tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025079952170147242024-03-20T12:18:55.263-07:00Jan Hill BooksJan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-69409660789836658642024-03-20T12:18:00.000-07:002024-03-20T12:18:02.475-07:00Remembering Easter<p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Easter sort of snuck up on me this year. My mind said it should happen in April as it usually does, but my son assured me that every four years we celebrate this sacred and glorious day in March. I guess leap year is sort of like daylight savings time. We know it's going to happen but are never quite prepared to have our sleeping cycles or our thoughts and plans disturbed. I don't know about anyone else, but even small changes in my routine have an unsettling effect and cause me to rethink even the simplest things.</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But with a few adjustments I think I will be ready to put my heart into the meaning of the season now that it is just a little over a week away. A small gift has been put in the mail for my grandson. He was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes at three so all the seasonal candy is out of the question, but he's really smart and loves most anything he can build or rebuild and electronic gadgets are always a hit. I gave my granddaughter a new outfit last Sunday and the grand dogs a treat. For their parents I got solar-powered radios with a ton of different features and ways to charge them. I believe they will be important to have if the power outages that are raging across Europe hit our shores. I was even lucky enough to get a great deal on two generators so no one will lose everything in their </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(56, 118, 29);">freezers again. I've had it happen twice and my son once and having to throw out over a thousand dollars in frozen food without being able to salvage a single item is not something I want to experience again.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana;">Since I have a new calling in my church, I'll be helping with an Easter party this Saturday. I've never attended one in my eight years of living here because I no longer have young children at home, but helping other families have a good breakfast and watching the little ones hunt for Easter eggs might be fun. It's certainly gotten me thinking about how my family of origin celebrated Easter when I was a child. While most of my memories have been severely limited due to the psychological </span></span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">trauma I received at the age of five, I know holidays had to be a special time when there were anywhere between one and seven children involved. </span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I do remember the easter baskets with colorful strips of wood running around their circumferences and dying lots of eggs that were basically fresh from the henhouse. I say basically because they had to be a few days old or we couldn't peel the skins off without losing half of the egg. Daddy would hide them around the front yard and we would count the number found until all were accounted for. We would eat them with pepper and salt while mother turned at least a dozen of them into deviled eggs to eat with our Sunday meal. We would each get a large, hollow, chocolate easter bunny along with assorted jelly beans and the big, hard-shelled, marshmallow eggs that I dearly loved because of the way my mouth and tongue felt as the insides dissolved.</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I tried to find them this year, only to discover that they were discontinued last summer because the cost of sugar made it prohibitive for the candy company to make them. How sad it is that skyrocketing inflation is making it impossible for people in the most free and prosperous nation on earth to no longer enjoy some of life's most simple pleasures. And even sadder is the fact that it wouldn't be this way if the people at the top of the food chain could see what their greed and lack of compassion and understanding has done to middle class Americans who are the true backbone of our nation. </span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">These hard-working individuals are forced to experience the demise of their personal American dream as they keep cutting back on needs, wants and desires while those pesky, unlawful taxes are increasing more rapidly than ever. But the funds basically stollen from us will never be enough to support the life styles of those who refuse to work, those who come over the border illegally and expect everything to be handed to them and those selfish and unethical millionaires and billionaires who will never have enough and are always finding loopholes so they can keep what they have and add to it at our expense. As far ahead as we can possibly look our descendants will never be able to repay the national debt as it expands a trillion dollars every one-hundred days on interest alone.</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But that's something to discuss at another time. Prophesy is rapidly being fulfilled, and while it might not happen in my lifetime, I have every reason to believe that some of the people alive today might just be lucky enough to be here when the Savior makes his triumphant return. That's when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is our Savior, Redeemer and Son of the Living God. It gives me goosebumps and makes the tears form just thinking about how glorious that event will be regardless of our vantage point when it happens. The stage is certainly being set and we cannot allow our hearts to fail us. It is an exciting time to be alive, but it is also a time to pay attention to what is going on around us and throughout the world. It can be a scary sometimes because we have no idea who is telling the truth. But if we are as prepared as we can possibly be we have nothing to fear, even if our mortal life ends. There is an amazing eternity waiting for us if we put our faith and trust in our <span style="caret-color: rgb(56, 118, 29);">Heavily Father who created us.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I want to take just a few minutes and tell you some of the things I've learned this year about that calm and beautiful Easter Morning so many years ago. The story is not new to any real Christian and is one filled with betrayal, sorrow, unbelievable suffering, false rulings, degradation, fear and tough lessons learned, but it is also a testament to never-ending love, full compassion, complete understanding and an abundance of hope, light and eternal rejoicing. It is the most remarkable event that ever transpired, and righteous and wicked alike will receive eternal life because of it. </span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">W. Cleon Skousen has written a remarkable book titled <i>Days of the Living Christ </i>that offers a new insight into scriptural passages many of us have been raised reading. He has spend much time in Jerusalem and the surrounding area and is both knowledgeable about the culture and the Bible, along with being an amazing storyteller that makes seemingly complicated topics come alive. His writing is filled with understanding, fresh insight and a thoughtful approach as to how some of the more minor characters may have felt about the events unfolding around them. I just happened to be at the conclusion of the book last week and my heart was completely impacted by some of the tender things I read.</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">A week before Christ was crucified by his own people, he stood on a hilltop and looked across the valley at the city of Jerusalem and wept. These were his people about to crucify him, and it would only be a few days before they clamored for his death and chanted <i>His blood be upon us, and on our children. </i>That invocation would bring such a disaster to his people that never again would the Jews be united as a nation until the latter days. Never again would they be gathered together in freedom, peace and prosperity until they had drunk the very last dregs of the bitter cup they had asked for. But they were still his people, and it was no accident that they had been chosen in Heaven to help him get through this c</span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">ruel yet necessary assignment of suffering on the cross. And as horrible as their actions were, they would do it without being robbed of their opportunity for Salvation when the right time arose.</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The physical cross he was required to carry weighed between seventy-five and a hundred pounds and the Savior was in a weakened condition after his unbelievable suffering in Gethsemane, being scourged with a deadly weapon that could strip the ribcage of the offender to the bone, and having a crown with two to three inch thorns shoved down on his head. His heart must have been heavy indeed because along with his personal sacrifices he knew how much his remaining eleven apostles were suffering as they watched their hopes for a glorious kingdom slowly expire. They would not receive the Gift of the Holy Ghost as a constant companion and be able to understand that Christ's Kingdom was not of the earth until days after his <span style="caret-color: rgb(56, 118, 29);">resurrection. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And once he stood upright on the cross where even breathing was nearly impossible, he continued to teach those around him. The Light of Christ that every human being is born with, and that exists with him or her until that gift is thrown away by disobedience and hardheartedness, was working overtime on one of the two thieves tied with ropes to crosses next to him. The more penitent one confessed Christ as the Lord and wanted to accept him as the Messiah. But with complete love Jesus taught him that confessing the Lord's existence is not an automatic assurance of salvation nor a passport into "paradise". It is an important first step, but it must be followed by repentance, baptism, complete reception of the Holy Ghost and then faithful endurance on a prolonged course that ascends upward until it reaches the presence of Christ and eventually the glory of the Father. Christ said: "Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doth the will of my Father which is in heaven."</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Part of the Savior's test on the cross was to have his Father's spirit fully withdraw from him; plunging him into that outer region of complete darkness where there is nothing but "w<span style="caret-color: rgb(56, 118, 29);">eeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth." This complete withdrawal of the strength that had previously sustained him must have come as a complete shock because it caused him to cry out in the ninth hour of his great suffering: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?" </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We do not know how long Jesus was left suspended in that agonizing region of darkness, but certainly long enough to satisfy the stringent requirements for His role as the Messiah-Redeemer. When the Father's spirit returned, Jesus knew it was almost over. He had done it. He had drunk the bitter cup to the very dregs. Equally important, the Father's ordeal was over too. It could now be declared with heavenly choirs and trumpets that: "For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Jesus had the power to retain his life until he was willing to surrender it. When he said: "it is finished," it meant he knew he had fulfilled his manifest destiny. His last words were, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." Then he died. At that moment, Jesus became the <span style="caret-color: rgb(56, 118, 29);">Christ, the great Messiah-Redeemer. How gloriously unselfish, beautiful and divine his precious gift is.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The Savior's body was placed in the tomb of a wealthy man, Jospeh of Arimathaea, who had likely accepted his teachings. It was sealed and guards were placed to watch it because the rulers who had put him there were afraid what he claimed might actually happen or that some of his disciples would try to steal his body. What is ironic is that none of Jesus's followers were expecting him to be resurrected or even claiming that he would be. They were completely bewildered by what had happened and their faith had been shaken so badly they had retreated to the house where the Last Supper had been held to figure out what they were going to do next.</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After three day the miracle happened. The ground shook, the stone rolled away of its own accord and an angel appeared before the guards who were watching the tomb. They were sufficiently frighted and hurried to tell the elders what had happened. However, they were not chastised but were given a large sum of money to tell anyone who asked that Jesus's disciples had come by night and stolen him away while they slept. </span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Even the women who came to anoint his body early that Monday morning did not believe he would be resurrected on the third day. They simply had to wait until the holiday celebrations and Sabbath observance were over. The women were met by the same angel and given the same message as the guards, but they didn't understand the ramifications either and fled from the sepulchre with fear and trembling to find a quiet place to regain their composure.</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Meanwhile, Mary Magdalene hurried to find the apostles to tell them what she thought the heavenly messenger had said. Nine of the eleven did not move after hearing her message, but Peter and John ran towards the garden. After seeing with their own eyes that Jesus's body was gone they slowly rejoined the other men. Mary must have reentered the garden after they left because this was when the Savior chose to make his presence known, but he withheld his glory. His only badge of identification were the marks in his hands, feet and side. So it did not appear to be a heavenly being - just an ordinary man - who called out to her and asked; "Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seeketh thou?"</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When she suddenly recognized the voice, she cried out: "Rabboni!" which means "my master."</span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">What an unbelievable moment that must have been. But one day each of us will have the same experience as we meet our Eldest Brother, Savior and Redeemer again. Will will see the wounds he bore for us, the love in his eyes and fall at his feet and cover them with tears of gratitude and joy. How beautiful this season of new birth is and how lucky we are to have knowledge of the greatest gift the world had ever known. May we rejoice for the blessings we daily receive and all that is eternally possible because of Christ's life and mission on earth. It truly is a most glorious time to live. </span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-1141148266023508592024-03-02T13:06:00.000-08:002024-03-02T13:06:02.370-08:00Why the Attack on Christians?<p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Last Sunday I was asked to give a talk at church on "loving thy neighbor". It wasn't the easiest to prepare since the world is in such chaos and all we see or hear on the news is people spewing hatred about everything and every one, but I took a deep breath, looked deep inside, did some praying and sat down at my computer to compose thoughts that would fill at least twelve minutes. I had an idea of what I might say, but things changed dramatically when my mind and fingers began working together. This statement by Ian S. Arden <span style="caret-color: rgb(128, 1, 128);">seemed to take center stage. He said the it "is sufficient to give or to do what you are able and then allow Christ to magnify your efforts."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I suddenly realized that give and do are action verbs and regardless of our situation we can do something to brighten another person's day. Over the past couple of months as I've struggled through shoulder surgery and the accompanying therapy that quite often brings tears to my eyes because the pain is so intense, my thoughts have often focused on my younger brother who died in a nursing home at the height of the Covid epidemic. There was no funeral or viewing; just a few family and friends who gathered on a blistery November day for a brief graveside service to mourn his quiet passing. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Our family had never been close, and I have always felt that my brother and I were the catalysts that drove what little light and laughter there was away. I was five and he was three one early spring morning when our mother sent us out play, with firm instructions that I keep my eyes on him. It didn't take long for us to grow bored with each other's company, and the next thing I remember is my father racing towards the house with Sandon's limp body in his arms and shouting for the keys to the old Army jeep - our only means of transportation. He said my brother was dead. Inadvertently, Daddy had run over him with the tandem disk that was used to break up the clods of soil in preparation for spring planting. Mother there them to him, but as he was pulling away she turned to me and said, "This never would have happened if you'd been watching him as I told you to."</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I suppose many lessons about the right kind of parenting could be learned from that statement, especially when it comes to destroying a child's emotional stability and life in general, but suffice it <span style="caret-color: rgb(128, 1, 128);">too say that through God's grace my little brother survived. Nonetheless, he was in a coma for six weeks and when he awakened the right side of his body was paralyzed, along with some accompanying brain damage. It was a family's worst nightmare come true.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">But one thing I can tell yo about my brother is that I have never seen a more Christlike person, despite a lifetime of insensitivity and downright cruelty. He had to learn how to do everything again, without the aid of rehabilitation therapy which was non-existent in those days, and he never regained any real use of his right arm. When he was finally allowed to go to school he would fall almost daily getting on and off the big, yellow school bus and his elbows and knees were always scraped and bleeding. He had to stay in at recess to work with his teachers so he wouldn't get so far behind. Kids pointed fingers, laughed at him and didn't want him to be part of their activities. If it hadn't been for three boys his age in our farming community, he would have no one to associate with other than his family. No girls wanted to date him so he took our younger sister to his senior ball.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">But during all those years of unkindness and numerous additional surgeries to help improve his mobility, he never blamed anyone for what had happened to him and he always found someone to befriend who had gone through their own difficulty. He finally learned how to drive a car and eventually married and fathered six children. But he made a few mistakes like people, who just want to be loved and accepted for who they are, do and paid for them dearly by falling into a fire pit and not being able to get out. The people he was with left him there to die. But before he completely expired they loaded him into the back of his van without any identification and dropped him off outside the hospital emergency room doors.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">When I was finally able to see him in the burn unit his entire body was so swollen I couldn't even recognize him. It was one of the most horrifying experiences of my life to watch the burned skin being pulled from his body, to know how much he was suffering again and not being able to do anything to help. He lived the remainder of his life in a nursing home where some of his burns never healed.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">But true to his God-given nature of being a peacemaker and truly loving people, he spent a decade and a half encouraging and lifting the spirits of the other residents, many of whose families had abandoned them. His bear hugs were the greatest, there was always a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and even when he was in pain he found something to laugh about. I don't know how he did it with all the strange smells, eery sounds, bland food, intense suffering and a near total lack of physical freedom, but he became friends with everyone capable of even knowing he was there. He would listen <span style="caret-color: rgb(128, 1, 128);">while they talked, take part in activities, and even though he couldn't rub two pennies together because he didn't have them, he would do whatever he could from his wheelchair to bring those around him a little joy.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I want to be more like him, but that's not so easy to do, especially since Covid. Whatever it's origins, it has distanced people in a profound way. As a society we no longer trust each other, our willingness to be kind, patient, understanding and helpful has eroded, and we're afraid of saying the politically wrong thing for fear of being ridiculed, persecuted or even prosecuted for exercising our First Amendment rights and expressing how we feel. There is certainly very little peace and brotherly love in the world today.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">As Christians we knew this life would not be easy, but I doubt few of us really understood how bad things would get before the end of humanity as we know it came to an end. Like us, Christ was born into a politically and spiritually charged culture. His life was anything other than strife free and ended in a horrifically violent and unjust way. Still He honored his mission in showing us by example and teachings the way back to our Heavenly home. Each of us here today have a mission designed specifically for our eternal edification, and like Christ we have to face our own battles against the tactics of the evil one who only wants to destroy us. I know a big part of mine is standing true to the principles our Elder Brother taught, regardless of repercussions from those who don't want to believe in anything other than themselves and getting what they want. