Patt's Blog

A patchwork of memories, the fabric of my life.

Familiar blocks stitched with love

Intricate patterns placed with skill,

Varied textures, vibrant colors, all woven by the Master’s hand

Each piece has a purpose; each block tells a story.

Memories cherished & treasured held close to my heart.

some sections worn and torn

from use, from abuse, raveled remnants of loss,

Tenderly are mended, patched and stitched.

For in brokenness there is strength,

In healing there is peace,

And in mending there is value.

Blocks bound by friendships, formed by the softest fabrics,

Caressing arms of love, comforting in times of sorrow,

billowing in joyful celebration.

Your blocks, my friends, my family are my favorites,

Purposely placed by God’s hands, Stitched by His love.

You are the fabric of my life woven by the Master’s Hand

 

Some considerable time has passed since I last posted.  Life has happened and a death; but I have no real excuses except for not making time to do something I enjoy and love.

I love sharing my thoughts, experiences and my love for God and his word.  My goal is to be more consistent in posting, more encouraging and hopefully creative.  I pray you enjoy your day and may blessings abound.

Oh, and thanks for your patience!

 

SURRENDER

Proverbs 12:1  Whoever loves discipline, loves knowledge…

 

From the first moment of surrender,

Your love showered upon me, Your Grace abounded toward me.

With each day’s challenges came the question:

Whom will I serve?

You, Lord are the measure,

Passionate commitment, a way of life.

Obedience to the Father, unquestioned,

A steadfast Spirit un wavering in vision.

Precious moments of loving, nurturing to continue in The Way.

May I strive to reach your measure.

May I live with passion and perseverance,

May I give voice to a way of life most noble,

May I love with patience and understanding.

And when I stand before  my Lord, may he say of me,

“Well don, my good and faithful servant.

 

 

DANCING

Dance with me Lord Jesus,

A waltz of grace and forgiveness, your breath against my cheek,

Your heartbeat, the rhythm of life.

Hold me  close, my King,

My salvation and my strength; protector and comforter.

Each step a step of victory,

Each turn, each spin a celebration of praise.

Whirling toward the heavens,

Freedom in the movement of time.

Draw me close,

As into your eyes I gaze,

Burning love branding my soul,

Release me to love the lost,

In your name I dance.

Dance with me Lord Jesus,

A waltz of love and grace.

 

 

FINGERPRINT

Fingerprint of God,

Oh, lasting impression of love,

Touching the untouchable,   Healing the desperate,

Finding the lost.

 

Through time you’ve touched my heart,

Over and over ’til surrendered I fall.

In adoration and broken-ness you made me whole.

Your fingerprints molding, mending, making me your own.

You’ve made me in your image,

You’ve molded me as your servant,

You’ve mended my heart to share your love,

Leaving your fingerprints on those you bring to my life.

The Lost,  the un-loveable, the hurting and the sick.

The sleeping, not awake to your love,

Those struggling to survive.

Your fingerprints, O God, I long to leave,

Fingerprints of joy, of peace,

Lasting impressions of unfailing grace.

Indentations of your love, drawing attention to your glory!

Your fingerprints alive in your faithful,

Touching your chosen,

From the pit you raise to everlasting life.

 

 

THE SERVANT’S HEART

He came to Simon Peter who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”  Jesus replied, ” You   do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”  “No,” said Peter, ” You shall never wash my feet.”  Jesus answered, ” Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”  “Then, Lord,” Simon Peter said, ” not just my feet but my hands and my head as well.”  John  13:5-9

 

“Not me, Lord!”

I come to his presence with my own dusty feet.

With pride I push Him away,  “no, Jesus, I’ll do it myself.”

Do I not realize that only a humble heart can serve,

Only a perfect heart can save?

Only an everlasting love can comfort?

Only a warrior heart can conquer?

Jesus submitted himself to a lowly task.

With great and tender love he wash the feet of his fiends,

With humble submission he carried out his Father’s will,

With power he conquered evil for those not yet made alive.

How long will it take to learn, I am not saved to be served,

But anointed in salvation to serve.

I, too say, “Not only my feet Lord, but my head and my hands and my heart.”

That by your example, I too may serve.

 

 

SYMPHONY

A Symphony of life orchestrated by God,

Each bar an era, the music of life,

Each note, a person placed with care,

Combined to play harmoniously as one song.

