she had any coffee. She responded with, "I'll make a fresh pot." It doesn't make any difference if I haven't seen my Friend for years ...we start up our conversation as easily as if we saw each other only yesterday. We talk about our lives, past and present, and we laugh. We laugh a lot. And we are grateful that we are where we are today, and not where we were way back then. We still love our kids and we talk about them.

Not many people know my Friend as well as I do. She is awkward in her speech and mannerisms. While she is good at her job, working in a large office, her relational skills are somewhat stilted. I know her co-workers do not see the Friend that I see. I know that they think she is "different". And they don't appreciate her good qualities. They see only her deficiencies and lacks. They don't see "Friend".

My Friend believes in God. She understands the Gospel. But she doesn't go to church. She's afraid to go to church. When she left her scurvy, cruddy, rotten husband the "church" counseled her to reconcile with him. She couldn't see how they could do that, to require her to stay with this man who destroyed everything he touched. But we talked about that. And I mentioned a local church that I feel is doctrinally sound, telling her that if she ever decides to go, to call me. And I'll walk in with her. My Friend needs people who will love her.

Before I get up to leave, she showed me around her little house in the City where she lives by herself. It's a nice little house with a nice little backyard. Room enough for her, two dogs, and a cat. An open attic where her youngest son stayed before he was arrested for drugs and went to prison. (My friend's life has lots of sad stories.) A small basement. Plenty of room. Then she walked me to the curb where my car was parked and we stood in the autumn sunshine filtering through the leaves of the tree across the street. We stood there and talked some more. It was a good moment.

My Friend is a good friend. She likes me no matter what. In spite of my flaws and sins and stupidity at times. And I like her, in spite of the same.

Proverbs 18:24 A man of too many friends comes to ruin, But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.
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