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I suppose it helps knowing that the war between good and <span style="caret-color: rgb(128, 1, 128);">evil has already been won, but there are still many battles to be fought and we have to do that together. We have to quit hiding in our homes thinking we are too busy, too unimaginative, too frightened, too shy or too important to be bothered by someone else's needs.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">We are our brother's and sister's keepers and we will be held accountable if we don't reach out in whatever meager way we can to those within our circle of influence. And we don't have to do it in a big way or put ourselves in any emotional, spiritual, or physical danger. There are toxic and evil people that need to be avoided because they have chosen a different path. But the majority of people we meet want to do what's right. I've had to turn to others for help more the past two months than I have in my entire life combined, but being on the needy end has shown me how much a little compassion, an unexpected dinner or treat, a short visit or even a phone call or text means when you're going through a difficult time.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Love for others has no bounds, not race, religion, political affiliation, social class, amount of money or personal issues we may never understand. Accepting people for who they are and trying to see into their hearts is required of us because every soul is equal in God's eyes - not worse or better - just equal. As members of His kingdom who want to return to where He is, we must come to see and love all of his children as He does. It's not any easy task, at least for me, but my actions here will determine where I spent eternity.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I want to leave you with one final thought from Christophe G. Giraud-Carrier. "Rather than seeing each other through the distorted lens of mortality, the gospel raises our sights and allows us to see each other through the flawless, unchanging lens of our sacred covenants. In doing so, we begin to eliminate our own natural prejudices and bias toward others, which in turn helps them minimize their prejudices and.bias towards us."</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">That's pretty much my talk, and I was feeling more peaceful than usual when I got home from church after giving it. But those feelings didn't last long.The next morning I read an <span style="caret-color: rgb(128, 1, 128);">article that presented findings of a Washington DC based <i>Family Research Council</i> project that brought me straight back to the reality of the America I love so much. It stated that there had been 436 hostile incidents against churches during 2023 - more than double those in 2020 and eight times as many as in 2018. These events include vandalism, gun-related incidents, arson, bomb threats and even a few deaths.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The article went on to state that Americans are increasingly comfortable lashing out against churches due in part to the hostility against Christians displayed by the Biden administration. You can take from that what you like but my Christian beliefs have been attacked unceasingly since his arrival in the White House. And the laws enacted against anyone who will not bow down to the far lefts ideology have increased exponentially to the point that I'm almost afraid to write a blog because I could end up in prison for expressing how I feel. I mean people who pray in front of an abortion clinic are put in prison while those who burn buildings used by pro-life persons and induce physical harm don't even get a slap on the wrist. And what about the veterans who are being thrown out of their homes in New York City, and elsewhere, to house illegal immigrants. The list of injustices in our two-tiered system of justice today would fill volumes.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">That's not acceptable in any country, especially one that was founded on God-given freedoms in a Constitution and Bill of Rights, but far too many of us are afraid to take a stand. We think if we remain silent someone else will fight the battle and things will settle down once the election is over. But those who do not speak up are silently expressing their consent to any injustice that is being perpetrated amongst their fellow citizens. It took time for me to accept that, but once I got away from the lies mainstream media perpetuated I began see to see how completely those in charge have forced their ideologies on us unsuspecting, gullible and ill-informed citizens of what was once the freest, most admired and healthiest country in the world.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Not to leave this post on a dismal note because I know who is really in charge of this country and the people who inhabit it, but the bad news for American Christians only continues to get worse. Biden just declared Christian Nationalists - without defining what that term was supposed to mean - to be the greatest threat yet to democracy; far greater than any outside or inside terrorist groups among which there are many to choose from. Listen to Glenn Beck's story about journalist Steve Baker being arrested by the FBI yesterday (March 1, 2024) if you really want to know what that means for any American conservative. It's pretty chilling stuff.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">This ongoing battle between good and evil is intensifying so rapidly that it's hard to keep up with all the assaults on our rights as Americans. Nothing about the principles our country was founded on is sacred any longer, and unless we unite as patriots and remove people from office who do not stand up for the things we value, the complete takeover of our nation by the global elites will be a reality none of us will be able to endure for long. I don't know about anyone else, but I believe freedom is not a guarantee even under a Constitution as great as ours. We must be willing to stand up and fight, if necessary, to retain what we have left. Right now it is a battle of ideologies, but it has every marking of escalating into another civil war that will be both bloody and costly to every American. </span><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">I don't want that to happen. That's why I stand with our true unsung patriots who continue to fight for the freedoms we continue to undervalue. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">Another winter storm is here, but the gray skies, high winds and sheeting snow are a reminder that storms of any kind eventually end and the sky turns blue again. But the moments of quiet reflection during their passing can help get us reexamine what is truly important - life, liberty, God and family. Without even one of those things, we would never learn the meaning of true happiness.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-32171984471519028022024-02-13T16:12:00.000-08:002024-02-13T16:12:29.274-08:00A Day Dedicated to Love, But How Many Actually Feel It<p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">Happy Valentine's Day to all those who have someone special to share it with, and to all of those who for whatever reason feel downhearted, abandoned and unappreciated. You are not alone. I feel your pain and have for many years. But during all of those hours of tears, feeling broken-hearted and definitely unloved because valentines, chocolates, flowers and jewelry are the things of a very distinct past, I have come to know my Heavenly Father better. He is no respecter of persons regardless of how they look, where they live, religious or political affiliation, wealth or poverty, popularity or friendlessness, outward or hidden talent or any other of dozens of mortal-defined combinations. His love is infinite, complete and eternal. He knows us far better than we know ourselves and see possibilities we can't even imagine. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">If we're smart and humble enough we will put our compete trust in him for there is no mountain too steep to climb nor river too wide and torturous to cross - metaphorically speaking since we are all very human and filled with unwanted weakness along with unrecognizable strength - if we are willing to align our will with that of our supreme maker and quit trying to be in control all of the time. The numerous occasions when I have been the recipient of his great power and love could fill volumes if I had been wise enough to commit them to paper or computer, but mortal life always seems to get in the way of self-reflection and spiritual pursuits. I'm sure many of you have also fallen victim to distractions that prevented your doing things that might have been far more beneficial.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">My heart has been troubled this morning by some of the reports I've read about or listened to since crawling out of bed to do my physical therapy exercises. The types of stretches required often make me nauseous since I'm exerting such pressure on muscles that had to be reattached to the tendons in my shoulder and don't like being forced to move against their will. But the horrible fires in Chile last week are so reminiscent of the ones in Hawaii just a few months ago that they're hard to dismiss as being acts of the buzz words "Climate Change". People describe fireballs coming from the sky and homes and businesses being reduced to ashes. Deaths stand at over 125 but are expected to rise significantly since there are 200 persons unaccounted for already. Like those innocent and unsuspecting citizens in Maui who were hit by Direct Energy Weapons the area had been designated for smart cites to be filled with every technological advantage and means of surveillance system imaginable. Chile is one of the largest transporters of fruits and vegetables in the off season for countries like the United States. So much for another hit at disrupting the world's food supply, but I'll let you draw your own conclusions on that.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">While millions of people were watching the Super Bowl, unbeknown to them there was a massive bombing campaign by Israel on the so-called "safe Area" where they told the Palestinians to shelter for safety. An unreleased number of men, women and children were killed. According to multiple military sources, around the same time a disc-shapped UFO intercepted a nuclear missile and disabled it in mid-air and another train derailment took place in California sending 4 carloads of coal into the Feather River. A proposed California bill will give unemployment benefits to illegal immigrants. This is in addition to food, clothing, shelter, medical care, schooling and a debit or credit card where a monthly allowance for living expenses is automatically being added. There are also bills to give them voting rights, the opportunity to join the military or police force, work permits and even taking away the need for having a driver's license.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">All this comes when taxes are being raised for those who actually work, veterans benefits are being given to illegals, entire communities are being told to move aside so those who just walked over the border without giving anything more than a name can inhabit their homes, churches, businesses, parks and anywhere they basically want to go. And what's most troubling of all about the entire situation is that each and every one of them know they can commit most any crime without being penalized. We saw that a few days ago with the illegal flashing disgusting hand signals after helping to beat up some policemen in New York City. He wasn't even detained. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">But it's not just America that is in trouble. The food shortages and revolt of citizens over the plight of farmers - with their land being seized and too many federal mandates being imposed - is escalating throughout much of Europe. There are roadblocks, convoys and massive, destructive riots in many of the major cities. Additionally, most of the European countries are also fighting the incessant migration that is breaking down their way of life and diluting their populations. Ireland has had closed borders forever and is now being invaded with no government intervention either. It seems the global elite are determined to control all farming operations in an attempt to create a world-wide food shortage while making sure the white populations become minorities in their own countries. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">Is it a coincidence that approximately a dozen food processing plants have been burned to the ground or simply exploded in the US during the past few months or that Bill Gates and the Chinese Communist Party are forcing farmers out in America and buying up all the farm land they can get their hands on only to let it sit idle? Google just implemented a new censorship software, banks are failing nearly every day, and the Senate just passed another multi-billion dollar deal for Ukraine and the Middle East bypassing any attempt at securing our own border. These monies become part of the taxes owned by our grandchildren for generations to come since we are already 35 trillion dollars in debt, and we as American citizens had no say in the matter. M<span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">ost of the politicians we are supposed to trust have been installed, not elected, and will vote for whatever the elite uni-party leaders want due to their own complicity in the plan to destroy America. But once again, I'm just trying to get at the truth and will</span></span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: large;"> leave you to investigate as you wish to.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">I suppose I'm feeling a little more frustrated than usual <span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">since</span> love is supposed to be in the air, but the inhumanity, tyranny, treason, threat of war, complete loss of freedom and every other evil so visible in the world today makes me sad. I can feel the weight of our founding fathers pressing down on my shoulders and asking me what I have done to help stop the destruction of the Constitution they worked so closely with God Almighty to give us. While I have spent much time studying, listening and internalizing the knowledge already gleaned by others, I am still in the information gathering stage and have yet to let my voice be heard by anyone, except a few trusted friends and anyone willing to read my blogs. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">I want to stand up personally with all the patriots who organize marches, caravans, peaceful protests or even attend political community meetings to show support for legislation that supports my beliefs, but so far I feel incapable of leaving the safety of my home. I like being unnoticed because I mistakingly think that no one will bother me if I keep to myself. But history in nearly every instance proves just haw fallacious that thought process really is. If I am not standing up to the problem I am merely becoming part of it, and innocent people are hurt along with all the defenders when evil erupts. What will I tell God when I get to the other side if I'm afraid to leave my home when there are good people everywhere who need to know at least the basics of what I do?</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">If you want a good read that will give you plenty to think about I would suggest <i style="caret-color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Stand Up For Liberty </i>by Ezra Taft Benson. I just finished the chapter titled: United States Foreign Policy. It resounded so completely with my beliefs I wanted to share a few paragraphs with you. He begins with a premise that Patriotism and America-first have become vulgar concepts within in the chambers of our State Department so it is no wonder that the strength and prestige the United States once enjoyed has completely eroded. This assertion comes from a man who did not live to see the twenty-first century but spent years working in the Agriculture Department under President Eisenhower. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">He continues. Nothing in the Constitution grants the president the privilege of offering himself as a world leader. He's an executive; he's on our payroll and is supposed to put our best interests in front of those of other nations. </span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: large;">His job is to preserve America's political, economic and military independence - the three cornerstones of sovereignty - while dealing with the affairs of the rest of the world. Beyond that point, humanitarian or charitable activities are the responsibility of individual citizens without government coercion. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: large;">In his fifth address to both houses of congress, President Washington explained: "There is a rank due to the United States among nations, which will be withheld, if not absolutely lost, by the reputation of weakness. If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it; if we desire to secure peace, one of the most powerful instruments of our rising prosperity, it must always be known that we are ready for war." (January 8, 1790)</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">But being ready to wage war when it is brought to our shores is far different than promoting it between nations, supporting both sides financially and using the loss of life, property and security to launder money and hide what the most evil among us want to keep hidden. One cannot go to bed with the enemy politically, financially or ideologically and not expect to be burned when the truth finally comes out. I fear that is the place our nation is at, and the global elites who run most of the governments world wide want it to stay under their control, minus 90 percent of the present world <span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">population. Fewer numbers of people are much easier to control. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">It has never been necessary for America to give up her independence to have contact and influence with other countries and it's not necessary now. Despite what we have been led to believe by the elite globalists in our own government, our country is not so strong it can defend, feed and subsidize half the world and interfere with other countries policies and way of life without losing all we hold dear. How would we feel if another world power attempted to take away our freedom, dictate how we conduct our affairs, tell us what moral or ethical standards we must follow, give us money that is supposed to alleviate suffering when it only causes more bloodshed, disappears into the pockets of politicians who are buying or paying back favors or gets filtered into projects and ideologies we are totally against? </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">All I can say is that no wonder the people of so many countries hate us. They'll take our money, never to repay it, and expend their energy plotting ways to bring us down. It's an awful and dangerous game the mostly installed leaders are playing with the innocent people of every nation. We are not like the thirteen colonies that founded this nation and wrote a Constitution and Bill of Rights to protect what they believed in most - freedom for all. They were of similar cultural back grounds, enjoyed similar legal systems, spoke basically the same language, shred similar religious beliefs, and most important of all formed their own union which was designed to keep any of them from forcefully intervening in the affairs of others. The original federal government was authorized to provide mutual defense, run a post office and that was about all. All the other rights were left to the individual colonies. How far we have fallen!</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">Among the nations of the world today there are very few common bonds that could help to overthrow a clash of cross-purposes. We are dealing with divergent ethic, linguistic, legal, religious, cultural and political environments to name a few. How could we possible exist under one giant world command without conflict? To say that it would be a brutal, forced union where every dissident would be punished or eliminated is putting it mildly. And what happens when the elite start fighting amongst themselves wanting a larger and larger slice of the combined pie? That's just the way human nature works, and it has been the downfall of every civilization known to man.y civilization ever known to man.</span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">Benson maintains that there are two kinds of peace. If it is merely the absence of war, then peace could be found in a communist slave labor camp. The wretched souls there are not at war, but what joy or sense of fulfillment do they find? Peace with freedom is what I desire. If we are not willing to defend what the Founding Fathers gave us then we will lose both freedom and the resulting kind of peace it produces. Sadly, all nations must follow the concept of limited government if universal peace is ever be realized on this planet. But then I suppose that's the way it was meant to be. Satan has been given control and will use everything within his power to decimate everything of goodness, virtue and value. </span></p><p><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">When we reach a point that the entire world is ready for destruction then it will come. Until then, it is up to us to keep up the good fight and never lose hope. No matter what happens God is in charge and he loves his children dearly. He will never forsake them until they turn away from what he offers. My prayer and hope is to stay firmly grounded in truth and righteousness until I can kneel before him once again and hear him say, "Welcome home, my good and faithful daughter. All I have to give is waiting for you."</span></p><p><br /></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-38361970053878798002024-02-06T13:07:00.000-08:002024-02-06T13:07:53.278-08:00Slowly Moving Forward<p> <span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">This might be an interestingly disjointed post and one that isn't as long as usual because it's my first attempt at typing, or even opening my computer in five weeks. I had surgery on my right shoulder on January 3, and while I thought I was sufficiently prepared with enough frozen meals, everything set out where it could be easily retrieved and the most positive attitude I could muster things seldom turn out as planned. Not that the surgery didn't go well, but it took much longer than anticipated and I ended up with six small holes in my shoulder instead of two or three. One tendon had to be completely reattached to the bone with two screws, several smaller tears fixed and both arm and shoulder muscles in my <span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">bicep reattached.