Crescendos of praise, I offer, O God.

Your alone wrote the score,

You alone know what and whom I need,

I see your hand involved with each movement of time,

Melodic love stories,,, Waltzes of grace..

Songs of blues and despair,   the harmony of hope throughout,

Jazzy, joyful dances as we celebrate your gifts.

Thankfulness fills my heart, God!

Bless the notes of my life,

Fill them with your love, draw them close to your heart,

That they too can dance with you and know your strength and  the comfort of your arms.

As you conduct our lives,

Let us not forget your blessings, let us lift our arms in praise,

Let us play your song of light, calling from darkness your children.

When the symphony of my life is played out,

May your song linger,

Hummed by all who heard the music of your heart.

 

 

The small flakes of falling snow were not accumulating as expected as we drove through the small town where I had always felt safe.  Today it felt cold; my heart was as cold as the outside temperature.

It was a quiet ride through town.  Each of us hiding our private thoughts and memories as we journeyed to the funeral home. We drove by the field where the neighborhood “gang” would gather to play after school. We passed the corner store we rushed to whenever Mom ran out of a staple needed to finish supper.  The courthouse curve started the main drag through town.  As teenagers we rode this course for hours cruising on Friday and Saturday nights.

Our destination was growing closer and anxiety choke  my breathing as we passed the Catholic School and church we all attended.  We pulled into a parking space at the town funeral home.  John, the director, met us at the door.  We had gone through school together; he was on the wrestling team with my brothers.

Even though the family had agreed on a closed casket I could see from the foyer that the lid was open.  I looked at John questioningly.  He explained Mom had called and asked it to be open for family then closed before others came to visitation.  As we continued with some small talk about our kids and the weather I wondered if it had been difficult for him to prepare my brother for his funeral.  Even now I could picture John and Gary posing with their trophies.

My Mom came by trying to convince me to go into the room with the open casket.  Needless to say I declined; I did not want my last memory of my brother to be of him lying in his coffin.  I’d rather remember him walking in after work, dirty and smelly from the grain elevator chewing on a cigar.

People were beginning to arrive so we went to our places by our parents who looked tired, heartbroken but strong  I guess having two of your seven children dying before a parent would cause heartbreak.   Before coming to the funeral home my dad just shook his head saying, ” how is it all of my brothers and sisters are alive and I’ve had to bury two of my sons.”

There is a particular look on the faces of people as they offer their condolences and sympathy; it includes sad puppy dog eyes, pathetic with a tentative smile.  Maybe thinking “Glad I am not burying a loved one this close to Christmas.”  Some simply walk by, others say trivial comments like:  “At least he didn’t suffer, or He might have been crippled if he’d lived, Now he and Mike are together. But the award goes to the one who said, “well, at least you have one brother left.”  I know they wer attempting to offer comfort and sympathy but I found it annoying.

The night continued to drag on.  We drank pots of coffee and diet coke and visited with practically everyone in town.  As the end of the line grew near I saw the town librarian talking to my brother.  He had a strange grin on his face as he looked down after she passed him.  As she talked with my sisters, they behaved similarly.  When she took my hand to say she was sorry I saw why they were grinning.

She not only had the sad puppy look but she was wearing bright gold dangling Christmas bell earrings that tinkled as she shook my hand.  I, too, looked down and tried to control the laughter waiting to be released.  As my shoulders shook I know she thought I was crying.  She patted my shoulder and went on down the line.

When she was safely away we looked at each other no longer able to control our laughter.  My parents looked at us smiling, yet puzzled.

Maybe it was the lateness of the night or the emotion s of the night but we laughed and commented to each other how Gary would have loved that we laughed at his funeral.  There was still a sense of loss but it was comforting to know we could still have a good time.  It reminds me now of a line in the play Steel Magnolias by Robert Harling) at the funeral of young Shelby after a particularly emotional moment.  “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.”  Mine too, Truvy

God tells us, “Rejoice always.  In  Philippians 4:4 he repeats the command. ” Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again rejoice.”

At this time so long ago at my brother’s funeral I learned that in our most devastating moments we are reminded of the joy of life.  We are able, with the help of God to be content in all things.  My Mom was a living example of being content in all things.  She prayed and trusted God’s strength through the many trials of her life.  Maybe in her quiet moments she questioned God, maybe yelled at Him, but in front of us she was faithful.  I took me several years to see this as faith.  I actually held this against her for several years Wondering why she wasn’t “losing it” like me.

