Author Archives: sherriwoodbridge.com

Counting Blessings

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Today I woke up (not such an uncommon occurrence). Today the sun was shining. Today the skies were blue. Today I got dressed, went outside, and began watering.

Today I went back in the house, assessed the situation of cleaning and said out loud (no one else was home) “God – I can’t do this today.”

I was referring to the condition of the house. You see, it’s a mess. The floors need mopping, the carpet needs vacuumming, the dishes needed washing, the laundry needs laundering, the bathrooms need scouring, and if I were really, really ambitious, in my list there would include window cleaning as well. However, I didn’t feel ambitious. You see, if I were to do all of that cleaning (which I would do and have done), that would mean I’d have to pick up one-thousand, eight-hundred, and forty-seven items in order to do the floors, the carpets, the dishes, and so on.

One-thousand, eight-hundred and forty-seven miscellaneous items including, but not limited to – unpaired socks, gasoline receipts, paper clips, loose change, paint infested shirts and shorts, sleeping bags, coats, half-filled glasses of some kind of soda, juice, or water, pens, pencils, books in each and every room and so on. You get the picture… Blessing or curse?

I left my son home alone while I took a jaunt down to Arizona to visit my doctor. Upon my return home, I walked in the back door, put my purse on the washing machine, saw my son who was standing with his head out the back door (the cell phone reception is much better that way), heard him say to the unidentified person on the other end, ‘Hang on a sec’, while he mouthed to me, ‘You didn’t call and tell me when you’d be home or I would have cleaned up’. I bet you’re getting a much clearer picture now…

So, after having just ended a very long, eight-hour drive, I went straight to the restroom, without getting mad. You see – I prepared for this moment, expecting the very worst and to be quite honest and giving my son some credit – it really could have been worse. There could have been 1,947 pieces of what-not strewn across the floor.

I came out of the bathroom and you know what I did? That’s right. I got in the car and went to the park to take pictures of birds.

That was four days ago. I don’t know what happened to him as a child. Somewhere he missed Housecleaning 101 when I taught it to my children in the summer of ’89. I will have to credit him with the fact that he was only two years old and his brother had a four year jump on him and his sister almost two years. Still, I repeated that class several times each week but I never realized he was failing. He missed the lecture ‘Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness’, as he was at his best friend’s birthday party where he was duking it out at a re-creation of the Peter Pan (Hook?) food fight. Some very bad lessons learned there but one of his fondest memories. He also missed the lecture on ‘Do Unto Others as You Would Have Others Do Unto You’, with an emphasis on cleaning up after yourself. I am not sure where he was that day. Perhaps at the overnighter where he lost his camera, wallet, whatever. Something is always missing.

Back to the present…

It’s been four days. I know my son is busy working. He works hard. He gets up at 6:30 to be at a job by 7:30 and usually doesn’t get home until close to eight o’clock at night. He is tired, hungry and most days I don’t recognize him as he’s wearing more paint than what he probably used to cover the house he painted that day for a client. However, doesn’t he realize I have more important things to do than pick up over a thousand things that belong to him, just so I can get to the bottom and clean? After all, there are birds waiting for me to photograph.

Not very long ago I would have stood there and sobbed over this matter. Today I just said, “God – I can’t do this today.” You know what God had to say to me?

You can’t count my blessings today?

Ouch.

I can’t count blessings if my mind is on the things of this world, like being frustrated over things. I can’t count blessings if I am bitter and angry, for my mind is on me, myself, and then there’s I. ‘I’ always says, I shouldn’t have to do this. ‘I’ has a pride problem. But, you know what? I is right in one respect. I shouldn’t have to do this because my grown-up son is a big boy and big boys clean up after themselves and so you know what ‘I’ did instsead? That’s right. I grabbed my camera, grabbed a bottle of water, and went out into the backyard to take pictures of birds. You know why? Not because I was running from the mess. I’ve been there – done that. I went outside to take pictures because I was looking for blessings. And I found what I was looking for.

I am learning that when we look for blessings precious ‘joy’ gifts from the Father, we will find them. Not because we’re running from something, but we because we are running towards God and some days, we just run faster.