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Needless to say I was pretty out of it for a few hours, at least so far as cognitive ability goes. My friend who had taken me to surgery needed to get home and my son was much later arriving to take over the nighttime responsibility of having someone in the house so I would even be released from surgical center care. I wasn't too worried about having someone there for the full 24 to 48 hours since I've been on my own for the past 30 years with no one to count on but myself. But I will admit that sitting alone in the basically dark house three hours after leaving the operating room left me feeling somewhat vulnerable. There is just something about the daylight hours that make life seem much less frightening, and having my arm in a sling and metal brace, feeling very unsteady on my feet and not even knowing if I could use my cell phone in an emergency only compounded my discomfort.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I had been given a pain block in my neck so I wasn't feeling much of anything. It was supposed to get me through the first day or so without having to take a pain pill. But in my rather impaired condition none of that really registered. My son was able to pick up the pain pills but the prescription had been sent to a pharmacy I had never been to and they were out of the aspirin prescription that was supposed to reduce the danger of blood clots. After all the trauma my son and his family had been through due to the deplorable actions of my ex-husband that I talked about in an earlier blog, I'm not sure things were really registering for him either. After some time spent trying to figure out what to do, my son and daughter-in-law had me take a pain pill at nine that night so I wouldn't run the risk of having any discomfort before the sun came up. Three hours later they had me take three of the strongest dose aspirin they could find, not knowing the three aspirin in the prescription were the low-dose baby ones and not 1000 milligrams at a time. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I was feeling so strange by noon the next day that I called the surgical center for some much-needed clarification. The nurse didn't tell me I was stupid for being so overly medicated but let me know that I had basically undone everything the neck block had been designed for and my stomach had not appreciated so much aspirin. The good news was that by this time I was mentally competent to take over my own care. Now that the initial crisis was over my kids went back to living their own lives without much regard for me. My son did call most nights on his way home from work to see how I was doing for the first week or so, but I had learned long ago that he didn't want to hear about my problems because he had enough of his own to deal with.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The inflatable leg compression units that I had to wear for two weeks nearly drove me crazy. Putting them on with one hand was bad enough, but getting them tight enough to stay up was impossible. And the swishing noice every 90 seconds as they filled up and then released air nearly drove me crazy. The brace supporting my arm rested so heavily on my ribs I often felt like I couldn't get enough air, and while I was in discomfort, not any real pain, it was still hard to sleep in a recliner for more than an hour or two at a time. It didn't help that we had a couple of good blizzards that made the sky dark during the day and it was hard to stay warm enough when I had barely enough energy to get from one chair to another.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But the blessings I received during those first two weeks and the ones that have come since have been so great that complaining seems childish. Neighbors kept my driveway shoveled, came to visit and brought yummy food to eat. They were there to talk to and offer some excellent advice when we were without water for many hours after a main line in town broke, and they rearranged schedules so I could get to my post op visit during a blizzard. Someone was always available to take me to therapy or for a short drive so I wouldn't get antsy being homebound. No one gave me funny glances when I went to church looking like a frump with a hat on my head, little makeup, no bra and those unsightly felt boots since I couldn't get anything else on my feet. Unfortunately, that's just how I'll continue to look until I can get my arm above my head and around my back again.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In past years I would have made certain that no one saw me looking like that. I'm very careful about my appearance, and it's not just because I'm afflicted with the bad kind of pride. I know I'm not being my true self if I let anything go to pot. Except perhaps my waistline. Diabetes, along with breathing through my abdomen and plain old age have made my tiny waist a thing of the past. And I'm a firm believer in covering up all that pesky crepey skin and cellulite. Even the very thin have it. But instead of being <span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">obsessed with every new wrinkle, I've decided that a </span>smile and a positive attitude is all I really need to grow old gracefully, along with a healthy sense of humor that allows me to laugh at myself without condemnation. That's what all the truly beautiful older women seem to do and I've found myself admiring them tremendously. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I'll forgo detailing all my bouts with flushed cheeks, blotchy, red hives that didn't want to away, a twitching eye and parched skin that looked more like drifting sand or a lizard's skin. I'm assuming that's all part of the healing process and it will make up its own mind about when it's going to stop. I was lucky in only having to take pain pills for two days before ibuprofen or Aleve would do the trick and was able to take care of my granddaughter and two dogs three weeks into recovery - minus all the food I normally fix. Even the student at the physical therapists who gave me an exercise I hadn't been cleared for yet and caused massive amounts of muscle pain and days of worrying about it having undone all the repairs in my shoulder will eventually be forgotten as new <span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">challenges arrive both in this recovery and life itself. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There has been much quiet time for introspection and better understanding when it comes to setbacks that offer a chance to learn something important. My trust in God's universal, and yet individual, love for each of His children and the knowledge of my Savior's perfect gift for all of mankind, at least those who are willing to accept it, have never been stronger. Every moment of fear, doubt and uncertainty can be taken to Them, and while not every answer to our prayers is made immediately clear, I know I am loved, understood and protected.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I've been doing a lot of reading during my convalescence and my knowledge is rapidly growing. However, trying to form the pieces into an understandable whole is a challenge since it's impossible to get at the truth because the people in power are so determined to hide it. But tears actually came to my eyes last week when I read about all the veterans, truckers, military personnel and 27 state governors who stood behind Texas in their fight to save both their state and our country from the invasion that has come to a climax the past three years. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Of course, main stream media will not air anything unless it advances the far left agenda that calls everyone on the right terrorists.These self-proclaimed socialists need all the illegals they can get to promote chaos, vote in the election and basically replace us. But I'll leave that alone for now and let you do some of your own research. It will open your eyes for sure and even bring to the foreground more questions than you are able to find answers for. Like the actual number of illegals recently arrived. A</span><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">pproximately twenty million in recent months have walked right across our border knowing our tax dollars will pay for all their needs while we become even less able as citizens to put food on our tables or get the medical care we need.</span><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It's a tragic situation all the way around and my heart goes out to people worldwide who are suffering, but utter civil chaos and plunging our posterity into financial slavery for generations to come is not the answer. We need to reclaim our country before it is </span><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">destroyed for good, and I stand with all the loyal patriots who are trying to defend us and our cherished way of life. They are facing an uphill battle and need the rest of us to wake up. I believe there is still time for us to be heard and reclaim what we have lost, but it can only be done at the grassroots level when we let our supposed representatives know we are not happy with the decisions being made. Our constitution has been ignored and our rights as free Americans are being trampled on.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Think about these provable facts and decide where you stand. The battle for our future freedom is ongoing and can be permanently lost by the stroke of a pen. Stand tall, firm and immovable as we defend God, country and family. The ultimate war has already been won but many battles still await us.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> * Most of the persons coming across the border are </span>military-aged men from countries who hate us. The majority of the rest are not coming for political asylum. They know policies are in place to house, feed, cloth, educate and take care of their every need for </span><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">the rest of their lives if desired.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> * Estimated annual cost of illegal immigration to taxpayers annually - $455 billion. That does not include government grants, special programs and billions each year spent by charities and religious </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">groups. </span> </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> * 340,000 </span>unaccompanied alien <span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">children in U.S. (Why would parents leave their children with people they don't know to enter a foreign country illegally?)</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> * </span>Nearly ninety percent of congressional districts with foreign born populations above the national average vote democrat. In 2020 hispanic voters replaced black voters as largest potential minority voting bloc.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> * Date that America is projected to become a majority minority country: 2045.</span></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-22424230904054031042024-01-02T14:53:00.000-08:002024-01-02T14:53:40.926-08:00Welcome to a New Year<p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">I have been working furiously the past two weeks trying to get prepared for my shoulder surgery tomorrow. The house is clean, extra meals and cookies are frozen for use, protective plastic has pulled away from protein drinks so I just have to twist the cap and I have made sure my pantry is stocked with easily accessible snacks and soups so I won't have to hunt around for anything. I have purchased shirts that button up the front and a hat I can wear to church since it will be impossible to do my hair and makeup for a few weeks. I've even tried dressing myself, eating, and washing my hair with only the use of my non-dominant hand. I have two wonderfully soft comforters and a number of pillows ready to use while I try to sleep in one of my recliners for the next 6 weeks.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">To keep myself entertained while I'm confined to my house and unable to do even the simplest things without a great deal of effort, I have three large stacks of books ready to read along with an entire binder filled with movies that are clean enough to watch without having my spirit vexed. I gave up on regular TV years ago and substituted cable with the old rabbit ears that offer plenty of variety if I get bored enough. I've learned how to check my phone for alternate news sources because I haven't believed anything coming from mainstream media for over a decade. It's hard knowing that everything we hear from so-called trustworthy anchors has been scripted by the same source of big government and big everything else. Gone are the days when we actually knew what was going on in the world without doing a ton of original research. </span><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: large;">But then I was given an inquisitive mind and know that God expects me to use it.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">In a way I feel like this surgery will bring me closer to my brother who was run over by a tandem disk when he was three and completely paralyzed on the right side of his body. It was excruciatingly painful watching him t<span style="caret-color: rgb(19, 79, 92);">ry</span> to regain movement, but despite all the agony he rarely cried as his poor little limbs were pulled this way and that trying to regain any movement. The accident happened in the early 1950s and physical therapy had yet to come into being but the surgeons did the best they could. I remember my father converting a grocery shopping card into a kind of walker so he could pull his little body around the house as he worked to remain even a small portion of what he had lost.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">He passed away three years ago and a day seldom goes by when I do not think about him and the strength and patience he developed throughout a lifetime of disability, people making fun of him and never being able to do most of the things other people took for granted. I suppose some of the closeness I felt to him came because we were next to each other in age and in a moment of stress and panic my mother vocally blamed me for the accident. I was 5 and took everything she said literally. I watched out for him as best I could for the rest of his life, but that wasn't easy because he was so independent and his heart was as big as the great outdoors and he never wanted to be considered different than anyone else. His kindness and understanding were a blessing in so many people's lives and he taught me more than words can adequately express. I look forward watching him run and jump and play ball when I join him in the life that comes next. His big smile is the first thing I want to see.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">That's why I'm trying to be as brave and positive as I can about shoulder surgery that will stop me from doing so many things I take for granted for a few months. How blessed we are to have amazing bodies that can heal almost any injury or illness and that allow us to love and serve others as Christ did during his journey on earth. I want my heart to become as big as my brothers and to learn how to accept setbacks for the opportunities they offer to learn and grow and become better people. I'm hoping it won't take 2 or 3 months before I'm able to type with more than one finger of my left hand because I know I'm going to have more to say about this part of my own journey.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">But before I close, there has been something on my mind I have wanted to share for several weeks and it is about the Covid shots we were forced to take or risk being persecuted for disobedience. Something inside told me they weren't good but I allowed myself to be persuaded by people I thought had our best interest in mind. I recall driving to the big arena where our cars were sent to different stations and men in military uniforms were ready to give us the jab. I told the man with the syringe in his hand that I didn't want to get it. He said I could come back later if I didn't feel comfortable about doing it right now. My reply was that I wouldn't be back if I left. Looking back, I should have listened when he gave me an out because I certainly didn't feel good after I got it. The heart palpitations stared and I got really sick to my stomach and felt like I couldn't breathe. But the medic on duty turned me loose after checking my blood pressure and making sure I was able to drive. </span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">I got the second injection and 2 boosters before I garnered enough courage to tell people, especially two very persistent sisters, that I wasn't doing it again. Oh how I wish I had followed my God-given instinct from the very beginning, but like most everyone else I didn't want to be confined to home and needed to be out helping and serving others. My son got Covid and was in the hospital for three days and my son-in-law was in the hospital for over a week with it. We nearly lost both of them and the repercussions for that manmade and released virus has left both of them with issues they never had before. Several young men in our community died from heart attacks shorty after getting jabbed.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">So I wasn't the least bit surprised upon hearing a report about six weeks ago. The lead data administrator for Covid response in New Zealand was arrested on November 3 after releasing a study he had made about the increase in deaths among individuals receiving each batch of Covid vaccine administered in his country. The spike proteins in the Covid vaccine cut off the immune system triggering cancer, two forms of heart disease and certain types of pneumonia. He created an algorithm to track each batch of vaccine and how many deaths occurred among the recipients during the next two years. His findings were shocking. You should look up the statistical data presented in his charts. They went from 2 or 3 deaths in a batch to over 60 percent of the recipients.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">His study was confined to New Zealand, but he also said that there was no increase in deaths worldwide during the pandemic but a 40 percent spike after 2021. There was an almost 900% increase in heart related deaths in the military among enlisted men, but the officers death rate remained steady. He said that anyone could get on the Internet and look up the ID number of the batch they received and read the statistics on it. He also said that part of the shots were merely a saline solution because the drug companies were testing it's effectiveness since that hadn't been done before its release. Whether or not the red states really received the most lethal batches, I have yet to conform on my own. But considering the political climate in our country it wouldn't surprise me.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">In addition to hearing that report, I also learned that an antidote to the vaccine had been developed but it's very expensive and hard to get. However if someone really wanted to rid their body of the harmful spike proteins a three-day fast from both food and water would also work. It was simple but so unpleasant most people didn't want to try it. The moderator had not received any of the Covid injections but wanted to test the fast out before recommending it to his listeners. He was heading into his final hours of the treatment during that broadcast and doing quite well, except for being a little grouchy the night before. His wife told him to go to bed. </span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">Given my own distrust of the vaccine and not feeling at all like my old self after taking the original shots and two boosters, I decided to give it a try. After all, I regularly fast for 24 hours to give both my body and spirit a rest. But by the morning of the second day I felt so weak all I could do was move from one chair to another and read a book. I kept telling myself that with God's help anything is possible and made myself stay out of the kitchen. The third day wasn't at all bad, but I was ready to eat by the time the 72 hours were over.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">The hardest part for me was introducing food and water into my system again. There was plenty of stomach cramping and the dreaded diarrhea the next two days but I felt so much lighter and cleaner. Even if it didn't get rid of all the spike proteins it was supposed to, I felt closer to my Heavenly Father and my Savior than I had for quite some time. It's amazing how our focus changes when we're denied things our bodies want. Perhaps part of it is feeling the weakness of our mortal body and knowing how truly dependent we are when it comes to the things that matter most in this life.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">In less than twenty-four hours I will be at the surgical center. It's been hard to sleep the past few nights and I doubt tonight will be much better. I was fitted for the brace that is meant to keep my shoulder immobile a couple of hours ago. It's far more uncomfortable than I thought it would be, but at least I can do up the straps with one hand. The hard part will be relaxing enough not to move my shoulder up and down when I get stiff and tired from sitting or standing. But like with everything else in life, I know I can do this with help from my eternal Father.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">How grateful I am for Him and for my beloved Savior. We're in a new year now and one that likely won't be that pleasant with a scheduled presidential election, the war in the Middle East that could so easily see our ground forces becoming involved, the natural disasters happening everywhere, the absolutely unbelievable number of illegals that are being allowed across the border without being vetted and who are using over half the money set aside for welfare that was supposed to assist people in our country legally, and all the vocal protesting from militant factions that will become more violent as the weeks progress. </span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">Not the most uplifting thoughts for the second day of January, but my prayers are with all the faithful patriots who are risking prosecution, fortunes, safety and even their own lives to keep us informed about the evil designs of the men and women whose only goal is to rule the entire world. I'm hoping to learn a great deal more about them and how I can better help as I do my own heavy-duty studying throughout many weeks of recovery and therapy.