I was really angry, I no longer prayed, or poured out my heart to God.  Retreating to protect myself from more hurt, I built walls round my heart.  Depression came to camp in my head and in my heart.  The death of my second brother, the closest in age to me, was the last straw in a long assortment of bitter straws.

I knew about trusting God, about choosing joy but I and my depression were stubborn.  I lived in depression for many years, was a poor mother at  times because of it, I contemplated suicide to end the pain.   But God intervened with a look of love from my kids, with a counselor and with the prayers of a mother who never gave up on me

I was able to climb out of the pit of despair by love.  I now try to follow my Mom’s example of being content at all times.  Perhaps she, like me, found encouragement in Philippians 4:10-13 : ” I rejoice greatly in the Lord that at last you have renewed your concern for me. …I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty of in want.  I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

Troubles continue to come as God warns us in John 6:33, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Yes, I still have troubles.  Sometimes the pit looks so inviting but by the strength of Jesus Christ I can choose Joy! I can choose to trust!  I can remember  jingling Christmas earrings and smile for I know God loves me… and a hearty laugh at times of sadness relieves despair.

Once upon a time there was a circus pony, Annie was her name.  She was small and timid, a muddy brown color; she thought herself to be quite unlovely.  Most of her days were spent watching majestic horses dressed in sparkles with their equally bedazzled riders preforming elaborate tricks.  There was envy in her heart as she preformed her only duty of giving those “snot-nosed kids” (her words, not mine) rides around and around the same  monotonous circle.  Circles that never ended, tethered to a pole decorated with a rainbow of high-flying balloons- not for Annie’s enjoyment but to attract more kids that pulled her mane, pinched her ribs and screamed too loudly.

Annie’s dream of not walking in circles came one sunny Fall day when she was told she was going to be “put out to pasture” and her days of work were over.  Annie did not understand pasture but she was so ready to get away from those “snot-nosed kids”!

 

Once released into the pasture Annie froze. “What do I do?” she asked a young raven maned filly named Nellie.  “Whatever you want, You’re free!”  Nellie ran in the open field to ….somewhere!  Annie spied a nearby tree with colorful leaves that resembled her stake with the high flying balloons, and there, in keeping with what was familiar she began walking in circles. In sunshine, in rain, in wind, in snow always she walked in circles.. Each day Nellie asked Annie to come exploring with her and Annie would decline, “I don’t know what’s out there.”  The grass that was once under the tree had worn bare and a rut was being formed by Annie’s circles.

 

Nellie was not one to surrender, and she tried again to coax Annie from her circle of comfort.  “Annie, we must get you out of that rut before you are forever stuck!”

Annie thought of the beautiful circus horses and her old dream of running free, of being more and with a timid voice declared, “Yes, I will go with you!”  Annie jumped out of her rutted circle and followed Nellie through soft grasses, to a field of sunflowers, to a refreshing bubbling brook.  Annie could not believe the beauty before her eyes, so much better than even the bedazzled circus horses.   She leaped and frolicked with joy and thanksgiving. She had found her true home.

 

So often I have lived like Annie staying in my circle of familiarity and comfort; my circle of fear, of insecurity, of feeling unlovely, and unworthy- forgetting that God has set me free from this self-imposed prison.

Galations 2:20 says ” I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live but Christ lives in me.;  The life I live in the Body I live by faith in the son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”   Not only did Jesus, by his great love die for me but I have been crucified with Him, have shared a death with Him that I could live in resurrection victory.

 

I do not always feel I live in the victory of Christ but in bondage of nagging doubt, in questioning my purpose, my contribution, my reason for being. This lately has become my circle and the grass is wearing thin.  But at the moment I need it God’s hope pierces the darkness and I pray once again for “a sign”, a confirmation of that purpose and I wonder if God ever tires of my repetitive, constant requests for reasons and purpose.

 

D.L. Moody said, “Some people think God does not like to be troubled with our constant coming and asking.  The way to trouble God is not to come at all.”

The price has been aid, we not only share in the crucifixion of Jesus, we totally share in the resurrection power.  Philippians 3:10 has been a favorite verse of mine.

“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his suffering, becoming like him in his death and so somehow to attain to the resurrection from the dead.”  I knowing Christ in his death and resurrection we can live in victory as more than conquerors.   Let us live up to what we have already attained as Paul says in Philippians 3:16.

