The verse inside my locket

A year ago, I bought a small silver locket and asked God to give me a verse for the year, which I would then write out on a slip of paper and keep in the locket around my neck.

After praying for God to give me a verse, I more or less opened up my Bible at random and put my finger on a spot. It turned out to be Isaiah 30:15. “If you will be calm and trust me, you will be strong.” Not a verse I was familiar with. But I liked the promise it offered.

I wrote it in tiny letters on a very small strip of paper and folded it and enclosed it in the locket. I can’t honestly say I wore the locket a lot. But I often thought of it, and occasionally opened it to reread the verse.

365 days later, I can attest that that verse carried me through a rollercoaster year. Whenever something happened - either bad or good - I said to myself, “Be calm and trust God.”

And I calmed right down and I believed that God was in control and would take care of things.

I don’t have room here to list the things that happened: the answers to prayer, the struggles, the joys, the surprises, the disappointments… Let’s just say that life is a somewhat rocky road, and no matter what you see on the outside, we all have our ups and downs, our sorrows and joys, our highs and lows.

But whenever I felt I had reached a really low point and I wasn’t sure how I’d keep going, I thought of my special verse and remembered who was really in control. Not me! God. And I stopped thinking it was all about me and remembered it was really about him. And I stopped “doing” and left it for God to do.

That little verse got me through a year of many changes, challenges, and transitions.

Do I have a verse from God for this year? Actually, I didn’t even have to ask for one. A few days ago, a verse just started running through my mind. Yesterday, I realized it’s my verse for 2007. It’s a verse I know and love, but this year, it’s also my special verse. It’s the one I’ll remember when I get tired and drained, or when I wonder if I can keep going. It’s the one I’ll remember when the good things happen too.

My 2007 verse is also in Isaiah - 40:31. “Yet those who wait for the LORD will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.”

It’s on a similar theme of waiting for God, and relying on him instead of running ahead in ur own strength.

Interestingly enough, during the past two weeks, both my husband and I have been bone-weary - almost too exhausted to even talk to each other. It’s been a strange time of just letting go of our cares because we don’t have the energy to care. We’re read and watched some TV and done very little of long-term “value.”

But as my new verse leapt into my mind, I was reminded of the time when Elijah was exhausted after his struggles with Ahab and Jezebel, and thought he was all alone. He just wanted to die. But God sent an angel with food and drink, and then God spoke to Elijah as a gentle breeze, and then he sent Elijah to complete the next phase of his work. And just at the end God said told him he wasn’t alone - there were 7000 other loyal people in Israel.

Like Elijah, I feel we have completed a huge work for God, and we have good reason to be physically and emotionally tired. And I can’t wait to see how God is going to do to revitalize us, and what our next task will be!

Should you ask God to give you a verse for the year? Well, that’s between God and you. I’d never say, “Everyone do what I do….”

But I would encourage you to ask God to show you if he has a verse he’d like to give you. And you can either put it in a locket or write it on a card and post it on a bulletin board or keep it in some other way as a reminder that God is with you, and that he is faithful.

An evening with John Berry

If you enjoy music that has substance, lyrical quality, and intricate wording, and you haven’t heard of John Berry, you’re missing out on one amazing voice.

After listening to his music since he burst on the scene in 1994, we finally got to see him in person last night at a place called Hugh’s Room in Etobicoke. http://hughsroom.com/

John was on painkillers while recovering from a right hand and left collarbone that were both broken when a new horse he was riding was frightened by something in the grass and bucked, throwing him in the air. He landed on the ground - with his collarbone getting the worst of it - and lay there in pain while his sons went to get help, thankful that he could still feel all his extremities and that it had happened to him and not one of his sons.

In spite of the injuries, John played a mean guitar and his voice was in great form. He did have one moment, which got a lot of laughter, when he forgot a line in “Faithfully.” He blamed the painkillers for the memory glitch.

The highlight of the night was probably his acapella rendition of “O Holy Night,” which was a request from the audience. The song really showcased his voice. He also sang several songs from his new album, which is nearly completed. I’ll be in line to buy it.

John’s web site is http://www.johnberry.com/

A dream with a message

Have you ever had a dream that seems to mean a lot more than is apparent at first glance?

Sometimes my dreams are wacky, or weird, or just plain odd. Easy to see they came from the book I read two days ago, the TV show I watched the night before, the pizza I ate at midnight, or just my fertile imagination. But now and then a dream makes me sit up and take notice.

Over the last few months – okay maybe the last two years – my glass has been definitely half empty. I’ve been thinking things like “It’s not fair,” “Everything’s too much for me,” “Why do I need to deal with this and that?” “Can’t anything ever be easy?” The phrase, “Why me, Lord?” has hovered on my lips most of the time. In short, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself.