Blessing #457:

Blessing #458:

Blessing #459:

Blessing #460:

Blessing #461:

Blessing #462:

Blessing #462, my dear,lovable, crazy son who skipped out on housecleaning to spend time and ‘ride horses’ with his favorite 3-year old:

May you find a wonderful blessing from God today.
~Sherri

I’m Requesting the Honor of Your Opinion

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I am entering a photography contest, contributing four different photos, representing four different categories. Would you help me out by voting for your favorite in each category, which will help me to determine which ones to submit (I’m undecided and thought this might help!)… You can leave your 4 numbers in the comment section. Thanks so much!

*****For the category of birds:

#1

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#2

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#3

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#4

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#5

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Votes to date: 4

#6

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Votes to date: 8

*****For the category of blooms:

#7

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#8

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Votes to date: 7

#9

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Votes to date: 4

#10

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#11

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#12

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Votes to date: 1

#13

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Votes to date: 1

#14

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*****For the category of butterflies:

#15

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#16

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Votes to date: 4

#17

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Votes to date: 8

*****And… for the category called “Just Kidding Around”:

#18

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#19

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Votes to date: 5

#20

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Votes to date: 3

#21

20110811-061054.jpg
Votes to date: 4

Thank you so much!
~Sherri

Ten Reasons to Read ‘One Thousand Gifts’

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I have recently come across a book that I firmly should be in everyone’s hands. There aren’t many books I would recommend so highly, but this one fits my criteria for what makes a book ‘recommendable’.
- It has to be in English, and have an appealing cover (I’m a visual person)
- It deepens my walk with Christ in some way
- I want to keep reading and never put it down
- Before I am even half way through I realize this is a keeper – my name goes in – it doesn’t get loaned, sent to the thrift store or sold in a yard sale
- I go out and get a copy to give to someone(s) who will be blessed by it
- In my recommendation, there is nothing that will embarrass me in its content
- It is encouraging and inspiring
- It touches me emotionally
- I can’t wait to read it again
- I think about it all day long

‘One Thousand Gifts’ by Ann Voskamp. It’s been out about a year (perhaps a bit less) but it is absolutely refreshing. Ann takes us through some of the heartbreaking moments of her journey in life, as well as those that were filled with joy. The places where she learns anew the gift of thankfulness and how it literally transforms her life.

Written almost like poetry, it is easy to read, quick to absorb. But take your time. You won’t want to miss a bite.

A little secret…
To obtain the transformation Ann talks about, you will need these three tools: a pen, a notebook/journal, and eyes – wide open.

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it!

Writing for Him,
Sherri

That’s all I’m going to tell you. It is a bestseller, so it may be in Costco (or similar) at a discounted price.

Welcome Home, Neva

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Life begins. A squirming bundle of skin, filled with a will and spirit all its own. Drinking from the breast of the one who bore it, it begins to stretch and grow. It cries. It squeals. It is silent and looking. Looking here. Looking there. Everywhere it scans shadows that come into view. Everywhere light filters in gently and brings blur into focus. The squirming bundle grows more.

The squeals turn to innocent screams that stem from rubber running against pavement as she follows a ball in play. Screams of joy. Screams of a win. Screams of fun. Screams of pain as innocence hits pavement and blood gushes from a wounded knee.

A doctor’s visit. Another kiss on the knee. A bandage is applied and pulled over top of an owie and another kiss is given. Carried out in the arms of love, the once squirming bundle is almost too big to carry. Big enough to milk the cow, big enough to gather hens’ eggs, big enough to argue. Not so big to hold, not so big to kiss goodnight, not so big to set straight.

She comes home from school. Excited about her ‘A’ in chemistry, excited about her upcoming role in ‘The King and I’ and more excited that her very first crush will be playing the role of King Mongkut of Siam. Shortly after, dreamed up kings and future queens are left in the dust for college where she meets true love and shortly after receives her degree as a nurse.