 

Whatever your circles : pain, fear, uncertainty, broken relationships, let us all remember we are already free to leap and run and explore victory.

 

GUIDANCE

In whispers He teaches me,  Soft guidance for my life

Foggy roadways that only clear as I step forward.

No bright lights or flashing neon

“This Way to Blessing”

No fanfare or victor’s parade.

Only a whisper to my heart

“Love as I have loved you”

“Be gracious as you receive my grace.”

“You are my priceless treasure.”

 

In these whispers I find my path.

 

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Joy!

 

With Joy without and joy within, all is well.

Janet Erskine Stuart

 

Thoughts of Joy

Our hearts were made for Joy.

In all situations known by God.

I trust in my Father, his love is my all in all.

To choose joy in life, is faith that God’s hand is on my life.

I give joy in thankful celebration of blessings received.

May I live choosing joy that others will be drawn to you. Dear Father.

 

The Joy of the Lord is your strength.     Nehemiah 8:10

 

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Seize the Day

 

Each day is a new beginning,  a fresh slate

With which to sketch a picture perfect sunrise.

If we don’t like the road we’re travelin’

We can change routes,

or Perhaps, we can walk the same road with new eyes.

From a different point of view it’s all New!

 

Enjoy each accomplishment,   no matter how small it seems,

Cherish every step on the journey to wholeness.

Caress and hold tight to the unseen joys of living each day.

Be Thankful…..Be kind.

In honoring my dad, Fritz, I wrote this while still in school.  He was quiet, mostly, a hard worker who loved the Chicago Cubs and Bears.  He didn’t live to see his beloved Cubs win their pennant, but i am sure he was cheering.  He’s a veteran of WWII and the Korean wars who rarely spoke of his experiences.  He supported us by working at his bakery and later as a chef in area restaurants.  His schedule was such that he went to work as we were coming home from school and returned home long after we were in bed.  I miss him everyday.

A dad is a conquering hero,

Provider, tried and true,

A fixer of toys, a builder of trains,

A fisherman by the sea.

A Dad is a pillar of strength.

Though spoken or not his love is ever present,

 

A small girl lies in bed, her eyes awake;

Waiting for the sign,

The room turns dark,

A lighted shadow comes through the window,

a Squeak from the door….Daddy’s home.

 

The little girl can sleep, secure and unafraid.

 

Throughout my life there have been many times I’ve felt invisible, lonely, alone either by my own decisions or by circumstances. And sometimes I am reminded that I as not alone as I experienced one morning at the grocery store.

I was working two jobs in Upland after moving to be with my husband, Dave. A move not planned but brought about by yet another down-sizing of the company that employed him.

One of my jobs was in the early hours of the morning (3rd shift) and the other was during the day at the local library.  This schedule of two jobs at such different times reeked havoc with my ability to meet people and build relationships.  It wasn’t impossible and eventually I mad supportive, caring relationships.

On this morning, however, I was attending a massive pity party!  I was thankful for God meeting our needs through these jobs, thankful for being with Dave but I felt alone and lonely, invisible away from the love of kids, grandkids, family and friends.  I wondered if God even cared about this life I didn’t ask for.

My answer came one morning after working the third shift housekeeping job.  I was at the store to pick up a few items for supper.  After gathering the ingredients for supper (tacos) and a treat for the guys I work with (pineapple upside down cake) I placed my red plastic basket on the conveyor belt.  A woman dressed in business attire came up behind me placing her items after my basket. After scanning my items the cashier told me the total of my purchase as I pulled my debit card out of my wallet.

The woman next to me said, “Let me get that for you as she pulled cash from her wallet.  I was probably a millisecond from ruffling my prideful feathers, after all my husband had a great job, I made my own money. I don’t need a handout!

But I was stopped in my spirit by a voice that said, ” Accept my gift, Patt….I see you.”

Stunned, I thanked the woman and left the store with tears streaming once again God reminded me of His love and care.  I asked her for her name which I no longer remember but to me she will always be known as a messenger from God to comfort and encourage me.

I exchanged few words with her in the parking lot where she told me she always carries extra cash so she is able to be obedient when asked to share.  So, now I too, try to carry extra cash, or pay it forward in other ways in the hopes that I too, can be God’s messenger of love and hope.