This morning, just before I woke up, I had a dream. It was about a little girl and some eggs. Duck eggs, as a matter of fact. Actually, they must have been from a gigantic duck because in my dream it seemed as if they were six inches long. And they looked a lot like gigantic off-white capsules. But they were quite clearly eggs.

There was a whole dream story-line about a family, with a little girl who seemed to get into trouble quite a bit, but it’s all blurry now. The climax is the part I remember.

The little girl was afraid that because she had disobeyed her father and chased the adult ducks away, the six duck eggs wouldn’t hatch.

Feeling terrible, but needing to know the worst, she cracked open one of the eggs. She was relieved and happy to discover there was a live duckling inside.

She cracked open a second egg, but the little bird in it was dead.

One out of two.

She was about to open the third egg when her father stopped her.

He said, “If you open the egg, the duckling inside won’t live. Having to crack open the shell makes the duckling strong enough to survive. If you open the shell for it, the duckling won’t be strong enough to live.”

And that’s when I woke up, with the father’s words ringing in my mind. “Having to crack open the shell makes the duckling strong enough to survive. If you open the shell for it, the duckling won’t be strong enough to live.”

And I felt God saying to me, “The things that you’ve had to deal with, the ones that seemed unfair, are making you strong. If you don’t have those problems now, you won’t be able to accomplish what I need you to do later on.”

And in an instant, all those little annoyances in my life had changed from problems to challenges. Not to say, I won’t complain any more, but I will see them in a new light. They are no longer thorns designed to bring me down, but opportunities to help me get stronger.

What a difference a little dream can make!

What women need to know about tiredness, weight gain, and the thyroid

Looking back, I realize that my symptoms had begun at least five years earlier. I was often tired. My bed time kept getting earlier. I had to drag myself out of bed in the morning. My skin, especially on my back, was itchy. I bought lotions and bath oils to use but they only eased it a little. My hair, which had always been naturally wavy, became dry and straight—like straw in a broom.

I had periods of depression where I felt tired and unable to cope. Words I was looking for—usually words I knew well, would completely evaporate when I needed them. I knew I was getting older. But did I just have to accept it?

I took an assortment of vitamins. I tried to exercise, but it was an uphill battle to find the energy. I told my doctor, but he could find nothing wrong.

For the first time in my life I gained weight and considered dieting. But again, weight-gain is “normal” for women my age.

By Christmas of 1998, I could no longer handle making meals. My husband took that over along with everything else. I felt tired and worn-out and worthless. One day I realized I had all the symptoms of clinical depression. A light went on. I do not get depressed. In every other way, my life was going great—I had no reason to be depressed. There must be a physical reason.

In January, I had a complete checkup and went on hormones because I was post-menopausal. Much of the depression lifted, but the tiredness, the dry skin, all the rest, remained.

I would lie on the couch and be hungry. It was too much effort to even go and get an apple out of the fridge. I would have to get up, walk there, open the fridge door, open the crisper drawer, reach in, get the apple, close everything, wash the apple, bite into it, chew it, do something with the core…no, it was too much for me.

My doctor said my thyroid level was a bit high but didn’t require treatment. I was thrilled by his first words—something tangible we could treat! And depressed by the next—how high did it have to get before it was bad enough?

I hit the Internet and found books. I became convinced low thyroid was my problem, but how could I persuade my doctor it was already bad enough to treat?

He tested it again a few months later. A little higher but not high enough. He had learned the rules in medical school. You treated it at a certain number. Or if it became more serious. Like if you had swollen feet and ankles.

He sent me to a specialist who, quite frankly, was rude, inconsiderate, and patronizing. He, too, knew the rules.

If only my body had known them.

At the end of summer, I went back to my doctor, this time armed with a book that listed the symptoms of hypo (not enough) thyroidism. I set out the book and said, “I have all but a couple of these symptoms. Please do something!”

Sighing, he said, “We can do another blood test.”

As an afterthought, I rolled up my pant leg and added, “Oh, yes, I also have a rash on my ankles. We went to the Ex two days ago. Funny. I had something like this once before when we were at Disneyworld. Several years ago, in fact. I thought that was caused by the low-voltage shocks in one of the exhibits. But there was nothing like that at the Ex. It seems to be a rash of some sort.”

He took one look at my “rash” and said, “It’s tiny capillaries bursting because of swelling.” The only low-thyroid symptom I hadn’t had.

Then and there he wrote out a prescription for synthetic thyroid.

In September of 1999, my doctor put me on synthetic thyroid medication for hypothyroidism. We have been monitoring it ever since to make sure it gets to the optimum level and stays there. All of my symptoms have completely disappeared.