It could have been like that, I suppose, if you change a few details. But the reality? She gives her love and gentleness away every day. She touches lives she will never know were healed through her hands. Lives that were lifted by her spirit. Lives that were comforted by the words carefully chosen and mouthed by her lips. Like the fragrance of the flowers in the garden she tends, her roses, dahlia and delphiniums, lilacs, lavender and more – the scent of her character is remembered in the minds of those she has touched.

With all the busyness, with all that is called life, where is this contentment that she yearns to lie down upon and call home?

She lives through the hardships of life. Death has shadowed her with grief countless times as she has walked the halls of her ward. Tears have wet her cheeks more times than she can remember. Cries of pain have echoed in her mind more than she can forget.

She lives through the joys of life. Bringing the squeal of the new, two-fold, seeing it repeated once again with the birth of her granddaughters. Beautifully they grow, at the feet of her wisdom, by the unconditional love of her heart.

She buries her husband and with another fistful of dust to dust, a few years later – she buries her son.

She smiles as a great grandson emerges from the womb and screams life anew. Digging dirt holes and driving metal trucks, he is the music in her spirit. He is the joy of her heart. He is the savior of the moment. Dawdling in the garden, he snips with her the old life to make way for the new.

Home – is it here amidst the buds and the blooms? Is it in the sweat that drops upon the earth as she tills the ground? Is it inside the multitude of boards that stand erected in the distance, holding treasures of the past?

She knows when to be quiet, she knows when to speak. She discerns the ways about her and stays sheltered in the wisdom of her God. She lives His words and gives what she learns. Those that know her are blessed.

Her body, now aged, summons life to stop its circle and as the ends of the sphere near completion, she lays quiet upon her bed, silently bidding farewell to the shadows of the past is ushered into the holy presence of her Prince.

This moment. This joy. This feeling of rebirth – this is what she has lived for. This is the contentment that can’t be found in earthly dwellings or savored relationships.

This is the moment. This is the joy. The end of the race. This is what pain and sorrow fight for.

He reaches to take her hand. She steps from the old and into the new. With His arms she is welcomed. Through His lips he whispers, “Well done.” With His hands He places a crown upon her head.

She is home. She is finally home.

How Do You Say Goodbye?

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A dear friend of mine went to the hospital. My dear, dear friend had routine surgery. My dear, dear, dear friend was on the operating table when they discovered her body was full of cancer. That was last Friday. Today is Monday. She is not expected to live past this evening.

And still, she smiles. She jokes. With a little less life, a little less breath, she smiles and she jokes and she tells the doctor to get back to work because she has nothing to do but wait for her eyes to close. She smiles because she knows when her eyes close, they will reopen to the face of her long-awaited Prince.

I told her to tell Jesus that I want a yellow house, just like the one her and I and another friend use to go to for lunch and pie. Always pie. Always a la mode. Always. Sometimes we may not have wanted the soup or the sandwich (rarely), but always the pie. As you can sense, it was good pie. Two slices of pecan a la mode and one slice of sour cream and raisin a la mode. Warmed just a tad bit.

One day we went flower picking. Bright pinks, yellows, reds, purples. Petals of practically every color of the rainbow greeted us as we pushed open the wooden gate to her friend’s backyard. A backyard of dahlias covered the bare dirt and stood up to six feet tall. She snipped and clipped blooms while I snapped pictures of every one I could. We laughed. We talked. It was one of the highlights of my life. A bright summer day.

I used to work in a church office. Someone received a bouquet of beautiful red roses and I had to deliver them to the recipient. How I wished they had been for me. As I rounded the corner going back to my office, my dear, dear, dear, dear friend was there. She was holding a green glass vase full of deep and light purple lilacs that she had clipped in her yard and brought to me. The fragrance seeped into my soul and refreshed my spirit. She was my angel that day. She loved flowers as much as I did.

She will be Home in a few hours. The angels must be setting the table as I write. They are probably humming as they go – excited by the near arrival of my dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear friend. We who are left behind however, weep the loss of this saint. This one who frowned upon gossip and never said an unkind word about anyone. This one near 80 years old, who giggled like a little girl. This one who had the gift of encouragement and sent handmade cards regularly and often to cheer others up. This friend who, when there was a need, did what she could. This one I call Neva. This one the Father calls Beloved.

