Author: SaxophoneWife

Our Sacred Right to be Offended

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When I was a kid, it wasn’t cool to be offended. My friends and I didn’t call it being offended, but that’s what was happening. In our small world of childhood, if your feelings were hurt and you couldn’t accept an apology, you were the one who slunked away. You went back home and told your mom and tried to make her your ally, but she would just say, “Stop being silly, and go out and play.”

I guess we don’t need moms now, if we have God’s Word and the Holy Spirit. Still, it is hard for most of us to surrender what we consider our sacred right to be offended. Maybe, it would help us all to remember that we actually have no such right.

In fact, our sacred right, if we’re going to phrase it that way, is actually to overlook any and every offense.

When we take offense, we’re working against ourselves. We’re working against the Lord and His will for us. Christ has given us His life, His peace, His joy, His love—everything we have need of to live a life that blesses us and glorifies Him. What more could we want?

We have this amazing treasure, the life God has designed for us to live and thrive in, but instead of protecting it, we put it at risk over one, dumb offense.

We need to protect that precious treasure we have been given by God, that good life He desires for us to live. When offenses come, and they will come, we should say to the Deceiver, “You can’t touch this! I won’t let that offense destroy God’s will for my life.”

A wise man restrains his anger and overlooks insults. This is to his credit. Proverbs 19:11 (TPB)

❤️

Six Months

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In the winter of Hannah’s 5th grade year, a fellow PTA mom invited me to join a Bible study she attended. Our church did not have a women’s Bible study, and I knew my spiritual life was in rough shape. Plus, I felt ashamed to not go. It was once a week, yet it was one of the hardest commitments I had ever made. Each time I walked into that church, I felt such shame. It was as if I was walking through the hallway naked. I cannot think of another time in my life I have ever felt so uncomfortable. You would think I’d have recognized this as evidence of my sinful heart, but I was deeply deceived. I had fully given myself over to vain and selfish pursuits.

This was in 2001. We lived in small town on the New England seacoast. I loved living there, and our little family had a very nice life. Doug earned a generous salary that afforded me a very comfortable, stay-at-home life doing whatever pleased me. That included volunteering at our daughter’s school.

I was an ambitious volunteer, eager to make a place for myself amongst the PTA moms. By the end of Hannah’s 4th grade year, I had proven myself enough to be elected Co-President. I was delighted, because I loved running the show, being a big fish in that tiny, little pond. I cannot believe now how much value I placed on something so insignificant, but I did. It was all about me. I said it was all about the children—especially my own—but I was deceiving myself.

As I write this now, I can see how the Enemy had gotten a hold of my heart. I had such good and sincere motives when it all began, but I was investing my talents and energy into something that was corrupt at its core. Why was I expecting a secular organization, fueled by greed, to do what was right for the children? Why was I expecting them to have integrity? Why was I trying to make them see the injustice of their priorities? And, why was I giving endless hours of my time to help everyone else’s children, while time with my own daughter was often compromised by those “important” civic meetings?

Yet, despite the fact the Holy Spirit was so faithful to shine the light of truth on that situation, I just kept pressing on. “I’ll just write one more editorial.”  “I’ll just come up with an even better fund-raiser.”  “I’ll just ask for one more meeting.” It didn’t matter what we were trying to do. My motives were good, and there was just enough success from one month to the next to keep me thinking it was all worth it, but my heart was wicked.

Then, something happened. Something very unexpected, that took me totally by surprise.

It was April. I sat in a circle with the other nice ladies in that Bible study, Bibles and folders in our lap. The leader of the group asked a question that hadn’t been in our study notes. She asked us to just say the first thing that came to mind, without analyzing it. You know how we tend to do that sometimes?

Now, before I share her question, I want to ask you to do the same. Don’t analyze the question. Just say the first thing that comes to mind.

Her question was: “What would you do, if you knew for sure that Jesus Christ was coming (the Rapture of the church) in six months?”

The answer that came to my mind, before I could stop it, diffuse it, or edit it, shocked me to my core.

“I would support my husband’s ministry.”

What?! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing myself say, but I knew any other answer would be a bold face lie. Yet, didn’t I already support him? Hadn’t I encouraged him in everything he did for the Lord? After all, he wasn’t called to full-time ministry. He was just a church volunteer, playing his instrument, leading worship. How did I not support him?

Quick as a flash, my head played back the countless times in recent years that he’d given time to a PTA event, or stayed home with Hannah so I could go to a meeting. I thought of the many, many times he was the only father present at events, because I’d asked him to take a day off to help.

