I Forget Myself

Can you relate?

I don’t understand it, but on my last birthday I decided to embrace blue again—it had been my favorite color for so long, but somewhere along the way I dropped blue and embraced red. I like red. I love red! But, I’m not red. I’m blue.

It’s really stupid and unimportant, but I’m kind of discovering that I surrendered some of my identity somewhere along the way. I don’t know when or where, but looking back at myself years and years ago I see someone else. I see someone who looks more familiar to me than the person I see most of the time in the mirror. I kinda miss her.

I mean, she’s A LOT like me today—but not.

It’s weird. And, this post is definitely going make me sound like an annoying, self-absorbed, nincompoop, but it’s Saturday. Who cares? It’s just that I don’t want to feel like I’m putting on a costume everyday. I have no desire to revisit the past, and I’m totally in love with my life today. I’m blessed beyond measure! No complaints. No dissatisfaction here. I just don’t want to fail that girl in the pictures. I don’t know that I have, but I kinda think I’ve let her down in a few places. I took her for granted.

I dunno! We’ll see what happens. I’ll let you know. For now, I’m just thinking out loud.


First year as The Saxophone Player’s Wife.🎷❤️

Learning to be Thankful for Fleas

I have become rather disgusted with Christian cultural and political leaders trying to equate Christian activism in Conservative politics with Christian heroics during the Holocaust. Christian cultural and political leaders are increasingly trying to shame Christians into throwing themselves to the lions for the sake of whatever social or political injustice is popular in the moment. These are not the causes for which Watchman Nee or Richard Wurmbrand suffered in jail for years—even decades! Corrie ten Boom did not watch her beloved Betsie die at Ravenbruck over her political activism. And, my goodness, there are many saints in prison for their faith right now. Yes, their faith—not for their political or social activism against their government. Anyone who tries to draw a comparison between the ten Booms and the truckers should be ashamed.

I truly fear that our faith is not as precious to many American Christians as their political positions. They demand we fight for our “God-given rights, or you’ll be sorry!”


I wonder if Christians in America even understand it is their faith that deserves a defense, and not their politics. Have we forgotten why we were saved? Why Jesus came and died on a cross? Have we said so many times that Jesus loves us so much He would have died for even one soul to be saved, that we have started thinking it’s all about us? I wonder. I really do.

I think of Corrie ten Boom and her family hiding Jews from the Nazis. We should not forget that they were defending Jews, because of their belief in what the Bible said about Israel. They were not making a political statement in protest of Nazism. They were not risking their lives for a cause that had an eternal value.

I also think of a boy named Joseph. He was sold into slavery, but never stopped trusting God. Daniel was literally thrown to the lions, but never decried the injustice he was facing. David had to flee for his life, but he worshiped his God and did good works along the way to his coronation. Esther faced the genocide of her people by calling them to fast and pray. Jochebed would not take her son’s life, but entrusted his care to God in a river filled with crocodiles!

It was all for faith’s sake. They’re faith was under fire. Is our faith that precious to us? Are we willing to suffer for the sake of the Cross, or just to get rules changed or our people moved into power? I’m afraid many American Christians would not recognize a true threat to their faith, because they have so little relationship with Jesus they cannot see the big picture. What is worth dying for, friends?

Generations of Believers proclaimed it is “about a relationship, not a religion,” yet many have neither one. They might have a social, cultural, or political agenda, but most have an idol they’ve created in their own image. Their Jesus never offends the sinner, and never grieves over the sin. He’s just like them: weak, passive, and impotent.


As Corrie and her sister, Betsie, sat on their straw-filled bunks in the Ravensbrück Concentration Camp they were tormented by a plague of fleas. Corrie complained to her sister, but Bestie corrected her, reminding Corrie that it was God’s will for them to give thanks in all circumstances. Corrie protested. She resisted. “I will never thank God for fleas!”

During the quiet times in their barracks, Corrie and Betsie will tell their fellow prisoners about Jesus. Thad a tiny New Testament that the angels of the Lord had blinded the eyes of their captives from finding—a remarkable and miraculous thing! So, they would hold Bible studies and prayer meetings, leading people to faith in Christ.

After a few weeks of the plague of fleas, they noticed that the guards very rarely came into their barracks to conduct searches. This gave the sisters almost unlimited time to talk about Jesus. How could this be?

One day, Betsie overheard the supervisor speaking to the other guards. She said she refused to enter their barracks, because of the fleas!

Ravensbruck Concentration Camp Women’s Barracks

We need to learn to thank God for the fleas. We need to set our minds on things above, what is eternal, and not on things that are passing away. Our money should not be going to a protester’s legal defense fund, but to the preaching of the gospel.

Brothers and Sisters, we will give account for our choices. How did we spend our time? How did we spend our money? What did we do for Jesus? Can we do more? None of us know how many days we have left to serve Jesus. What treasures will we have to lay at His throne?

I don’t know about you, but I am weary of the wickedness in this world. I cannot hold it back by protesting, but I can make a difference by leading one more soul to Christ. I can speak the truth and exhort my Brother or Sister to righteousness. I can pray and fast and be ready with an answer. I can start thanking God today for the fleas in my life, so that I’m ready to make a holy sanctuary of a prison cell or lion’s den. I know I’m not there, yet.

1 February 2022

I had planned to repeat my Facebook-Free February this year, but I haven’t done a very good job today. I suppose it could be Facebook-Free March or April. We’ll see. Maybe, I’ll start a day late.

As my husband headed off to bed tonight, he looked down at me (I was working on my laptop on the couch) and smiled with his whole face as he struggled to find the right words. “You…are…a…squirrely…rascally…challenge!”

I laughed out loud. “You know, she’s a very difficult person,” his future mother in law warned.

Well, his comment reminded me of something else. He reminded me of one a Shakespeare’s Sonnets I had included it in a poetry book I made him 34 years ago, when he left Long Beach, California for Boston, Massachusetts. He was coming here to study the saxophone with Jerry Bergonzi. This was his dream come true. We were just friends, but I was already in love with him. So, I decided to make him a poetry book. What is a poetry book? Well, it’s a scrapbook of poems or quotes, with pictures collected from magazines or greeting cards. Maybe, photo copied from a book. It wasn’t a gift you gave just anyone—only your very best friends.

So, on the night before he flew out, I drove over to see him to say good-bye. That’s what friends do, right? We hung out for awhile, and I gave him his gift as I was leaving—some time after midnight. I drove away in my ’72 Toyota Corona—missing floor board on the passenger’s side and a trunk that only stayed closed with a bungee cord—and I prayed and rejoiced and felt incredible peace. Oh, I definitely cried my eyes out, too. I knew I would never see him again. His poetry book was my last bid to leave my mark on his life.

I know it’s small potatoes, but we’re celebrating our 33rd Anniversary soon, and I’m grateful for a husband who loves a “challenge.” 🙂

So, this is the sonnet. Figured I should share. You can see I made his poetry book in a music notebook, instead of a scrapbook. Seemed appropriate for a musician.

I love the picture I included—it related to the poem on the facing page, too, which begins: “My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases….” (Love Poem, written by John Frederick Nims.)

It was interesting to look through that poetry book tonight. I’m glad for all the ways I’ve changed in 34 years, and for all the ways I’ve stayed just the same.