I shiver when I look up into the sky and think this could be the moment when Christ is standing at the gate, welcoming her home in His arms. I thank my God that two weeks ago I made the time to sit with her while I was in Idaho and share lunch. Her and Vivian. Just like old times. Two of my very favorite people.

There was no pie that day and the Yellow House has closed. We found another place to dine and the fellowship was just as sweet.

My dahlias are blooming. When I look at them I think of Neva. When I look at them from now on, I will remember Neva. Her smile, her spirit, her giggle, her generosity, and her ability to bring sunshine into the lives of so many others.

I will miss you so much, Neva. But I know that someday I will see you again. And when I do, while Vivian enjoys her sour cream and raisin pie, we’ll enjoy some ‘heavenly’ pecan pie – a la mode, of course. And the fellowship will be so sweet.

Crossing the Border

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Yesterday in church, the pastor spoke of a mission team that was on its way to Mexico and was due to cross the border of California and head to their destination. Some of the group is doing this once again, having crossed over into another country before. For some, however, this is their first time. They are leaving the familiar, the comfortable, the safe and entering territory where they have only heard of and never seen.

As I sat there, I thought about how the whole world is a missionary zone. For some of us, we don’t even have to leave our houses to be ‘on mission’. We have lost loved ones we live with each day who we are to be a witness to of God’s grace and forgiveness. We live in neighborhoods that need the love of God extended to on a daily basis to people who are in pain and are suffering in ways unimaginable. But… we’re afraid to cross the borders.

We fear the reaction of loved ones. We fear we will be thought of as a religious fanatic or worse yet, a ‘Jesus freak’. We fear crossing the street to a neighbor for fear of what they may think of us or worse yet, what we might find that we don’t care for. We don’t want to leave the comfort, the familiarity of our safe little worlds that we have built by creating boundaries – borders.

There have been two people in my life that have taught me that crossing borders can be a tremendous blessing. I have always been somewhat withdrawn when it comes to meeting new people. When I took on the job of an administrative assistant in a church several years ago, I quickly learned that meeting new people was a constant part of my job. Not only that, but to make them feel loved and welcome became an integral part, as well. I had to realize that crossing borders was a part of the job description, whether I was comfortable with it or not.

The homeless and the hungry frequented my office. The hurting. The lonely. The lost. Sometimes a bag of food was all they wanted. Sometimes a hug. Sometimes just having someone just listen. What I learned was – the more I crossed those borders, the more I wanted to and the easier it became. At first I watched and listened to those who crossed borders regularly and loved people who were on the other side. I learned that my fears of being shunned were misplaced. I learned that love goes a long way to opening doors. I learned that I really loved being on the other side.

When Hurricane Katrina caused her destruction in New Orleans several years ago, I went with a mission team to help feed those who had become homeless and destitute overnight. We talked to, hugged, prayed with, and loved on those who (I am ashamed to say), I would have been afraid of five years earlier. It was a fortnight full of irrepressible joy and blessing unmeasurable. Hopefully for them. Certainly for me.

Now I am in a different place in my life. I am at home on disability, often too tired or physically hurting due to having Parkinson’s disease. However, it is not so bad that I haven’t found myself lately yearning to cross the borders around me. And – there are many uncomfortable boundaries for me that exist around here where I live. But I want to go. I want to show God’s grace to those who are hurting, to those who are alone, to those who are lost.

There doesn’t have to be a flood to reach those who are drowning in life. There doesn’t have to be a third world country of starving children to reach those who are hungry. They are right beside us in the grocery lines, beyond the flowers in our yards, across our dinner tables. The question is – will we cross the borders and love them as Jesus loved them? Unconditionally, without fear, and being an example of forgiveness? That is my heart’s desire. To step over the lines that hold me back and to live as Jesus lived – loving the unloveable, forgiving the unforgivable, and living out grace to a lost world. That, for me, will have been to have lived well.

Thank you David Bruyette and Fondra Magee for teaching me what it means to cross the borders in life, without fear, and to live like Jesus.