I honestly did not have to try to remember anything, because the flood of condemning memories just kept coming.

But, wasn’t he just very supportive? Wasn’t it good for him to help?

I hate to say this, but I just didn’t get it. I prayed a prayer of some description before the Bible study finished, committing myself, asking for help, blah, blah, blah. Then, I went home and went back to work. I talked myself right out of that Holy Spirit conviction.

June came. The Bible study had ended for the summer, and 5th grade was coming to an end, too. Hannah would soon be promoted to the junior high. PTA elections were held, and I was unanimously voted-in to continue my reign, and I made sure there would be no more co- in my title. I had been saddled with a dead weight co-president long enough. I wanted the title I deserved.

It’s true.

I was really that wicked, that puffed-up. I was shameless. I was good at my job, though. I got things done. Was any other mom willing to work as hard as I did? It was disgusting how much I worked, and disgusting how wicked I’d become, but I kept telling myself I was doing a good thing.

So, at the beginning of June my big production, the Volunteer Appreciation Banquet, was coming together beautifully. I’d done all the Teacher Appreciation Week gifts myself, and did the Volunteer Appreciation gifts myself, too. Food was arranged. Beautiful invitations had been designed by yours truly, and each was mailed in an envelope I’d addressed myself. The big event was just days away. I essentially had my crown on order for the coming year at the junior high. It had been the best year anyone could ever recall, and everyone told me so. The Superintendent and School Board respected me and consulted with me. Teachers appreciated me. Parents depended on me.

And, then it happened.

I woke up one lovely, warm, and sunny day and couldn’t speak. I could barely swallow. I had an extreme case of strep throat. I went to bed perfectly well, and woke-up sicker than I could ever remember being. I hadn’t been exposed to strep, and no one I knew could think of anyone they knew with strep—it’s not a common disease in June. Yet, I was sick, nonetheless. Stuck in bed. Speechless, powerless, and all alone.

I knew almost instantly that this was an act of God.

For almost two weeks, I sat in bed silent. I couldn’t even whisper. I had to turn everything over to my co-president. She’d call with questions, and I’d write the answers down for Doug to tell her for me. I couldn’t believe what was happening. And, I was not just speechless, I was sick. I had no strength, no will to get out of bed. The big event, the pièce de résistance I’d been planning for over a year, would go forward without me.

But, during that season of silence, God finally got me to stop and listen. And, He had one thing to tell me: “Come home.”

Within weeks, my husband’s was going to take a dramatic change. My purpose in his life was going to be turned upside down, and finally defined according biblical truth and not human tradition. I had no idea what was ahead of me, but God knew. And, He knew I was unprepared and ill-equipped. I had proudly and foolishly ignored His calls to repentance, awareness, and preparedness. I needed to be humbled, and I needed to come home in every way.

“Today, if you will hear His voice,
Do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.” 
Hebrews 3:13-15 (NKJV)

God bless you all. ❤

Three Beads

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I have never watched this video, until today. It was made spontaneously—in case my “wardrobe and make-up” don’t give that fact away—yet, the truth is solid and I think it might be a blessing. So, I’m going to share it. I pray it will encourage someone who may be struggling in their marriage right now. ❤

If you’re interested in learning more about Doug’s and my marriage, here is a link to a shared testimony we wrote together in 2015. CLICK

Ten Day and Counting

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I was getting ready to get ready for bed when I realized I was wearing a scarf around my neck.

It’s 17 April 2025, and it’s still cold in New England. That’s one reason I like living here. There’s a chance of snow until June. We have blanket throws on our couch almost all year long.

Yet, I don’t usually wear a double-wrapped muffler over my head and around my neck. I thought it might be a funny picture.

I guess you had to be there.

❤️

His Next Best Job: Reflecting on 20 Years as Home Missionaries to the Prison & Aftercare Mission Field

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As we’ve crossed over into our 20th year as home missionaries, the reality that there’s no going back has hit us pretty hard. And, when I say hard, I mean, it’s hit us as an undeniable fact. Doug won’t be retiring from a tech job. He will be retiring from the mission field.

That’s a strange reality. We didn’t know we were making a career choice when we took this on. We didn’t know we were making a lifetime commitment. We thought we were taking advantage of an opportunity to do something new for the Lord – just until He opened the door to Doug’s next job.

That’s just how it had always gone for him. Doug went from making photo copies at Kinko’s to a management position with Verizon. In between he spent a few years teaching software applications and then was offered a job by one of his students, which began his career in pre-press. God opened every door. His career was full of the favor of God, and we thanked God always for providing. Looking back, I think He was teaching us then that He was our Provider.