In April of 2000 I cut my hair because I wanted to see if my “new growth” was as dry and straight as the old. My hair came out soft and wavy—almost curly. After that, I had long-time friends not recognize me. It wasn’t just the hair—I looked younger, more alive.

I told people that the change they saw on the outside was a reflection of how I felt inside. I had energy once more! Enthusiasm. My mind was back! Mentally and physically, I felt like a new person.

My symptoms had come on so slowly and gradually that I truly forgot what it felt like to have energy.

And I almost didn’t have the strength to fight it.

No, my thyroid level never came close to the number (10) at which my doctor thought he should treat it. I have talked to other women whose doctors treated them when their level reached 3. I now tell anyone who is as high as 3 to persuade her/his doctor to do something!

See these web sites for helpful information about symptoms and so forth.

http://thyroid.about.com/

http://mythyroid.com/

Two books I found very helpful were:
Screaming to Be Heard: Hormonal Connections Women Suspect…and Doctors Ignore by Elizabeth Lee Vliet

Thyroid Sourcebook: Everything You Need to Know
by M. Sara Rosenthal, Robert Volpe

If you have a book or web site to recommended, please add it in a comment. And yes, having hyper (too much) thyroid can also be a big problem.

Basketballs in the living room are part of life

While entertaining guests in our living room one day, I happened to glance under the piano bench, and there in all its splendour sat - a basketball.

Was I embarrassed? Well, yes. But I remembered, not for the first time, a column by Erma Bombeck I read years ago. It was about her embarrassment at having a basketball in the living room when an important visitor dropped by.

With four active sons, I’ve had my share of basketballs in the living room—and soccer balls, volleyballs, footballs, baseballs, tennis balls, frisbees…I could go on. But the neat thing is that because of Erma’s column, I’ve been able to smile and say, “Erma would understand.”

As long as I can remember, I’ve enjoyed columns about ordinary life. As a child and teenager, I rushed to get the newspaper first so I could read Gregory Clark. Later it was Erma. It was my dream to one day write like them.

At university, I double-majored in Psychology and English, and I found the combination very meaningful—the one giving great insight into the other.

But practical matters needed to come first. Instead of living in a garret with my journals, I opted for teaching high school. (Much better pay.) And then came marriage and kids and….

When my husband and I moved from western Canada to Toronto, I thought it would be neat to write a column from the viewpoint of a newcomer to the city. I even managed to put a few thoughts on paper. But with three children under four—there was no time for more. And soon I discovered Gary Lautens, who wrote for the Toronto Star. Like Gregory and Erma, Gary helped me see ordinary things in a new way. Though I was living in a strange city where I knew no one, I wasn’t alone as long as I could read Gary’s column.

Time passed. In 1986 we were transferred to Markham after a year in Calgary. More experiences.

But I was busy homeschooling three kids while looking after an active toddler, added in 1984. No time yet to write.

When Gary Lautens died suddenly, there was such a hole where his column used to be that I longed to be able to write—not for the sake of writing, but because I missed his insights.

Quietly, I began to put down ideas as they came to me. Perhaps some day…. One by one, my children went off to high school and my homeschooling load diminished.

Shortly after my youngest son turned five, I began to find time to write. In fact, during the next eight years, I turned out over sixty magazine articles, several short stories, four novels for teens, a mystery….but never a column. In 2001, I decided the time had finally come, so I set some goals. What I wanted to write was the kind of column I’ve always enjoyed–talking about day-to-day life from a positive viewpoint.

I began by buying every “how-to write a column” book or tape I could find. I also attended a workshop taught by an experienced columnist. Afterwards, I pulled out the ideas I had jotted down over the years. Yes, there were things I could talk about. And there are other things, too. Having lived this long—over half a century—I have accumulated a whole host of experiences and ideas. And all of them will fit into my theme: life is what we live each minute of the day—good or bad, boring or joyous, tragic or comedic—and we need to make the best of it. By the middle of October I had ten columns written.

Now came the hard part. I dusted off my business suit and made the journey to the Economist-Sun office, and…there I was—a columnist!

That job lasted exactly 5 months, but I loved every minute of it. Right up until a new publisher bought the paper and fired all freelance writers on the spot!

Today, my sons are grown up and I have three grandchildren.

And my writing is doing okay. I have 9 books in print and another on the way.

But I still have all these thoughts about life that I want to share with others. I could have dusted off my resume and gone down, cap in hand to an editor. But…this is so easy!

So I’ll be writing about all sorts of things that matter to ordinary people: living in community, handling relationships, homemaking, juggling a career, raising children, living with teenagers, becoming an in-law and grandparent, taking responsibility for elderly parents, being aware of the environment, making it through the day, and, of course, not losing your cool when you find a basketball in your living room.

N. J. Lindquist (copyright Dec. 2005. Not to be reprinted without permission.)