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">May your day be bright, your spirit strong and your soul filled with hope. God is in charge and we all have our own part to play during this life journey. May we never forget our divine origin, how many people are watching over us and how resilient we really are. Despite many unwelcome challenges we are richly blessed.</span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"> </span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-88206021118736456302023-12-26T12:48:00.000-08:002023-12-26T12:48:34.965-08:00Reflections on Christmas<p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Here I sit the morning after Christmas wondering how I was unable to find the time to write about the most spectacular day of celebration during the entire year until it had come and gone. Like many of you, my excuses seemed logical at the time -- not in the right mood, too much to do and even such an all-consuming preoccupation with the atrocities that are going on in the world that I seemed incapable of focusing on the truly good and meaningful. Not that I didn't listen to wonderful expressions about seeing Christmas through the innocent and rapturous eyes of children once again, sing the glorious songs that testify of the Savior's miraculous birth and even set aside time to reflect a little more earnestly on what His birth meant to me as an individual daughter of my Heavenly Father. But those activities seemed little more than simply going through the motions and I feel sick at heart about my lack of appreciation for not fully acknowledging the greatest gift ever given to mankind the way I should have. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I suppose a lot of my disassociation with the season has to do with the unsettling and almost incomprehensibly awful news I received the week before Thanksgiving and wrote about in a previous post. The knowledge of the atrocious behavior of someone who was supposed to love and protect his family has heightened the emotions of most everyone who knows about it and enhanced other deep seated feelings that were bound to come out eventually. It's made talking about even superficial matters more like walking on eggshells than an easy flow of conversation. And has brought to the surface once again the fact that my children were adopted and now have relationships with their biological families who were not present during their formative years. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I've always been one who stuffed her feelings inside, and like Scarlet O'Hara always figured I would think about troubling matters tomorrow -- that illusive day that never comes. I still do that because it's too painful to reflect on most every part of my life, and there isn't really anyone to share my inner most feelings with anyway. Especially not my children who have enough of their own troubles to deal with. Needless to say, I've done a great deal of crying recently. Recalling what little my mind will allow, without causing an overload that could render me virtually helpless since so many things in my past have not been sufficiently dealt with, is always a difficult task. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Adding to that is the fact that I'm scheduled for surgery on my right shoulder on January 3. While I understand that it's a relatively common operation I'm astute enough to know that no surgery is ever completely routine. And the fact that I'll be in a sling with my right arm hugging my body for two to three months makes the thought of daily survival challenging to say the least. In anticipation of my not being to use my dominant arm for more time than I want to think about I have been busy baking, cooking and freezing anything I can fit into my freezer so I won't have to rely on others for sustenance. But getting anything into my mouth besides liquid remains a mystery. I've been practicing doing things left-handed and the results are far from being pretty. I'm not even sure I'll be able to get the sling attached after taking it off to shower or change clothes and I have yet to find a bra that hooks in the front.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But back to my rather belated thoughts about the reverence that should attend this season, especially in the Christian and Jewish communities since we're basically the only ones in the world who recognize the life and mission of our Savior. It saddened me greatly when I saw on the news yesterday that the sacred town of Bethlehem had been ordered to abandon all Christmas activities and take down any religious decorations. How sad Christ must be from his vantage point in Heaven to know that the place of His birth has fallen captive to the same woke ideologies that have overtaken the rest of this fallen and corrupt world. My heart goes out to the poor residents of that sacred hamlet whose livelihoods depend on the visitors who come to pay tribute to the Christ child. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">However, I suppose we're not that much better off in this so-called land of plenty. As I've driven the streets where I live I have yet to see any homes displaying religious decorations. I suppose many people have given in to the fear the far left activists have instilled of being ridiculed, vandalized or even brought up on bogus charges for letting religious convictions be known. One just has to look at what is going on at the most exclusive college campuses to see that Jewish students are being persecuted while Hama terrorists are being revered by many of those who preside over classes and those who attend their lectures. In the only country on earth whose constitution provides religious freedom for everyone to worship as they see fit, it seems that Christians are now standing next to their Jewish brothers and sisters in being hated and persecuted because they acknowledge the divinity of the Savior and have reverence for His earthly ministry and the precious doctrine He taught.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">If anyone wants to read a truly remarkable book that focuses on the life of the Savior through scripture, personal observations, the writings of scholars like Dr. Alfred Edersheim who wrote a seven-volume work on the Old Testament and the famous Jewish historian Josephus whose mother was a Maccabee, it would be <i style="caret-color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Days of the Living Christ </i>by W. Cleon Skousen. I started reading the first chapter on Sunday and could hardly put it down yesterday since I was alone on Christmas Day. It was dedicated to the Jews who were Christ's own people, the Arabs who are the seed of Abraham whom Jesus has already claimed, the Gentiles who will assist the Jews in returning to their homeland and the Native Americans who represent the royal bloodlines of Ephraim, Manasseh and Judah through Mulek who was direct descendent of King David.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Through my study of the first 100 pages I learned many new things. I will share some of them in a rather random order. After the fall of Jerusalem to Rome Josephus requested permission to gather all of the "holy books" which it is assumed were in the temple library and took them back to Rome to study. Although a Jew himself, he had become a Roman citizen who was a close friend of Vespasian who became the new emperor. He protected and studied those records and made them available to be translated into what we know as the Old Testament -- minus all the prophesies about Christ's birth except one found in Isaiah.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After countless invasions and dispersals, the Jews were not concentrated in Palestine when Jesus came to minister among them. They had been sifted across the face of the earth and had become some of the richest and most powerful "behind-the-scene" leaders in trade, ship-building, banking and politics. Many them had natural capacities required for leadership like being aggressive, resourceful, intelligent and willing to take risks. But they were dislikes and resented as a people because they also resisted assimilation into a new culture and refused to worship pagan idols.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The second piece of knowledge gleaned involves King Herod. I always saw him as being nothing more than a very evil man who murdered his wife, children, mother-in-law and anyone else who got in the way of his attaining and keeping power. Today we would call such an atrocious and horrible affliction homicidal mania, and he was only one of many rulers in history who fell victim to it. The good things I didn't know were that during his times of lucidity he stripped the palace of all its gold, silver and any other precious things to buy grain from Egypt when his country fell into famine. He spent a fortune of his own wealth providing shelter for the homeless and even convinced the Roman Ruler to protect the Jewish lifestyle throughout the entire empire and not just in Palestine. He completely reconstructed Jerusalem with paved roads, marble palaces, aqueducts, stadiums, theaters, a hippodrome for horse racing, sumptuous baths, and all the other embellishments Romans considered essential for a higher quality of life. In 22 B.C. he offered to tear down the old Jewish temple and erect a new one. The Jews were suspicious of his motives until he he employed 10,000 workers and spent two years gathering and preparing the needed materials.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">For me, the story of Christ's birth always brings with it a quiet spirit of reverence and awe. However, I have always thought how uncomfortable it must have been for Mary to ride that donkey for all the miles to Bethlehem when she was nine months pregnant. But I learned that if one is sitting far enough back on the donkey's hips, his feet go clipping along while his hips scarcely move. Such a ride has been compared to sitting in a comfortable rocker at home. Another insight was that Jewish women would never have permitted Joseph to handle the birth of a baby alone. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Skousen believes that when the women in the village heard a baby was soon to be delivered, their maternal instincts likely took over and they relieved Jospeh of the whole process. And when Jewish women take over a birth there is an unimaginable amount of happy hustle, bustle and excited chatter. This special baby must have been greeted with great warmth and joy regardless of the fact that none of them knew who He really was and his birth took place in a stable.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After seeing the new star in the nighttime sky, hearing the heavenly choir and hurrying to see the Christ child where they stood in joyous silence, the shepherds ran from house to house among their neighbors and family to tell of the blessed occasion, but the people didn't get up to look for themselves. They merely wondered and went on about their lives while the shepherds returned to their flocks knowing that no one would ever believe what they had experienced.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">As for the Wise Men, they appear to have belonged to one of the Priesthood colonies that seem to have survived in various places from ancient times. They were excited to have seen the new star but upon their arrival in Jerusalem, quite possibly months after Christ's birth, must have been amazed to discover that the Jews didn't seem to know anything about the birth of the Savior. It was the same with King Herod, who through his paranoid delusions wanted to know where the child was the minute the Wise Men found out.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The star that most people believe guided the Wise Men didn't remain in the sky for the masses to really consider. What led them was more like a satellite that moved directly in front and showed them the way. These noble men came from the unknown and departed the same way. Their nationality, their names or even their exact number has never been revealed, but their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh gave Mary and Joseph the chance to provide a home for the Christ Child and protect him when Herod had all the babies under the age of two killed. This massacre became known as the "slaughter of the innocents."</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">While wrecking havoc everywhere, that horrible edict caused the aged Elizabeth to take her infant son, John, into the mountains where he was raised on locusts and honey. Zacharias, his father, remained behind and was slain by Herod's order when he would not disclose where his family had gone. Elizabeth died when John was a small child and he was adopted by one of the desert communities who were largely dissident protesters who were disgusted with the corruption of the religious leaders in Jerusalem. They practiced a very conservative and fundamentalist version of the Mosaic code. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The last piece of information I will share is that locusts, or grasshoppers, were a legitimate form of food under the law of Moses. They are still the principle diet of the poor in many parts of the world. They were gathered in nets, plunged into boiling salted water, dried in the sun and eaten with butter made from goat's milk. John the Baptist and his cousin, Jesus Christ, never met each other until the day Christ asked to be baptized. This was another fulfillment of prophecy since John was just an infant when he was ordained to the priesthood and was the only living person who had the authority to administer that sacred ordinance. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Despite my lack of attention to this amazing holiday this year, along with the fact that we didn't get any snow to cover the dismal landscape, I will be eternally grateful for the life, teachings and Atonement of our eldest brother, Jesus Christ. I eagerly anticipate the day when I will see Him again and fall at His feet as tears of gratitude cascade down my cheeks. Without Him, my body would never rise from the grave, nor would I be be allowed the opportunity to <span style="caret-color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">receive</span> forgiveness and take advantage of His merciful grace. All that I am or will ever be, I owe to a wise Heavenly Father who created such a beautiful plan for the salvation and eternal life of every child born on this earth. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My knowledge is still in the infant stage when it comes to so many things, but I know without a doubt that God lives and so does our Savior, Jesus Christ. And to help us in this journey we have been given the gift of the Holy Ghost to guide our way if we choose to use it. My plan for the coming year is to come to know Christ better as I try to more fully live the precepts He taught. May your holiday season be beautiful, regardless of the circumstances you may find yourself in. Hope does spring eternal, and because of Christ that hope need never fail us.</span></p><p><br /></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-54748624955084642072023-11-22T10:22:00.000-08:002023-11-22T10:22:27.548-08:00Hope at Thanksgiving<p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My amazement never ceases at how completely our Heavenly Father is involved with the minutest details of our lives; preparing us for the tough times - often far in advance - even if we are unable to see it. I was ready at the first of last week to write my reflections on the sacrifices and difficulties that so many of our ancestors endured during the first few Thanksgivings in America when, if they were truly fortunate, they were living in one-room log houses with no electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, adequate bedding and clothing and only a fireplace to keep them warm. Each day was a struggle for survival and each meal put on the table was both challenging and most likely somewhat unpalatable since they only had the herbs and vegetables they were able to grow and the wild meat they were able to kill in an untamed wilderness. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Unless they were in a small colony where cabins were built close together, they had few neighbors and were continually fighting with Indian tribes whose greatest desire was to destroy them for invading their land and taking away their way of life. Preparing fields for crops must have been a nightmare since the ground itself was overgrown and untamed and their tools almost nonexistent. They had to rely wholly on God for sun, moisture and protection from wild animals and Indian uprisings so they could produce even enough to subsist on.While painters provide works of art depicting joyous meals where tables were laden with food and peaceful Indians stood watch, I doubt many of the early American frontiersmen and settlers enjoyed such moments. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Life was hard and each day was a struggle. But they had what so many of us lack in this day of indulgence and waste - a cohesive and loving family unit with an original father, mother and children working together to provide the necessities of life. We may claim that we have come a long way, and I suppose we have when it comes to the material possessions and the ease modern life has to offer, but I fear our abandonment of the values of home, family and country that once made this land so powerful and great have eroded to the point where it is almost unrecognizable to those of us who may be in our twilight years but still clearly remember what it was like to grow up with strong Christian values.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I thank my Heavenly Father each day for the blessings He has given me, along with the trials that cause me to draw closer to Him because there is no place else to go. I suppose that's why my original post was never written. The past week has caused to me look at life in a different way as my emotions have been like a pingpong ball bouncing hither and yawn with the slightest movement of the air. It started on Monday the thirteenth when I listened to a message given by Glenn Beck that can be found on YouTube under the title <i>America - A covenant Nation</i>. It was powerful and well worth watching and helped prepare me for the bombshell that would be dropped the next day.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I was on my way home from running a few errands when I got a phone call from my son saying that he and his wife needed to talk to me. I could either come to their house or they would come to me. Since I was already in the car, I turned it towards the mountains as soon as I could and headed in their direction. All I could think about was what I may have done to upset them because I tend to express my thoughts and opinions more than I should. But the haggard look on my son's face let me know that this was far bigger than anything I might be steeling myself for. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The two dogs that are so often in my home came running to sit beside me - the youngest one jumping on my lap and trying to lick my face before my son could get his first word out. You know those moments when your head starts to swim and everything around you seems to be floating in an almost tangible mist? That's how I felt as he told me that my ex-husband was going to be arrested on Thursday and they wanted to tell me why before I heard it from someone else. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Now many of you have read my earlier posts where I talked about his cruelty towards me during the years we were married and how ill-equipped I was to handle it. His insensitivity, quick temper and lack of emotional support made life truly miserable and our home was anything but a peaceful and happy abode. I worked like a slave to help him acquire what he wanted, abdicating my own desires and dreams so everything would look perfect on the outside. His need to be admired and respected by others was always foremost in his mind and when things went wrong he was quick to the point his finger at someone else.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">That's why what I was about to learn was a surprise, but somehow not a shock since our greatest flaws are often our biggest downfalls. Sparing you the gruesome details that are so stuck in my mind I feel like vomiting most of time, he was being charged with four felonies and one misdemeanor for sexual molestation of minors within his own family - my granddaughter along with three step-granddaughters and a stepdaughter. My son was the only one willing to take a stand. His step siblings just wanted to look the other way so they didn't have to become involved. And my ex-husband's wife was livid because everyone was making too much of minor <span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">indiscretions that would destroy her comfortable way of living.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Words cannot express the range of emotions I went through during the couple of hours we sat in that still living room with fall decorations all around on the floor waiting to be put away and talked about hideous truths most families will <span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">unfortunately</span> have to address at some point. And it's all due to the fact that so many people have turned away from God and embraced the philosophies of Satan that are so aptly administered by both men and women in the name of social progress. The evilness in our world today may be wrapped in nice pretty packages called by many different names but they all point to the same thing; the destruction of the family unit, reducing the worldwide population and enslaving those who are still free. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I can't help but surmise that we have surpassed, and many times over, the vileness and depravity of Sodom and Gomorrah, and yet we as Christians know it will only get worse until the Savior returns. What side will we be on when that time comes? Fear, uncertainty and the constant influx of ideologies that are counter to everything good and wholesome will not stop now that Satan's full power had been unleashed in a world so willing to accept it. I had an uncle in the fifties and sixties who was a crossdresser and had been arrested for indecent exposure. Of course, we didn't know anything about that until we were adults because people understood back then that sexual deviance was a mental illness with side effects too grossly inhumane to even be discussed. Now those who violate human decency are applauded by certain like-minded groups who understand only too well that they will never be prosecuted because so many of the people in positions of authority are doing the same thing and they will do absolutely anything imaginable not to get caught.