So, when he was part of the greatest layoff by a US corp, I wasn’t worried. I knew God had his next job waiting, because He’d proven that Doug just had to trust Him. God would open the next door, and Doug would walk through it into a better position than his previous one. This was an established pattern.

It just never occurred to me that this mission field was the better position. It wasn’t even a real job. God had to blind us to the whole picture. We wouldn’t have believed our eyes.

He told us to come to the edge of the cliff, our former life, and we thought standing there was enough. We didn’t know God was only pausing. The full command was, “Come to the edge; now, jump!”

Even then, we only saw this as a little adventure, something to do while we waited to go back to our real life. We thought his next best job was just around the corner.

Well, 20 years later, I guess we were right. This was God’s next best job for Doug. I don’t know what God has ahead of us this year, but I can tell you we see the work before us and know this is our opportunity to work as hard as we can. Some of our 38-year-old selves needs to rise up and energize us like it did in 2004. We need to gear-up and tighten our belts and brace ourselves for whatever we may be facing in 2025. If you would hold Doug in prayer, I’d really appreciate it. I’m just the cheerleader, but he has to actually face the giants.

We serve a very good God, who has walked with us everyday, and I am trusting Him concerning this new year. I’m looking forward to what may be ahead of us, but I know we’ll both be blessed to just get to do the same work we’ve been doing , but to do it better—hopefully, without hospital stays or ER visits or disabled backs or cars dying on the side of the highway.

Please, pray for this to be a powerful, that is, effective, year of ministry, for God’s protection and provision and uncompromising ministry.

God bless you!

❤️

The Best Kind

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Just a bit of fiction for friends. I started it three years ago. It’s just been fading away in my dark and dusty drafts file. Might as well share it along with all the other paragraphs I’ve posted tonight.

It wasn’t quite the last parking spot in the lot, but it was far enough away to guarantee Elmer would not just be late, but very late. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, grabbed the pile of paper on the passenger’s seat, and launched himself from his car. When he’d passed about 50 rows of compact cars and last century sedans, he checked his watch. It was never going to happen.

Weaving through campus, he decided to cross the quad and jumped over the low hedges bordering the bookstore. Who am I right now? He tried to send a telepathic message to Benz to start the warm-ups. Pole, pole, POLE! He veered left and barely avoided a pigeon pecking at the remainders of someone’s lunch. Why do people do that? He checked the time as he passed the clock tower. This was not good.

As he passed the Math & Science buildings, he transitioned to a fast walk and tried to regain some composure. Oh, Benz, please start the warm-ups! At least he could see his building now. Someone called to him. He turned to look, to make sure it wasn’t a student. Nope. Just Mark from last semester. Or, was his name Mike? He shot a wave and kept up his pace.

Then, he saw the theatre building. He slowed down. What day is it? The bay doors were open, and he automatically started scanning the broad open space, peering deep inside the darkness of the empty theatre. A truck that had been idling before him churned into gear and pulled away. He had barely even been moving, but now he stopped completely. He brushed his accidental bangs from his forehead and dropped half the stack of papers he had been gripping all the way across campus. He fell to his knees, hastily gathered the sheets together, and for once was glad it wasn’t a windy day.

Getting back to his feet he looked across the small road that divided him from his building. And, the theatre. Oh—she was there now. He could see her rising from the auditorium to the stage, her head buried in a clipboard. She flipped through the pages and he couldn’t stop himself from watching her cross upstage to a tall stool that was always stationed by the bay door.

She didn’t sit on the stool, though. She leaned against the wall, one sneakered foot pushing against it. A car honked. He suddenly realized he was standing in the middle of the road. What are you doing, El?

He really had to knock this off.

The Best Kind © 2022, Caroline J.M. Gregan

I’m Just Warming Up

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A musician plays their instrument to warm-up to play their instrument. I do that, too. I write to warm-up to write. So, here’s a little traditional-style blogging for you. I don’t know what you can expect, but I have a lot to say. Get a cup of tea. I better get one, too.

Today is March 12th.

It’s a wonderful day here, blustery and cool. Over recent weeks we’ve developed a habit of having wonderful conversation with out daughter over coffee. She comes downstairs for her afternoon break, and if we’re all here we will sit together and chat. It’s an incredible gift to have a daughter who wants to talk to us, and whom we want to talk to, too. The differences in our ages and stages is clear, but she’s made Christ her Lord and King and has pursued Him with earnestness. So, she has a lot of credibility. There are things we can learn from her, and we still have things she can learn from us—thank God. Like everything in life, I know this opportunity to have these relaxed conversations will pass one day. That’s just life. However, we are treasuring them now; enjoying every minute.