One Thousand Gifts… Take Two

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#7 – Old barns, withered and worn – what stories they would tell…

#8 – Fresh cut flowers…

#9 – Those who go where others cannot and do what others can’t…

#10 – Those who do what others won’t… Children’s volunteer workers in churches, Cub Scout/Boy Scout/Brownies and Girl Scout leaders…

#11 – Cold, creamy yogurt…

#12 – Being loved

 

 

1000 Gifts

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I am sitting at my husband’s computer.   Mine died… again.  Yes, that’s right.  I don’t know what it is with technology and me.  We just don’t get along at all.  It probably has something to do with the fact that, I firmly believe, if we hadn’t gone the way of ‘digitology’, we’d still have jobs for everyone.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love my phone and the convenience of it.  I love my computer, when I actually have one that works.  I love to walk with my iPod.  And I love, love, love – my camera.  However, these ‘things’ and I don’t seem to cooperate together very well.  I type, the screen goes blank or the fan burns out ( within 2-14 days of purchase).  I aim, zoom, and shoot and things are blue.  I call a friend and have to open a window for things to get through the little invisible wires.  I turn on my iPod and it’s dead.

 

Yet, I am so thankful.  Thankful that these things are available to make life ‘easier’.  I am thankful for the pictures that do turn out that lend themselves to me giving praise to God – for my granddaughter, my children, the brilliant colors in nature, the fragrance of spring (as I remember it when I could smell it!).  The ability to ‘write’ on a computer when my fingers don’t want to work like a normal person’s (yes, I can be abnormal).  Listening to music that brings me into God’s presence.  Calling a family member or a friend, with the window open on a sunny day.

 

And I am so thankful that when we take things for granted, God still gives.  Shelter, food, water, vibrant colors, cool breezes, rainstorms, thunder, sunshine.  He gives us much to not just exist, but to LIVE.

 

There is a fairly new book out by Anne Voskamp entitled One Thousand Gifts, which basically sends you to a heart of thanksgiving.  A LIFE of thanksgiving.  An ATTITUDE of thanksgiving.  Part of that LIFE of thanksgiving is naming what you are thankful for.  Seeing it.  Sharing it.  Day by day.  And so, that will be a part of my blog from now on.  Those of you who know me well, know that I can get distracted easily (I like to blame it on the Parkinson’s!) and so, I may skip a day or so, but it is my desire (when my newest computer arrives – it ships tomorrow!!!) to be committed to this.

 

And so, to start from this day forward, here we go…

 

 

 

 

 

 

#1 – A pale yellow tulip, petals of delicate lace…

 

 

 

 

 

#2 – Abstract items in a garden…

 

 

 

 

 

#3 – My garden…

 

 

 

 

 

#4 – Birds that sing in the tree outside my window…

 

 

 

 

 

#5 – Beautiful Boo…

 

 

 

 

 