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Certain ones of us in the family are sickened by what has happened. And our agony is not lessened by the slow-moving arm of justice because what we are enduring has become so common. The courts in our county is so backlogged with similar cases that a preliminary hearing is three or four months out, and if my ex does not do the decent thing and confess to his crimes when that time comes a trial will be two, three or more years in the future. While a no-contact order is in place he didn't even spend a night in jail. The uncertainty of what will happen and the amount of time involved only intensifies the pain and anguish of beautiful young girls and teenagers who have been irrevocably scared because of an old man's disgusting behavior. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And I will never be rid of the concern that he may have done the same thing to other young girls while we were married, and that includes my own daughter who as yet can only say that she felt uncomfortable around him at times but has almost complete memory loss when it comes to her childhood. My son said the same thing about not being able to remember, and that's my story too. That should tell me all I need to know about the quality of life in a home I wanted to make memorable and happy for the children I prayed so long to have. It has also awakened my own recollections of being molested by my violin teacher when 10 and 11. The only real difference is that my mother wouldn't believe me. My granddaughter has a strong support system who will help all they can but the work of recovery and healing always remains a personal journey.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">So here I sit at my computer a week after such a devastating blow was dropped feeling very grateful that as of yet no one has fallen completely apart. My son even sounded a little better when I talked to him last night. I am so proud of him for having the courage to protect his daughter even if it meant others believing that he was responsible for his own father's arrest. The truth is that the situation was taken out of his hands the minute my granddaughter confided in someone else. But my strong, compassionate son has been given no choice other than suffering for the actions of a man he still loves, even though he knows that what he did was totally reprehensible and deserving of any retribution he gets.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Where any of us go from here remains to be seen. We're each taking it one day, and even one moment, at a time. In ways, I feel vindicated for leaving my husband nearly thirty years ago. I promised myself that I would never say anything bad about him then and I have no intention of broadcasting any of this now. My anger still makes the tears flow and my heart feel like it's a huge lump of lead inside my chest, but even under these horrific circumstances I am not the judge. Only God knows an individual's heart, and I left my life in His hands when I walked away from marriage and lost nearly every friend I had because I didn't tell my side of the story. I just wanted to protect my children from any backlash I could. In many ways, I pity the man who let the praise of men and women consume his life. I hope he will take responsibility for his actions now, but that's up to him.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My hope lies in the truth that our Savior atoned for each of us individually; feeling every pain and sorrow. Our sins truly are graven in the palms of His righteous hands. He will forgive, but we must do our part and the path to full repentance is rocky and rough. I have been on that path often during my life, but I can attest to the glorious peace that comes when one battle for righteousness is fought and won. My prayer for this Thanksgiving is one of hope, love and redemption. We must be in this world but not of it if we want to make it back to our God who created us and loves us with every fiber of His heart. </span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-70618178560331319702023-11-13T16:20:00.000-08:002023-11-13T16:20:19.004-08:00What's Happening to our Holidays?<p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I read something really sad in the news yesterday. Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving - a real classic for both young and old - will not be shown on television for the first time in fifty years this holiday season. Included in that decision by the networks that control a solid majority of American's viewing habits are other traditional cartoons like: A Winnie the Pooh Thanksgiving, Jim Henson's Turkey Hollow and Garfield's Thanksgiving. In the same batch of news came two other disturbing announcements. City employees in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, have been told by their superiors not to display any religious holiday decorations in public buildings this year because they want to be inclusive and not offend anyone. And Pope Francis just removed conservative Bishop Strickland of Texas from his duties because he opposed some of the mandates coming from the Vatican. </span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">It leads me to wonder what those in control plan on taking away from us next. And I don't believe it will be good, especially if Biden has his way in giving complete authority over our country's entire infrastructure to the Federal Communications Commission where he can sign into law anything he wants. Just think about the enormity of what is being planned. This means that one small group of unelected and ruthless persons who do only what they're told will be making all the decisions when it comes to the internet, phones, highways, farming, banking, railways, commerce, schools, trucking and the list goes on and on to include complete control over almost everything in our lives. Does that sound like a free society to you when banks are going under almost daily, grocery stores are closing all over the country and inflation has a noose around most of our necks because we can barely afford the essentials?</span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I look at where I've come since I started my journey of awakening as to what is really going on in our country and around the world in July and often wonder if I would have been happier and less stressed to remain asleep with the rest of the sheeple - all those individuals who behave the same way or behave as they are told, and cannot or will not act independently. In other words, those persons who keep their head in the sand and believe everything they hear on mainstream media that is bought and paid for by the far left, the cabal, the elitists, the 300, the globalists or any other name they go by. But make no mistake they are same group who have been working a plan for generations to depopulate the earth and make those who survive their servants who will have nothing and like it.</span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">But then I realize that I would much rather know what little I do than still be in the dark when our world as we know it falls completely apart. And there is no way that can be avoided for much longer. The signs of destruction are all around us from the weaponization of the Department of Justice where conservatives are being threatened and jailed for stating their opinions and praying on sidewalks while looters, terrorists and murders can vandalize, steal, desiccate, and burn at will knowing they will never be punished. Our wide open borders are seeing thousands of unvetted illegals enter the United States each day - nearly ten million in the past three years and most of those are military aged men from every corner of the globe - and no one is even asking why they're here, where they came from, what they intend to do, or even if they are carrying weapons, drugs or are part of a smuggling or trafficking operation. </span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Seven thousand - mostly young men - are expected to reach the southern border in one big caravan in a few days and they have been shouting all their way through Mexico - "Biden, Biden, Biden." Do you really think anyone is going to stop them? And what's going to happen when all the promises they've been given don't materialize because every state has used up all the money allotted for refuges seeking asylum and those coming here because they believe in the American Dream and are willing to work to have it. Even the sanctuary cities whose leaders were filled with so much rhetoric in the beginning are now shipping illegals any place that will take them since their cities are being destroyed. And what about the millions who have come here in a terrorist capacity and are just awaiting their orders? </span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">While my heart breaks for people who have never known freedom or what it's like to feel self-respect and a love for humanity, I fear I must still be a realist who understands that the training of youth rarely changes. I see that in communities every place I travel. Most of the people who come here do not want to adopt our customs, our language, our beliefs, our standards or our way of life. They want to rebuild their own culture in our country and make us feel like the outsiders. I cannot tell you how many times I have walked down the street or gone to a store and have not been able to understand a word the people around me are saying and they make no effort to try to communicate. It's a very uncomfortable feeling and one I fear will only increase.</span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">It is no secret that the Federal Reserve is bankrupt and has been told to cease printing fiat dollars since over forty percent of the world will no longer accept our currency, and yet Janet Yellon <span style="caret-color: rgb(12, 52, 61);">told</span> main media just last week that the country is in good shape financially. If that were the case, why was the announcement just made that we now owe one trillion dollars a year in interest on the national debt? It's unfathomable to me that a nation founded on principles of liberty, justice, equality, free speech, the right to have and bear arms and total freedom from debt at a national level now owes over 35.5 trillion dollars to communist governments!!! And yet the men and women who sit in Washington D.C. and have sworn oaths to protect the constitution and keep our nation free want to pile on another 1.7 trillion for the next fiscal year just so they can function. Where has all that money gone other than funding wars, paying bribes, supporting pet projects that have no basis in scientific or even human logic, illicit activities of criminals who don't want to get caught and lining certain persons pockets with more money than they would ever have if they were being honest and law-abiding? </span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Our infrastructures in every area have been crumbling for decades and the persons who are the backbone of our nation - those actually working jobs so others can collect government handouts - are being taxed to a point that many of them are losing their homes and can no longer afford to keep food on the table. That tells me all I need to know about the viability of the American Dream in the society in which we now live. I don't remember it being that way when I was young, but then most every one was nearly as poor as we were because we'd just come through the second world war. Still, despite the hardships, we loved our families, our God and our country and we fought like crazy to be honorable citizens who gave something back to humanity for all the gifts we had been given. But then the 1960s arrived and all the peace, productivity and promise seemed to disappear overnight. </span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">There were many warning from people in high places who wanted us to see the signs of our own downfall, like Dr. Cleon Skousen who made a lifetime study of our constitutional rights and freedoms and spent many years in the FBI. But as he so eloquently stated we were too busy muddling our lives with "drugs, riots, revolutions, and terrorism; predatory wars; unnatural sexual practices; merry-go-round marriages; organized crime; neglected and sometimes brutalized children; plateau intoxication; debt-ridden prosperity; and all the other ingredients of insanity which have shattered twenty mighty civilizations in the past." That list was made nearly forty-five years ago, and it's sad to say that it would be so much longer today. </span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Glenn Beck added to these issues that were leading us to a point of no return in 2009 in his forward to Dr. Skousen's book "The Five Thousand Year Leap. He said, ". . . the bailout "un-stimulus program," nationalization of our banks and auto industry, the loss of secret balloting for union activities, taxation without representation, morally bankrupt standard bearers, tax cheats running government programs, pork-barrel spending, locking up natural resources, punishing the productive, rewarding the lazy, squelching opposing viewpoints, redistributing the wealth, creating an entitlement mentality, granting more rights to illegals than our own citizens, a fear of our fellow citizens and loss of pride in this greatness of this nation - and generally the ignoring of our constitutional rights, privileges and opportunities," also play a part.</span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">But WE THE PEOPLE, as it so beautifully appears in all capital letters at the beginning of the constitution, still have all the power to take back our country and regain the liberties we have lost. The war has already been won because God is in charge and good will triumph over evil, but there are still many battles to be fought. I take heart in the number of patriots who are risking everything by taking a mighty outward stand in giving us the knowledge we need to fight a uni-government where so few true defenders of the constitution can still be found. I want to be more like them, brave and strong and mighty, but I am a peacemaker at heart and tend to avoid confrontations if at all possible. </span></p><p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">However, I intend to keep learning and sharing what I can with people I hope are as concerned about continued freedoms as I am. None of us can afford to live on borrowed light. We must gain our own knowledge by asking questions, looking for answers in diverse places, trusting our own intuitiveness and praying for confirmation as to whether or not our determinations are right. It's a journey we must individually take, but when we arrive at the other end we will be glad we made it. I want to see our country flourish again and have our rights restored so we can continue with the work God has in mind for us to do. We can accomplish little if we are not free to do it, but with our liberty we can accomplish anything. Stay strong and know how much you are loved for all the good you do.</span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-85234315284786893492023-10-30T17:00:00.004-07:002023-10-30T17:00:52.396-07:00Purifying My Heart<p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The congregation was singing a hymn at church yesterday and a short phrase hit me with such vigor I couldn't stop thinking about it the rest of the day and far into the night. The words merely said, "purify my heart, Oh, Savior . . ." I've sung that beautiful song dozens of times over the years but have never had that particular phrase hit me so forcefully before. What does it actually mean to have one's heart purified? Many ideas came to mind. The foremost being an observable commitment to bringing my own life more in harmony with that of the Savior's--a lifelong endeavor to be sure--or could it be that there was something more personalized and hidden that I had yet to see?</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I have been praying for as long as I can remember to be less jealous and judgmental of others who have the blessings I have longed for my entire life but never gotten. Those desires have become so overstated that I often wonder if God still recognizes the anguish I feel over never receiving what I always believed were righteous desires. They were not huge things like wanting fame, fortune, social grace, being one of the beautiful people or even feeling secure in my own skin. They were simple things that related to the life I found myself in because of the actions of others and some very poor choices made on my own. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Perhaps what I've wanted most was a little clarity and understanding as to why I have never been like other women who feel the freedom to be themselves and discover all the joys life has to offer. I've always told myself that someone has to be different and my disabilities have made me better able to see and interact with others who may not walk, talk or appear as refined as those who have been given different challenges. These so-called social outcasts are generally overlooked, dismissed and even found repulsive by the masses who have never had to worry about feeling included. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My struggle with self-doubt and uncertainty began when I was five and my mother blamed me for the accident that left my three-year-old brother partially paralyzed and unable to learn like other children. Those feelings of insecurity only intensified when my violin teacher molested me a few years later. My mother refused to believe what I told her because the elderly man in question had given her the same kind of lessons as an adolescent and never touched her inappropriately. But even though I couldn't accurately express what was happening vocally, my body understood. I began pulling out my eyebrows and eyelashes and the haunted look in my eyes during those months was clearly discernible in photographs I have in my possession to this day. I was in my fifties before I began to understand even a portion of what had happened during my most formative years and the depth of the scars those experiences had left.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I suppose part of my mother's complacency and verbal attacks came from the struggles she was having herself. She was an overworked homemaker and mother with little money and far too many pressures and responsibilities in a world that was supposed to be somewhat idyllic after a second world war had ended. Adding to that, no one understood the true nature of pedifiles and the devastation to body, mind and spirit their perversions caused. The idea of sexual promiscuity, addiction and depravity were never discussed and out of wedlock pregnancies caused families the deepest shame. I remember one of the teenage girls in our neighborhood becoming pregnant during high school. Her parents sent her to live with relatives and I never saw her again. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">While I'm not entirely sure that I was born an introvert who rarely spoke her mind, that's exactly what I became. My grandmother once told me that I was a very precocious child who could tell the best of stories and loved dancing around in my little homemade dresses. But by the time I was confined to bed with Rheumatic Fever during the third grade I was living almost completely in my head and books had become my best friends. Perhaps it is only a coincidence, but I have never had a really close friend that I felt I could share most anything with. I'm certainly not proud of the fact that it's always been out of sight, out of mind for me when it comes to having even semi-permanent relationships, but during the past decade or so I have come to understand that the detachment I employed for feelings of safety was a defense mechanism adopted to stop the anguish of loss, uncertainty and not believing I was good enough. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But I digress and need to get back to the concept of purifying my heart. While defense mechanisms can work wonders in protecting us from pain and misunderstanding, they can also prevent us from living life to the fullest as God intended. I have never shared with anyone my biggest stumbling block and life challenge. It's been far too humiliating and I haven't wanted people to look at me with any more derision that I often feel now. Women are defined as being of value by the way they look on the outside, and I have never measured up to any portion of that ideal. And it's not just because I have been trying to hide my greatest source of pain since the age of fifteen but because that trauma has affected every aspect of my life and I have never been able to move past it. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Perhaps some of you will understand because you have gone through something equally as devastating. I was having my third bout of Rheumatic Fever during my freshman year of high school. That's a particularly difficult time anyway for a girl who was a head taller than most of the boys, wasn't exactly pretty or socially accepted and who gained every ounce of regard she ever felt from studying hard enough to be listed as one of the brightest in her class of nearly 250 students. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My older sister was going to beauty school and had to practice giving permanents. I didn't want one but my mother insisted. Since I couldn't get out of bed and was scared of her, I was left with little recourse. She told my sister to leave it on for longer than instructed because she wanted to make sure it was good and tight. I just wanted to wear my hair long and flowing like the most popular girls at school but had no reason to believe she would understand because she never had in the past.</span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The chemicals in those early perms were unregulated and horrid and three days later when I washed my hair half of it fell out. My mother told me to quit acting like a baby because it would grow back but it never did. </span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">From then on </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4); color: #783f04; font-family: verdana;">I</span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> became addicted to hairspray and teasing my hair so it wouldn't lie limp and thin and repulsive on my head. I hated to look in the mirror and could never run with the wind, go swimming, play sports or even have a boy touch my hair because it wasn't soft and shimmery like every other girl's. I became a slave to a situation not of my choosing and one that could never be undone. I've prayed nearly every night and morning of my life for a miracle that would allow me to feel like most every other female on the planet who takes what she has been blessed with for granted--a full head of hair that makes her feel feminine, beautiful and desirable. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When I was twenty-three, after graduating from college without marrying any of the guys who proposed, I found myself saying yes to a man I wasn't particularly attracted to and didn't exactly love. He was strong-willed and domineering and had to be right all the time--a real copy of my mother in jeans who drove a sport's car and needed to be admired. He was thirty minutes late for the wedding and I spent that entire time praying he wouldn't show up. Everything in my life went spiraling downward from that point on. I've written before how he took one look at me on our wedding night and said I'd married him under false pretenses because my breasts weren't as big as he though they were. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Part of his reason for wanting to marry me was because he said he knew I would be a good mother. In retrospect, that comment may have contributed to my never telling him about my first miscarriage when he was working a job away from home during the week and I nearly bled to death laying on the bathroom floor before realizing had badly I needed help. Nor did I tell him about many of the other miscarriages I had during those early years. Most of them Mother Nature took care of on her own because I wasn't far enough along to need medical care. But when I did, I simply went to the hospital alone or had a neighbor take me. My former husband let me know in no uncertain terms that he would never be agreeable to adoption because he wanted biological children or none at all. He blamed me for each baby I lost because as he put it he could get me <span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">pregnant, I was the one who couldn't carry it.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">For those two reasons--losing half my hair and all my babies--along with other less dramatic ordeals, I fear I have been far less than the person I always wanted to be. My mind is often consumed with jealousy when it comes to women who have what I have been denied and then complain because they want more. I question my own humanity for not being charitable enough, judging others without having all the facts and feeling guilty because it's easier to stay hidden away at home than go out into the public where I know I will never fit in. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Those feelings, however just or unjust, have intensified the past few months as our country continues to unravel and our God-inspired constitution hangs by an increasingly thinner thread. I haven't listened to mainstream media news since the Covid virus hit because all their news is scripted by the same group of people on the far left who can lie without the slightest grimace. Even studying independent news sources isn't giving me all I'm looking for because the evils the patriots are trying to unearth have been meticulously hidden for centuries and uncovering the truth takes time. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I guess you could say that I'm finally awake and want to see something happen NOW. But that isn't the way this process works. It will be line upon line until every last detail is in place. Glenn Beck said it best on one of his podcasts last week when he told his viewers to trust no one, do your own research and then determine what feels right to you. Another podcaster said that we need to remember that God has already won the war but we must still be vigilant in helping to fight each battle for freedom whether it be on the world stage or in our own backyard. So the question remains, how do I purify my heart in a world of turmoil when I know things will only get worse before the Savior returns?</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There are so many things that stop us from becoming the person we were meant to be. I've shared with you a few of my major stumbling blocks, and it's never as easy as my sister, the one who gave me the permanent, says. "Just buy a cute wig and forget about it." Well, I haven't been able to do that yet and the aging process is only making my predicament worse, but I am trying to do some good each day and think before I speak. I may not be able to do even half of what I was once able to do. Time, finances, energy level and so much more contribute to how much I accomplish each day, but I can recognize discouragement, <span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">disillusionment and depression for what they are--Satan's tactics to keep me distracted from doing what I can. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I've been wanting to write since I got back from my trip but the war in Israel broke out just days after my return and the way certain groups of people have reacted to it has nearly broken my heart. How can anyone cry death to another human being? God loves all of His children equally, but he certainly doesn't love what some of them are doing. Being far less understanding than Him as a mortal, I find it very difficult to justify so much of what is going on, especially the total disregard for life as displayed by those in positions of power who want rid the world of nearly all its inhabitants and put the small number remaining in bondage to them. But that's a topic for another day.</span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Here are a few thoughts about purifying the heart that I found on the internet just now. You may find some of them applicable just as I did. They certainly brought added clarity and gave me much to think about. "To clean out any wicked thoughts, motives, desires, and intentions ..." "We purify our hearts by following the commandments, seeking the spirit in all we do, become more at one with God's desires for us." "A pure heart is evidenced by openness, clarity, and an uncompromising desire to please the Lord in all we do." "Hearts are purified as we receive His strengthening power to do good and become better." "Giving God every corner of our heart." </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">You might want to conduct a search of your own. I'm certainly going to work on it because I have a feeling I'm going to need a much purer heart as the days unfold. We live in exciting times, but they are also times that can and will try men's souls to the point that even some of the brightest, best and most righteous will fall. </span></p><p><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Have a fun Halloween if you're so inclined and definitely try to stay safe, happy and filled with love, patience and joy. </span></p><p><br /></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-41426627361596591982023-09-22T18:24:00.000-07:002023-09-22T18:24:44.114-07:00Reunions and Resolve<p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">By the time most of you read this I will be confronting a very unsettling and confusing part of my more recent past. I'm referring to the almost assured probability of seeing the man who dumped me last April because I'm heading back to see my sister on Saturday and we will be making our semi-annual pilgrimage to Branson, Missouri the following day. We love seeing the shows our friends are in and applauding their ability to still make some very complicated dance moves for entertainers who are aging right along with us. Some of these long-time friends have died the past few years or have become too ill to perform. That makes our hearts heavy and our reunions bittersweet, but after twenty years, it's still like visiting family.</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Despite many advances by male entertainers over the years who like women a little too much and are not afraid to admit it, I have managed to keep from falling into a compromising situation that would test just how strong my convictions really are. You see, I was raised to believe that sex--the only truly special gift I had to give--was reserved for marriage and the man I had committed to spend my life with. That's why I was a virgin bride who was completely devastated when my new husband took one look at me standing so innocently in the lamplight and said, "You married me under false pretenses. Your breasts aren't as big as I thought they were." </span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">My spirit was far stronger than I thought because it took twenty-two years of verbal and emotional abuse before my body finally gave out and I had to make a very difficult decision. But neither unwarranted abuse nor a nasty divorce where my soon-to-be ex turned nearly every vocal person in the community against me could force a change in my beliefs about the sanctity of marriage or the beautiful gift that had been used so unkindly and unjustly against me. I still believe that somewhere in this vast universe, and when the time is finally right because I have done the necessary healing, I will meet the man God intended for me all along. I just got sidetracked along the way and had to pay a head price for my stupidity. </span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: large;">But back to the upcoming encounter where the man involved is in total control since he was the one who no longer wanted my friendship when I wouldn't sleep with him. I'm basically trusting and definitely inexperienced when it comes to men, mostly because I don't want to be hurt again. I suppose that's why I didn't see his very enticing invitation coming, even though I knew our relationship was heading in that direction. How could it not when we had known each other for over five years and the sparks began igniting the moment our eyes met? Over the previous year we had spent hours texting, talking on the phone, and flirting in all those little ways that mean so much to a woman. But I knew he wasn't monogamous by nature and had women throwing themselves at him on more or less a daily basis. </span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">It was a risk to tell him no, but I honestly believed we were good enough friends that he would understand where I was coming and still want me around. He had often told me how much he valued what we shared and how he knew he could talk to me about anything. But that obviously wasn't the case. While I've tried to initiate a conversation where we could clear the air, I've only heard from him twice in nearly six months. Once in May when he said in a text that he understood and we were still friends and then in August when I sent him a happy birthday message. I've tried to rid him from my heart and thoughts, but not not knowing if he will even look at me when we see each other is making this upcoming trip seem more like a nightmare than a pleasant vacation. I'm sure I'm not alone when it comes to experiences like this because women get dumped all the time, even when they give in. Will just have to wait and see if I feel inclined to talk about what happened when I get back.</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: large;">But before I stop typing, I want to tell you about the speakers at church yesterday. They had both been asked to speak about the Constitution of the United States of America--something not often covered in meetings like that--but certainly applicable in the political and social climate we find ourselves in today. The first one admitted that she had asked for a different topic because she didn't know enough about the constitution to fill a fifteen minute assignment, so she spoke about something else. The second speaker began by saying that he hadn't given the constitution much thought since he was in college over thirty years earlier, but he had found three talks that had given him a few ideas. </span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as I sat in the pew by a friend and watched the people around me lose interest and start fiddling around with their cell phones. Why shouldn't we as Christians be interested in the God-inspired document that was meant to protect our inalienable rights? Have we become so desensitized to anything of real value that we are more interested in what our friends are saying or the disinformation the news media is propagating than in learning about how close we are to forever losing what the founding fathers worked so hard to give us? </span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">It was humbling to recall that until very recently the most I had contemplated the founding of our great country was when listening to the group, The Fifth Dimension, sing the words to the Declaration of Independence. I can still repeat them by heart. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal. That they are endowed by the Creator with certain unalienable rights. That among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. And whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government. Laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers to such form, as citizens have seen most likely to affect their safety and happiness." They go on to explain how they feel about what they have just sung in the next verse. It's a powerful reminder for free people everywhere who want to keep the rights they've always had, but have allowed those in power to meticulously strip them away.</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I can think of no better way to spend a few hours than in reading the Constitution of our great country and really learning what it stands for and how it works. It provided for a republican form of government with elected representatives rather than a pure democracy governed by emotional mass participation. There were three equal branches of authority - the executive, the legislative and the judicial. The separation of power was a safeguard against one political party gaining complete control. This system of checks and balances has all but been obliterated today by the power-hungry and dishonest who want everything for themselves. It is interesting to note that the founding fathers were opposed to political parties in general and feared they would only try to divide rather than unite. They wanted true representatives of the people at the top where it really mattered. </span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Since all inherent rights couldn't be covered in the constitution itself, a Bill of Rights was added. This too has been cast aside in favor of woke ideologies and communist propaganda from within our own political ranks and elsewhere. We as patriots must stand strong, immovable and united against the tyrants who wish to strip these inalienable rights from us. Here is a quick review of the freedoms guaranteed to every sovereign citizen:</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">1. Freedom of religion (First Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">2. Freedom of speech (First Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">3. Freedom of Press (First Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">4. Freedom of assembly (First Amendment</span><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: large;">)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">5. Freedom to petition the government for grievances (First Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">6. Freedom to bear arms (Second Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">7. Freedom from illegal search of persons, houses, papers or effects (Fourth Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">8. Freedom from prosecution without due process of law (Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">9. Freedom from multiple prosecutions for the same offense (Fifth Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Hind Madurai"; font-size: medium;">10. Freedom from the necessity of testifying against one's self (Fifth Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">11. Freedom from imprisonment without a speedy and <span style="caret-color: rgb(127, 96, 0);">public</span> trial (Sixth Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">12. Freedom from excessive bail, excessive fines or cruel and unusual punishments (Eighth Amendment)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">13. Freedom from slavery or involuntary servitude (Thirteenth Amendment added in 1865)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">14. Freedom to vote regardless of race or sex (Fifteenth Amendment added in 1870 and the Nineteenth Amendment added in 1920)</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">We don't have to look very far today to see where all of these rights are being violated because the far left are slapping us in the face with them. Case in point, the two women in their seventies that were arrested and jailed this week in Washington D.C. for peacefully protesting outside an abortion clinic. They would have been released with accolades if they had burned down a pro-life establishment or <span style="caret-color: rgb(127, 96, 0);">risen</span> in protest against citizens who refuse to give up their guns and ammunition.</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">George Washington stated, "Truth will ultimately prevail, where there are pains taken to bring it to light." What a humbling thought for all of us who are fearful about speaking up because we know we will most likely be punished if we do. Right now the far left is focused on stopping the patriot news forums by trying to ruin the reputation of any conservative that had taken a stance. They're even trying to ruin Tim Ballard's reputation because the movie <i>Sound Of Freedom </i>was such a huge success in opening people's eyes to the widespread horrors of child and human trafficking. </span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">In the news magazine, <i>U.S. News</i> <i>and</i> <i>World Report</i>, April 20, 1964, David Lawrence said, "The America of our forefathers . . . will some day see through the guilt of phony liberalism and cynical disdain for patriotism and love of fatherland.</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: large;">"</span><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">This</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai;"> America that General MacArthur aroused is not the America of petty politics and tricky manipulation of public power. It is not an America of 'double-talk' which denounces yet embraces appeasement. It is not an America of cowardice. It is an America of resoluteness and courage and s</span><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai;">acrifice. It is an America that applauds the man of honest conviction."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Perhaps the awakening spoken about nearly sixty years ago has finally begun. I certainly hope that's true because we need a return to past values if we are going to survive what is being planned for our complete overthrow. May God grant us the strength of conviction to speak up for Him and the country He saved for us. It's a legacy too valuable to be lost through complacency, fear and lack of resolve.</span></p><p><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-74541748252292325142023-09-17T15:22:00.000-07:002023-09-17T15:22:04.067-07:00An Historic Sight<p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Over Labor Day weekend this year, I had the opportunity to see Mt. Rushmore for the first time with my son and his family. It was on his bucket list and I willingly joined them while paying all the major expenses like hotel, gas and food. Our country's economic collapse is making it nearly impossible for younger Americans to provide for their families. Interest rates are soaring, inflation is hitting an all-time high and costly insurance is practically useless because the deductibles alone mean basically paying for every doctor and hospital visit twice--unless the individuals in question crossed the border illegally or are making their living by abusing one of our country's massive welfare programs. Which by the way, cost each working man and woman over a third of their take-home pay, and that doesn't include the hundreds of other taxes we are forced too pay. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But this post isn't about all the biased, unjust and illegal rulings and laws that have been introduced into our society without the approval of the individual citizen and that run counter to everything our God-given Constitution and Bill of Rights were meant to protect. Freedom from tyrannical rule was the gift our founding fathers wanted to secure for all the generations that would live and flourish in America and it is hanging by such a flimsy thread that every true patriot should now be awake to the absolute danger we are living in and be willing to take a stand before everything we hold dear is lost. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We have been deceived for decades by the very men and women who are supposed to be serving the constituents who elected them by preserving the constitution and the freedoms it stands for, not becoming multi-millionaires at our expense. Visiting Mt. Rushmore is truly an experience every freedom-loving American should have. And it's not just the chance to view such amazing images of great American Patriots carved into rocks or to learn about the intricate, expensive and time-consuming undertaking it was to create such a majestic work of art. It's experiencing a kind of pride that brings tears to the eyes, a lump to the throat and a heaviness of heart that makes it almost impossible to breath. There is a majesty and a spirit about that place that makes even the most reluctant visitor feel a burst of humility and awe.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My son was in incredible pain during that trip because of a herniated disk in his lower back that was bulging on both sides and pinching off the nerve going down his left leg. He is an amazing man, always willing to help anyone in need and had become injured himself while getting someone who had been in a motorcycle accident to the hospital. Watching him try to minimize the pain so his family could enjoy the experience made me realize just how important fighting for truth, liberty and the American way of life really is. My time on earth will be over in a few years, but my posterity deserves better than what they are getting right now--33 trillion dollars in wasteful and unnecessary national debt, and rising. That legacy of horror will strip them of all the rights I enjoyed--in my limited, nearly impoverished way--and make it next to impossible for them to find success, fulfillment and personal joy.