Doug took the grandchildren to run errands and then to the park. That’s how I landed here. No other voices in the air, so I can hear the voices in my head. Well, it’s primarily my voice, but the Enemy is also shouting in one ear. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit is always there, too. His voice is that still, small voice Satan always tries to drown out.

As I’ve been sitting here, I have also been clearing out some clutter. I have almost 200 drafts that were started and abandoned for one reason or another. I’m trying to figure out that reason. Are they worth finishing? So far, I’ve just been deleting. Too much fluff and stuff. Too many words. I’ve never been a fan of the superfluous.

That last paragraph rhymes.

It’s July 11th now. We’re in the middle of a heat wave. I’m in the middle of recovering from a sickness. Hit me like a ton of bricks five weeks ago. I actually hope I’m further along than the middle, but VNA says they’re with me deep into August. So, this feels like the middle.

I’ve written a lot about this experience, but I really don’t want to talk about it. And, I don’t think anyone wants to hear or read about it. I got sick. I’m getting better. God is getting me through. End of story. I mean, for me it’s been a pretty big deal, but that’s only because I’ve enjoyed a lot of wellness in life. That’s cause for praise. The fact that there were things that I would define as “miserable” is really just proof that I’ve had a very comfortable life. I did feel like I was in prison, but I only had to think about what prison was really like to shake myself out of that delusion. Often, I’d imagine what it would be like to be so sick in Venezuela or as a homeless person in California.

It was a long stay: just enough time to learn the limits of my capacity for dirty hair and hospital coffee.

❤️

11:1

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November 1, 2024

Today was Monday. I don’t care what you say, I don’t care what the calendar says. Today was Monday at our house.

The morning had been occupied with work and such, so that when it was time for Doug to go to the jail we hadn’t had any time together. That made it worse than a Monday.

After spending yesterday serving my turn at jury duty, I was meditating on how much work I had to do to make up for the lost day, how far my home is from being ready for Thanksgiving, how my wrists were going to chop and mix everything they had to chop and mix for the Big Dinner, and if I would ever finish my walls – that is, getting my collection of art and family photos in their most esthetically pleasing spots.

I don’t know if I’ve blogged about my wrists. Just to quickly fill you in, I fell in August and broke my left wrist and nearly broke the right. God’s merciful protection, 100%. Some days, they feel pretty good, or at least the right feels good. Then, some days, like on Mondays, they both hurt so much I just want to wrap them in my heating pad and feel sorry for myself.

Anyway, in the one-minute chat we had before he walked out the door, Doug and I both commiserated with each other about this cloud of gloom hanging over us. We really just want to dig a cave and hide sometimes. Ever feel that way? Or, fly kites everyday for the rest of our lives.

After he was on his way to jail, I made my way to the office and tried to think about how I could possibly finish this project (that I had started months ago) with two wrists which just didn’t want to work. And, that’s when Doug texted me. It was bad news. Very bad news. Unbelievably bad news. It was just what we needed to push us over the edge. We quickly got on the phone with each other and he started making some suggestions, apologizing for the situation—which was completely out of his control—and just feeling like the worst.

Well, I started to think about what he was saying, and I guess there was just enough Holy Spirit presence that I knew what he was saying and what I was thinking were trash garbage lies from Hell. I mean, the Holy Spirit took over and truth started pouring from my lips and faith started rising up and I realized that this horrible, terrible, very bad news was exactly what we needed. Honestly, it was like God was calling our bluff. It became really clear that our only solution was to trust God, and that’s the way we liked it.

Life just isn’t easy all the time, you know? It’s really just a matter of recognizing that your “not easy” is just what you can bear if you will let God speak truth into your circumstance and let faith in His proven love and care rise up once again. He knows us best.

 “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1.

❤

The End is Near!

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December 29, 3024

Hi, Everyone.

I’m playing with my blog today, and am going to post some things that have been forgotten or abandoned this year. I’ve given up on writing perfect things and editing myself to death, because I really just don’t have the time. Every minute I don’t work is a minute I’m going to have to work harder to make up for not working, so pseudo-leisure activities come with a price: I will never catch-up.

But, I have given myself the past few days and a few more hours today to not work on NBF, give my body a rest, and work on this blog. So, there may be a flood of garbage coming your way. Maybe, a rhinestone mixed in that you’ll need have to wade through gunk to find. You can decide if it’s worth it. If there’s a sentence or paragraph here and there that I like, a testimony or truth worth sharing, it’s going up.

❤️