No matter what our circumstances God sees us, He loves us and when we least expect it He answers a prayer, calms a fear and in His way gives us a big hug!

 

In poems I have tried to express the love and respect I have for my family.  When writing and reading these poems I smiled, I cried and I was always thankful that God saw fit to give me this gift.  Through the hurt, the tears and pain I always saw through to the laughter, the chaos, the growing up, the memories and the love whether spoken or not.  I will share these poems once in a while as a gift to my family.  Today starting with my grandma and my sons.

 

I knew my Grandma Plante best, mostly because my paternal grandmother died when I was very young.  Each of us seven siblings were able to spend a week at her home By Ourselves which is a very big deal when there are seven siblings and parents sharing a three bedroom house!  She started her day very early cooking up a big breakfast for us and sometimes farmers from the surrounding farms. She read her devotional after breakfast and then didn’t stop until time for bed.  She amazed me!

Grandma

A powdered apron hanging on a chair,

Caressing warmth from the oven,

Aromas of fresh baked pies,

Evidence of love from a special lady.

 

A  needle and thread lie on the intricate quilt,

Ball jars of peaches, corn, green beans and pickles line the

pantry shelves,

A new frock under the needle of the sewing machine,

Results of industry from an energetic woman.

 

A pinch on the cheek,

Hot chocolate by the ice skating pond,

Special ornaments illuminating each Christmas tree,

A hug and kiss upon entering the front door,

Affection from a child’s special friend.

 

As I make memories with my grandchildren I hope they will know beyond a doubt the love and hopes I have for them.

 

My Sons

I have two sons born three years apart.  They were and are the light of my life.  Each time we are able to spend together I am amazed that they were mine first!

These poems were written when they were born.  Written separately but together a prayer for their lives.

 

Welcome, my son,

Do you know the love that brings you here?

Sleeping boy; sweet face of innocence.

You play in the sand, proud of your first steps.

Questioning each detail of living.

You jump from the tallest rock,

Trusting we’ll be there to catch you.

Be truthful, my son,

Achieve your dreams

Believe in your ability to conquer!

 

 

Sweet boy, are you really ours?

The miracle of your birth is brought to mind each time I watch you sleep.

Innocence on your lips;

May they always speak the truth.

Playful eyes;

May they forever be aware of the deception of man and the

perfectness of God.

Little hand still learning to move and grasp,

Keep on learning and searching, my son,

For your answers will be revealed.

 

 

They are still my JOY!

 

I compared my hands to the hands of my mother as she lay dying unexpectedly.  Our hands were similar in shape and size but hers were much softer.  Not because she didn’t work hard; she was one of the hardest working moms I knew holding down 2 to 3 jobs and then working at home as a seamstress, bookkeeper or repairing people’s cherished dolls.

I believe her hands were softer because she did not let the difficulties of life harden her heart.  She was a farmer’s daughter, she had watched two of her little sisters die, as a young bride her husband went to war and probably hardest of all she and my dad buried two sons who dies in their twenties.

Unlike me she did not show anger or lack of faith. She knew God would hold her up.  The events of her life softened her heart, hands, mind and soul.  She welcomed everyone into our home- messy or not. Let’s face it with seven kids running amok our home was messy most of the time.  She took care of the seven of us and sometime a niece or nephew.  There was no bounds to the love she could share.  In her life it was the people and relationships that were most cherished.

At her funeral I likened her life to that of the Apostle Paul’s in Philippians 4:11-13.

“I am not saying this because I am in need for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do all things through him who gives me strength.

My mother was content and she relied on God’s strength.  It’s not that she didn’t have dreams or desires, goals that weren’t shared.  I know she did and most of them were for the lives of her children, grand children and the generations that will follow.  It didn’t matter what came up in her life whether pains or joys her faith was steadfast and in that she was content.

When I come to my death I hope my children and grandchildren will remember a soft heart and soft hands of service.

This poem I wrote for my mom, Aggie, when I was in high school- even now it is my tribute to her.

MOMS

There is an intensity in a mother’s love for her child.

She would give her very life that he might live.

There is a softness on a mother’s face

as she gently nurses her child

Teaching him the ways of man and of God.

There is strength in a mother’s embrace, shielding from enemies her family.

There is turmoil in a mother’s embrace when it’s time to say good-bye.

And there is peace, always peace when she holds her children near.

 

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t hear her voice in my head. I miss her everyday.