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In 1966, the national debt was $324 billion. Adding accrued liabilities payable in the future made it exceed $1 trillion or an average indebtedness of over $5,200 for every man, woman and child in the United States. Said a different way, the federal debt at that time was equal to a first mortgage of $10,000 on all owned homes and was reported to exceed the combined debt of all the other countries in the world. What that number is today blows the lid off my simple mind. Math is not my strong suit but if one divides 350 million people, many of whom are living on welfare and haven't paid a cent of income tax in their entire lives, by $33 trillion we are already indentured servants to a bankrupt corporation and will be living like the poorest serfs in any third-world country if something isn't done to stop the insane spending and get the federal budget under control. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">That spending wouldn't be quite so hard to digest if anything more than a tiny pittance of that incredible fortune had actually gone to the American people in rebuilding our infrastructure, making home buying and insurance coverage more affordable, and assuring that every American had a job and could afford to put food on the table. Our homelessness, drug and human trafficking crisis and civil lawlessness has far surpassed anything imaginable even three years ago. Thousands of people are just walking across our borders without being vetted so we know who they are, where they came from and why they are here. And those we allow in are being given $2200 a month in tax dollars and are living better than the average American in some of the most luxurious hotels in our country and having all their needs met while completely destroying their surroundings and threatening the safety of the citizens in the community where they end up. Many of us who are here rightfully and legally, on the other hand, are struggling to make ends meet and are fearful of government overreach that has just armed over 80 thousand IRS agents, weaponized the justice department and made speaking out against liberal policies an offense worthy of serving time in jail.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">James Madison said,"Since the general civilization of mankind, I believe there are more instances of the abridgment of freedom of the people by gradual and silent encroachments of those in power, than by <span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">violent and sudden usurpations." (Elliot's Debates 3:87; P.P.N.S., p. 104)</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We are sitting at the most vulnerable time in the history of our nation when the simple brush stroke of a pen from the president's desk can take away any and all that we hold dear in favor of liberal ideologies that favor the few over the vast majority. Sadly, there is no one to stop the encroachments to our liberty since so few men and women in positions of power and authority have resisted selling out to the Deep State. That is why it is so important to decide how much more we are willing to accept in the name of social justice, environmental change and forward movement. Truth is still truth, and it will prevail, but there will be some dark days until the world finally accepts that Jesus is the Christ and there is a God in Heaven who oversees all that is happening in the worlds He has created.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I love the words of Dean Alfange because I never want to be just an ordinary woman who watches life happen without ever getting involved. His statement goes like this. "I do not choose to be a common man. It is my right to be uncommon. I seek opportunity to develop whatever talents God gave me - not security. I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and pulled by having the state look after me. I want to take the calculated risk; to dream and to build; to fail and to succeed. I refuse to barter incentive for a dole. I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia. I will not trade freedom for beneficence nor my dignity for a handout. I will never cower before any earthly master nor bend to any threat. It is my heritage to stand erect, proud and <span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">unafraid; to think and act myself, enjoy the benefit of my creations and to face the world boldly and say--'This, with God's help, I have done.' All this is what it means to be an American."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Thomas Paine, whose writing helped stir people to action during the days of the American Revolution said this, and its sentiments are just as true today because we are on a clear path to losing what was so valiantly provided by our founding fathers. "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it NOW, deserves the love and thanks of men and women. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obatain too cheap, we <span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">esteem too lightly; 'tis dearness only that gives everything its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed, if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated." (The Political Works of Thomas Paine, p.55)</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I value freedom over peace and know that the fight ahead will not be easily won. In fact, it may not be won at all without divine intervention in our hour of greatest need. But as American Citizens and Christians who understand the value of what we have been given and who, unwittingly and mostly unknowingly, have played a part in the disintegration of our country by maintaining silence must stand strong now and outwardly support the side we wish to be on. Fear is our greatest enemy and we can rest assured that our adversaries know this and will use it against us. But with God and His angels surrounding the cause of truth we can speak out with courage and hope for we are not alone. Loyal PATRIOTS have never stopped this fight for continued freedom. But they need us to stand with them.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Unfortunately, the hour is late and the time is short. But as we invite God's blessings on our efforts to protect the freedoms He so graciously and lovingly gave, we cannot fail when arousing our neighbors to join in the battle. It is still the conflict between good and evil that has raged unmercifully since Satan rebelled and was cast out of God's presence with a third of the host of heaven. Not surprisingly, the greatest evil of our day is the Godless, socialist-communist conspiracy that has infiltrated every aspect of our lives and will continue to do so unless stopped. Their goal is to take over the world by corrupting each country from within, and they don't really care how long it takes.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We can help combat that insidious movement by returning to a respect for national morality, law and order, strong families, a desire to do something meaningful with our lives and a return to church activity where common goals can be fortified. Not everyone is equipped to be a martyr, a statesman or a speech giver. But everyone can find something that isn't too far outside his or her comfort zone to promote liberty, justice and freedom for all. Just start where you are today and don't be afraid. The more you share with others, the more you will find like minded people who just want to do what is right but need a little push. God be with each of you as you make your way through this difficult but exciting time to be alive. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Cairo;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">If you would like a little fiction to help offset some of the serious issues of the day that touch on real-life problems being solved in God's way, check out the books published by this company. They are all available on Amazon in print and eBook formats at </span></span><a href="https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Georgia; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18px;">https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv</a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">The Truth About Strangers - Book 3</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">The Hearts of Strangers - Book 2</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">The Trouble With Strangers - Book 1</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Rivers of Rage</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Beyond the Glass Doors</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Kismet Finds a Way</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Crossfire at Bentley</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Reagan Sinclair - FBI: series of 5 books</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Final Allegiance</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Resilience</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Safe Haven</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Unsheltered</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Welcome Redemption</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Brylee Hawkins Saga: series of 7 books</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Indecision's Flame</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Lost</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Exposed</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Betrayal </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Rewakening</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Unraveling</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Destiny</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Also, So Long Bishop by Viola Ririe</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);"> </span></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-7257812729206923172023-09-10T14:57:00.000-07:002023-09-10T14:57:37.379-07:00Absent, but with good reason<p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;"> <span style="font-size: medium;">The</span> 4th of July was a real turning point for me this year when it came to reevaluating my stance of apathy and true lack of interest when it comes to what is happening in the America that I love so very much. Like many of you, I have been in a state of confusion and disbelief the past three years at how rapidly and completely our great country has fallen into a state of mass confusion, civil disobedience and moral bankruptcy. Criminal behavior is overlooked and even applauded while honest, good people are being jailed for Christian beliefs and standing up for their God-given rights --inalienable rights that were meant to be protected by our Constitution and Bill of Rights. This is not the country I grew up in, nor is it the country of even a few years ago where we still enjoyed relative prosperity and could afford to care for our families because we were still free to pursue the American Dream of obtaining what we worked to achieve.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">I am a Baby Boomer, and quite proud of it even if it means I'm getting old. For those of you who do not know what that term means, I was a post-World War II baby born to father who had served in the Army during the conflict and a mother who had worked as a secretary in several branches of the government. They were thoroughly patriotic, despite the fact that some of the men who had not served their country had achieved great financial success while they were busy helping their fellowmen. My father was content with what little he got through the GI bill that allowed him to purchase eighty acres of farm ground where he hoped to provide for his family and teach them correct principles.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">Like I've stated in several past posts, we had very little growing up. I spent the first months of my life in a basement without running water. And when my father was finally able to build a cinderblock addition above it there was only room for a kitchen, living room, bathroom and small playroom where we kept our toys and clothes. Mostly we kids used the two-seater outhouse that was partially shielded from view by several huge trees, especially when it was warm enough to be outside during the often unpredictable South Eastern Idaho weather. There were winter months when six feet of snow stood in front of the door making it impossible to get inside.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">We would get a thorough scrubbing each Saturday night so we would be ready for church the next morning, each taking quick turns in the same bath water before it got cold. Mother would use rags to help curl we girl's hair and we each had one good outfit that had to be removed the moment we got home so it wouldn't be ruined. When one child outgrew it, it would passed to the next brother to sister in line. We always had plenty to eat because we raised most all of our own food from beef, pork and chickens to apples and plums and everything imaginable that could be grown in a mammoth-size garden. Canning and preserving was a way of life and taught me skills that I still use today. I just finished making several batches of peach freezer jam.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">I suppose I digress from the point I'm trying to make, but I've spent the past two months trying to study and learn how I could have missed the destruction of our beloved republic from the inside out over the course of my life. When I was little, Independence Day was one of complete joy with local parades filled with floats, bands and people walking along the route handing out candy. The skies at night were filled with the glorious colors from fireworks and everyone dressed in red, white and blue to acknowledge their patriotism and love for our great country. Sparklers and family dinners were a must, and family of all generations told stories of heroism and loyalty. I was filled with pride because so many of my ancestors fought so valiantly for the freedom I really didn't know anything about at the time.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">At school, we said a prayer each morning asking for help with our studies, our behavior and any problem we might be facing. And we would put our hands joyfully over our hearts as we recited the Pledge of Allegiance and listened to patriotic music. We learned about our founding fathers and the sacrifices they made so we could live in a country free of tyranny and unrighteous dominion. We studied the government and how it was supposed to operate and what we would lose if it usurped power from the people and started passing laws that took away our rights. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">I was so proud to be an American and wanted everyone throughout the world to have the same freedom I did, but like so many of my generation I was too young to understand what the 1960s would bring and how everything that was promoted was intended to break down home, family and moral values and supplant them with disingenuous ideologies and cynicism when it came to God. By the time I made it to college, I liked wearing short shirts and going to unchaperoned dances and gave little thought to our country because I was so busy pursuing my own academic studies.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">Then came marriage and all the struggles of trying to adjust to a very difficult relationship, finding the means to finance a home, paying unending bills and raising a much-wanted family. I voted in every election and supported the movement to keep gambling out of Idaho, but since I rarely left our small country community I had no idea how rapidly society was disintegrating when it came to the kind of life I envisioned for future generations of my posterity. I was so busy trying to survive that I seldom listened to the news and the only major catastrophe I lived through was the collapse of the Teton Dam. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">When my marriage finally fell apart and I became a full-time teacher, I was immediately drawn to one of my high school passions --Journalism. I taught my students what a grave responsibility it was to accurately report the truth so the public would not be deceived. I made them do in-depth reporting and would not allowed anything to be printed that had not been checked for accuracy. Even opinion articles needed to be based on a provable truth. Integrity means everything because once trust is lost it is nearly impossible to regain.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">I have said numerous times over the past couple of years that I would be fired the first day if I returned to the classroom because I will never be amenable to all the falsehoods being promoted by special interest groups who want a complete collapse of our republic. It horrifies me how fully the far left has embraced the doctrines of communism and have made sure their people are appointed to positions of trust within our society and government where they can spread totalitarian doctrine without any resistance because they no longer feel the need to hide who they are and what their intentions include. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">Cases in point. Emily Drabinski was elected president of the American Library Association earlier this summer. She stated in an interview with Fox News that she was thrilled as a lesbian and a communist to be given such an honor. Those two descriptors have now been deleted from any information about her on the Internet. And just two days ago the Revolutionary Communist Party demanded an end to "Christian Fascism" at a school board meeting in Orange County, California, and told the attendees to "get ready for a revolution to overthrow this whole system that gave birth to this White supremacy and this male supremacy."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">Pretty scary stuff when added to everything else that has been allowed to happen in our country recently. My disillusionments and concerns about where our nation is at has led me on a journey of trying to understand how we became so completely lost as a republic that once believed in freedom and equality for all those who were willing to uphold the Constitution and Bill of Rights. Those unique and praiseworthy individuals were actually wiling to pursue the American Dream under their own steam and by the sweat of their brows instead of demanding a livelihood at the expense of the working class while doing nothing but contribute to the national debt and an increase in many reprehensible forms of crime. Perhaps that is an oversimplification, but nothing in life is ever free, and I fear the people who are paying for everyone else's existence when their own needs are not being meet due to increased taxes, unreasonable deductibles on insurance and ever increasing interest rates are beginning to despair and lose hope in a future that once brought such great joy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">I began my research with a lot of prayer and self-reflection. It's not easy to find truth when the media is being controlled by one party and the justice system has been weaponized against anyone who speaks out against any liberal ideology. But I soon found that there are many brave men and women who are risking their lives, livelihoods and any semblance of peace to expose the people who are trying to destroy everything that America once stood for. They are strong and knowledgeable patriots, found in some of the most unusual places, who have promised to fight for liberty until their dying breath. So much of what they say resonates with truths I have always known inside and I include them in every prayer. We may have differences of opinion when it comes to some religious beliefs, but they love God as much as I do and are not afraid to let others know where they stand. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">The Constitution of this magnificent country was divinely inspired and instituted by men and women raised up to give mankind a chance to experience God-given liberty. With our Constitution hanging by a thin thread it will take every patriot in the country standing firmly together against the tyranny that surrounds us. It won't be easy, and I fear many of us will prefer to remain silent, but our silence only means that we have no real objection to our continued slide into full-blown communism where all freedom and hope is lost. Perhaps that's why it's taken me two months to form another post. I knew what side I was on but had to decide if I had enough courage to let my feelings and beliefs be known. We are in a war--not a war like the two previous world wars--but a war of ideas and beliefs that is fueled by the world wide information system. There have been many casualties already and there will be many more. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">This is a good place for me to stop, but I'm going to give you the titles to a few of the books I've been reading and some of the other sources I've consulted. Should you choose to examine them, you will gain much knowledge but will have to decide what rings true for you. The Naked Communist by W. Cleon Skousen. It was used by the FBI for decades as a training tool in discovering how our government has been infiltrated and what the communist overall object still is. The Red Carpet and An Enemy Hath Done This by Ezra Taft Benson. Both of these men spent years working for the government and knew as early as the 1950s where our country was heading if we didn't start paying attention.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">Fox News used to be far more unbiased before Murdoch took over earlier this year, but it's become much like the rest of the fake news outlets recently. That's why I prefer Newsmax and The Blaze. They both talk about important things that main stream media ignores. And for those of you who enjoy podcasts and a military approach as to what is happening worldwide, you should check out Restored Republic via GCR. You'll know you're in the right place when you see a picture of President Trump rescuing two babies. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;">Stay safe and keep the faith. Things are unfolding the way God intends. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai;"><br /></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-1655047470193716082023-07-05T12:10:00.001-07:002023-07-05T12:10:12.666-07:00Disrupted 4th of July<p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">My thoughts were all gathered to write a post on Monday morning but my body had other plans. I'll tell you about that later. While I'm a day late expressing some of my most recent thoughts about the 4th of July, I still believe that some of us need an attitude adjustment when it comes to the birth of our country and what it really means to be an American who honors the flag and the Constitution and Bill of Rights that were meant to maintain the freedoms so many of our ancestors died to give us. How much we owe them for their sacrifices and their willingness to give all so their posterities could have what many of us take for granted and seem intent on losing all in the name of social and political progress.