#6 – My kids…

 

~~~What are you thankful for today?

 

 

Letting Go of Life’s Most Precious Treasures

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From Idaho to Southern California.  The infamous summer’s-end-early autumn-taking-my-daughter-to-college-trip.  This was my first trip down.  This was her first trip, as well.  One thousand miles to college.  One thousand miles apart.

 

It was about nine-thirty in the evening and the ceremonies for new students had just ended. It was now time for me to start the drive home.  We stood there, underneath the umbrella of twilight.  My daughter and I. I didn’t want to say goodbye.  How do you say goodbye to your baby girl?  How do you say goodbye to your best friend?  Oh, of course I knew I had to.  This wasn’t a choice.  It’s not like I was going to tell her, “Pack up.  You’re coming home with me.”  No – I had to let her go.  She wasn’t a little girl anymore.  She had grown into a beautiful young woman and it was time for me to go.  It was time for me to let her go, and I knew it.

 

With tears in my eyes, I took her face in my hands and I did it.  God had given me a gift to give my daughter.  Jeremiah 29:11.  I said to her, “God has given me a verse for you, to pray for you and over you each day.   ‘He knows the plans He has for you – plans to prosper you and to give you hope and a future.  Plans that you will not be harmed and to keep you safe. Seek Him and you’ll find Him, if you seek Him with all your heart.’”  I looked at her and finished.  “He has patiently been teaching me that if I hold onto any part of you, those are pieces that I may keep you from Him working through.  So, this is me, letting you go.”

 

It was at that moment when I gave all of her to the Lord.  He could do a better job of taking care of her anyhow.  Besides, aren’t our children merely just on loan from Him?

 

After many hugs and tears, a friend of mine (who had flown down earlier in the day to ride back with me) and I left.

 

Trying to get out of Southern California seemed like it would have been easier than it was proving to be, but the bumper to bumper traffic afforded many distractions for not having to think about how empty I felt inside.  After an hour or so, cars seemed to begin to speed up and spread out in the lanes and life inside of my head was beginning to slow down. I   turned on the car radio and a new release was playing on the Christian radio station.

 

As I listened to the familiar words, I wept…

 

‘This is what it means, to be held, how it feels when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive.’

 

I knew that my daughter hadn’t been torn from me in the sense the song implied, but it certainly did feel as if my daughter had been ripped from my life and – I surely didn’t feel I was going to survive. I felt as if I had a huge, gaping hole in my heart and I couldn’t breathe.  It was an emptiness I had never experienced before. How could I let her go? In so many ways, she had become my best friend.  She was the one who saw Chic Flicks with me, loved the same books, similar songs, and ice cream.  We could talk to each other so easily.  We loved games. And… I just let her go?

 

I cried some more, for on that dark and quiet stretch of Highway 1 along the coast of the Pacific Ocean, there was really nothing else to do at one o’clock in the morning. Besides, my passenger was asleep and if I got all of the tears out now, no one would be the wiser for it.

 

The song continued to play.

 

“This is what it means, to be loved, and to know that the promise was when everything fell, we’d be held.”

 

Listening to those words, at that moment in time – that’s when I knew I was going to be okay.

 

God has promised to hide us under the shadow of His wings. That picture gives me such comfort.  He will hold us in the fires, in the trials, in the brokenness.  He always has. So – I continued on along the darkened coast and cried some more.

 

A year later, almost to the day, my daughter and I made our trek down to school once more. We unloaded the car in less than half the time than the prior year, now being experienced college dorm movers and all…  After unpacking boxes, Togo’s sandwiches, thrift stores and Targets, it was time for the dreaded good-bye.

 

I told her I would continue to pray the same prayer for her that God had given me the prior year. We hugged and I let her go – again. I didn’t want her to see my face as I walked toward the car and I made a point to not look back.   I didn’t want her to see the familiar tears that were streaming down my face that even my sunglasses couldn’t hide.

 

I merged onto the highway – the same one as the year before.  This year, I had no passenger and left in the morning, after making sure my daughter was settled into her room.   Once past the congested areas, I turned the radio on.

 

‘This is what it means to be held, and to know that the promise was when everything fell, we’d be held.’

 

Once again, I cried.  However, these were now tears of utmost joy and thankfulness to a God who is faithful, not coincidental.  I listened to the song and felt the wings of God shelter me yet again.  I cried because of His presence in the dark times of my life.  Even if that year didn’t seem as dark (after letting her go) as the year before, it was dark enough for me.  Yet, God’s faithfulness shined through.

 

The darkness can never be so dark that His light can’t penetrate through and offer hope and healing, mercy and grace.  When we are down and discouraged, need someone who will fight for us when we have no fight left to give, He is there.  To hold us, soothe us, and renew us.  When it seems that everyone fails us and everything around us falls, He is there.  Always there.

 

If we believe that He is always there, then we are always being held.  Especially when we let go.

 

Pretty amazing stuff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comments:
janamichelle said…  i love God’s creativity and timing. it is so perfect. your writing is so honest and real.

A Day in May

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Winter has finally turned to Spring.

Gray days are turning to sunny yellow.

What was dead is now awakening

with color all around.

Thank you God, for another beautiful day.

 

FYI – flowers and trees, barns and things around town, plus a birthday celebration where Uncle Josh read to Clara Dr. Seuss’,  “I Wasn’t So Scared” and then Clara ‘read’ “Peter Rabbit” to Uncle Josh.  It was the funnest thing to watch.