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">How I honor and love my faithful, strong and committed ancestors. They were not wealthy or powerful individuals who drew great masses to their ideas. They were simple, hardworking farmers and small business owners who struggled to put food on their tables and pay their bills. Many of them lost every material possession more than once because people took objection to what they believed. They were driven from their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs and what they could carry in their arms, and they lost family members and loved ones along the way as they struggled to find a new place </span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">to call home. Like many groups of people we read about in the scriptures, their faith in God was strong. They knew he would guide and protect them as long as they did not deny the truths they had been given. And even if their lives were lost, they had the inner knowledge that their obedience would eventually be rewarded in the life to come.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Perhaps that's why I am drawn to <span style="caret-color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">genealogical</span> research so much. I love learning about my ancestors and while life histories do not go back very far, I love to trace different family lines and see where people came from and where they ended up. Some of my lines go back to before the birth of Jesus Christ. I have family in South Africa, dozens of European countries, Canada and Australia. I'm sure I will eventually be able to trace branches around the world. How excited I am to meet each one of them some day and learn their stories. My only real claim to any fame is being related to President Woodrow Wilson on my material family line. But as simple as my own life is, I hope I can make each of them proud of me in some way. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">From many of the news reports touting the events of yesterday, Americans in general are feeling less patriotic each year and are becoming very vocal about it. Celebrations were down in nearly <span style="caret-color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">every</span> community and the violence didn't take a day off. All that is happening in a country where everyone once stood for the flag, sang the national anthem with enthusiasm, attended Independence Day parades, studied the Constitution at school and was given a more correct accounting of history troubles my heart and brings tears to my eyes because despite all the turmoil, disregard for civil liberty and downright evilness that is so rampant in our society, we still live in the greatest country on earth that provides us the most freedoms. This country was preserved for the final days before the Savior's return to earth. It was a new land of complete freedom from tyranny and oppression. But most important for me, it was a place of religious freedom where people could worship God, live by his commandments and enjoy every blessing available as long as they were willing to work for what they needed and wanted and fight to maintain everyone's freedom. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">While our founding fathers were not perfect--as none of us are--I believe they were great and brilliant men God ordained to come to earth to design a government that was meant to preserve every liberty that is being stolen from us today by men and women who love power, money and personal indulgence more than living by any of the laws that made this country a true world power that was honored and respected by other nations. I love to see people in positions of influence who are taking a stand against the evils that are meant to destroy our society and often wish I was half so brave. But like so many people of my generation, the fear-peddling that is meant to stop us from expressing how we feel is a little daunting.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Still, my heart is filled with gratitude and love for the country I will always call home, even though I can't express my inner feelings to all of the people I love because they have bought in to so many of the misguided ideologies that cause me to tremble and shake because they are nothing less than a fulfillment of prophesy. Like many other Christians, I pray for the Savior's return, but God is in charge of that. My only recourse is to stay as close to him as possible and stand with others who share similar beliefs. Regardless of what we may be required to face before our lives are over, I want to be on his side when I pass through the veil.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So how has that changed my view of July 4th? I didn't do any outward celebrating, but I did spend some time reading about our founding fathers and the importance of not having our constitution rewritten or completely done away with like so many people in power seemed determined to do. I know it is hanging by a very thin thread right now, but it was inspired of God and our nation is only failing because so many of our people have turned their backs on him. I also spent some time in my back yard marveling at the beautiful variety of flowers God has created and looking up at the majestic mountains to the east of my home. I thought about all the blessings I have that are a direct result of living in America and knowing that God will prevail. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">My wakeup call for another reevaluation came on Sunday night. The muscle in my right arm was hurting so much I couldn't sleep. It's been doing that for almost nine months now, but I'd been avoiding seeing a doctor because I would only be told to quit digging in my yard and doing other things I have a real passion for. About one in the morning I got this crushing pain in the center of my chest. It wasn't like the normal indigestion that always gave me a start. It came on without warning, radiated to my shoulder, and lasted for several minutes before stopping as suddenly as it began. Whatever was going on had gotten my attention, but the pain in my shoulder left at the same time the intense pain in my chest did so I just let the sleep come.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Since I have a long history of heart problems and am under the care of a cardiologist, I figured it might be wise to see what was going on. So I headed straight to urgent care the next morning and asked to see the doctor. When I told the receptionist what was going on she told me I needed to go to an emergency room because they weren't equipped to deal with things that could be so potentially life threatening. I was no longer I pain, just a heaviness in my chest and some nausea and dizziness that was making me very uncomfortable. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">There was a hospital less than a block away, but I wasn't sure my insurance would cover a visit there and my doctors were at the hospital twenty to thirty minutes away, depending on the timing of the lights. Being my very independent self, I drove myself down the freeway and along busy city streets praying all the way that I wouldn't cause an accident. There were only four people ahead of me in the emergency waiting room. I felt like a fool for not just letting nature take its course but it was a little late to leave once I had told the young man behind the desk why I had come.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I was amazed at the speed with which the specialists began working on me but was only told that I was lucky it hadn't gotten really busy yet. An ECG was taken and a few minutes later I was put in a room and told to strip to the waist. It had been 40 years since I had been in an emergency room, but I tried to concentrate on the book I'd brought with me to read. Not unexpectedly my blood pressure was much higher than anyone wanted it to be, and I didn't like having all my vital functions monitored, but the first real pain came when my blood was being drawn for the test that would show if I'd had a heart attack. An IV had to be inserted and the student who was learning how to do it nicked something when she tried to push the needle further into the vein. I didn't let my displeasure show in any way but was very glad when her supervisor took over. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">While the blood test was being run, I had two chest e-rays and was given a nice warm blanket. When the doctor finally came back she said the enzyme detecting a heart attack wasn't there but the marker indicating a blood clot in my lungs was so she was ordering a CT scan of my chest. That was a little unnerving but it came back clear, other than the discovery of gall stones--something very common in women over 40 but rare in men. I felt blessed but very foolish for wasting so much time in the ER room, even though I knew my double insurance would cover the costs. It was at that point that I asked her about my arm. I think she was a little worried about the length of time it had been bothering me because she ordered another e-ray to make sure the bone was okay. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Four hours later I was ready to go home and very grateful for having such a kind and caring doctor--one I wished I could see on a regular basis since I often feel my doctor of record isn't all that great and his bedside manner leaves something to be desired. She took the time to really listen and answer any questions. To help assuage my feeling foolish for responding to a false alarm she told me that most of the people who come to the ER with a possible heart attack are fine, but it's always best to listen to our bodies when something unexpected and unexplainable is going on, especially when we have a history of heart disease in our family and have are seeing a cardiologist on a regular basis.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">She hadn't found any indication of bone cancer which she had suspected and she was confident the ongoing pain was nothing more serious than bursitis that could be easily treated with cold compresses and Aleve--less disruptive to the kidneys than Ibuprofin. Before leaving she told me not to worry about the gall stones unless I had another possible flair-up when I should consult a surgeon about taking them out. And if I started to pass one I would know it because the pain would be excruciating with nausea and throwing up. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So a day I had planned to spend writing, reading and working more in my yard was spent in the emergency room where I was lucky enough not to have had a mild <span style="caret-color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">heart attack and where no blood clot was found in my lungs. I'm not excited about having gall stones, but at least I now know what's wrong with my arm and how to treat it without letting all the yard work go. And if I do have any more pain like what I had on Sunday night I have a better idea of what the culprit might be.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So despite all that is going on around me, along with my own human frailties and body that is aging more rapidly that I would like, there is much to be thankful for. I didn't hear from either of my children yesterday even after texting them and wishing them a fun 4th, but they're young and doing things with their families and friends as they should be this time in their lives. And their decisions in how they spend their time do not take away from the gratitude I feel for being born in a free country where I can live life on my own terms, as long as my actions do not infringe on those of anyone else. I have full confidence and trust in my Heavenly Father and know that things are unfolding as they should. My role is to stay strong to my beliefs while loving and serving others the way Christ did while he was here. For someday he will return and what a joyous time that will be for all who still remain here and for those of us who have gone before and are still his faith disciples.</span></p><p><br /></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-48844703327963453432023-06-19T09:41:00.000-07:002023-06-19T09:41:06.023-07:00Introspective Holidays<p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">Holidays, even the most uncomplicated ones, are hard. Perhaps I'm only speaking for myself because most everyone I meet seems to love the hustle, bustle and often consternation associated with huge family dinners, trying to make everyone comfortable and happy and purchasing gifts or tokens of affection that won't immediately be returned for something else. </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(128, 1, 128); color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: large;">I know most of you are thinking about Christmas, birthdays, Halloween, Valentine's Day and Easter, but we've had three very important ones the past month that have made me realize how </span><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">pathetically sad my own life has become--Mother's Day, Memorial Day and Father's Day.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">These special days bring little besides a huge lump to my heart and tears that can't be stopped from sliding down my cheeks at the most inopportune moments. Remembrances from the past bring to the foreground once again all I've missed by not being part of a family that was encouraged to spend time together and keep in touch once we had gone our separate ways. I suppose my latest bout of melancholia started on Friday when one of the men I work with told me that he and his wife were heading to Idaho again. They'd been there over Memorial Day to decorate graves and talk about good times from their childhood with siblings and friends. This time they were simply going to play board games and enjoy being together.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">I haven't seen two of my siblings for nearly twenty years. Perhaps they would have come for my brother's memorial service if it hadn't been during Covid when flights were almost impossible to get and large gatherings were prohibited. I remember that time vividly because my brother's daughter from South Carolina drove all the way with her family so she could give her father's life history in a thirty minutes service on a cold and blustery November day at the cemetery a quarter of a mile away from the home daddy had built for us. Sandon died the day after Thanksgiving alone in his room at the nursing home from a sudden heart attack. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">He had been badly burned a few years earlier when he fell into a fire pit while at a party and couldn't get out. The people he was with waited until they thought he wouldn't survive before throwing him in the back of his van and leaving it outside the emergency rooms doors at the local hospital. He was so badly burned and swollen that it took three days for him to be identified and transferred to the burn unit at the University of Utah. When I first saw him his head was swollen to twice its normal size and he was hardly recognizable. But he grasp my hand and despite my reluctance to be where I was watching him suffer I couldn't bring myself to leave the room as more dead skin was pulled from his body and he was given further burn treatments. I loved him dearly and had watched over him as best I could throughout his life because I have never gotten over being blamed for the accident that left him with lifelong mental and physical disabilities.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">My one sister who lived there and had been responsible for overseeing his affairs let everyone know that quarantine rules meant only seven people would be allowed at his graveside service. She was not happy because his daughter was driving across country and bringing her entire family with her. I hadn't had much contact with my niece in decades, but she was the only one of six children who would even talk to her father after their parent's divorce and she had called the the day before Thanksgiving to tell me that someone wasn't right with him. When I relayed the message, I was told he was doing just fine.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">I wanted desperately to go to the service, even knowing that it was a long drive over what could be some very bad roads and I wouldn't get to see his face, but how could I take the place of someone who was sacrificing so much to get there? I cried a lot after making that decision and telling my sister that one of my niece's children could take my place. My son was outraged when he heard what was being planned. No regulations had been set as to how many people could be out in the cold, fully masked to attend a memorial service. He believed my sister just wanted to be in control as she always did. He said I was going and he and his wife were taking me. We would stand on the outside the fence if necessary.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">Knowing I was going to be there regardless of what had been said, my sister asked me to say a few words. I might have done so had it not been one of the saddest experiences of my life. There must have been thirty-five people present--separated into three distinct groups that wouldn't walk six feet to talk to each other. My brother's ex-wife and her children who had not spoken to their father in nearly twenty years clustered together away from the tent that had been set up for family. My two sisters who lived in town and even got to see him before the casket lid was closed sat underneath the tent with members of their families. I was terrified to go near them because I knew I wasn't welcome so I stood with my son and daughter-in-law and a couple of other people I didn't know. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">I was having a very emotional time, especially after learning that my niece had been in town the night before when my sisters went to the mortuary, but they hadn't told her that she was allowed to see him too. This sweet young woman was as broken-hearted as I was. She had been estranged from her family since the day she chose to be part of her father's life, while everyone else chose to keep on hating him. After some not so gentle persuasion I sat underneath the tent out of respect for my brother and listened to my niece give a beautiful life sketch, but I wasn't encouraged to say anything so I kept quiet. I couldn't have expressed what was in my heart anyway when there were so many uncharitable feelings floating around, but God gave me the courage to speak to most everyone before leaving the cemetery.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">That experience brought back with undiluted clarity what happened the day my mother died nearly twenty years earlier. I had gone over to her house after work knowing that all of my siblings were coming since she was in the final stage before succumbing to cancer. A different niece met me at the door. She was in tears because she had been there the entire day and no one had invited her to go into grandma's bedroom to say goodbye, not even her mother. I took her arm and moved her in front of me down the hallway. The room was full so we both stood at the foot of the bed for a few minutes. There wasn't time for either of us to say much because three of my sisters--the two who had been at my brother's service and my youngest one--told the rest of us to leave because mother needed some rest. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">Another sister and I followed our two brothers into the back yard. There we talked and paced for over three hours before we were told to come back. Mother was dead. She'd been cleaned up and was wearing one of her prettiest nightgowns, but we had been excluded from her final moments. I couldn't wrap my head around the cruel insensitivity, but it was far from being the first time. Sandon and I had only been allowed to see her for a few specified minutes each week since her diagnosis while our two sisters got to spent every day and night with her.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">When I told mother that twenty minutes every Monday night while my one sister was gone wasn't time enough, she just told me that she was doing what her caregivers wanted. But she had a job for me. She wanted me to type all my grandmother's short stories and readings and put them in book form so all my siblings could have them. That was a monumental task since many of them were handwritten and some not even finished, but I did it in record time and had binders ready for everyone specified before her death. I wish I could say that my time with her increased after my pleading, but I can only recall one short conversation where we talked about Sandon's accident. She said she didn't remember telling me it was my fault but she was in a state of shock and could very well have.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">As I'm sure you can tell by now, the dynamics in our family were not healthy. As adults we children were not encouraged to talk to each other. Mother wanted to be the disseminator of information and decide who needed to know what. And since many of us were scared of her, and busy with our own lives, we didn't rock the proverbial boat. It was different then anyway because calling long distance was cost-prohibitive and most of us were too poor to take a trip to see anyone. But the sorrow I feel over not being part of a loving and connected family is very real.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">I guess that's why these past few weeks are always so hard each year. It's starts with Mother's Day and knowing that my own mother may have loved me, but she didn't appear to like me and was not capable of showing strong positive emotion. My father was somewhat different from what I can remember. He was tall and thin--a real cowboy who loved riding his horse and announcing or clowning at rodeos. His hands were strong and his heart willing to support and care for his large family. But his grief over the accident where his own little son was so severely injured must have been almost impossible to bear.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">How I envy families where the love is strong and siblings actually like spending time together. But I've had to accept that some things will have to wait until the next life to be resolved. I want to be with my family forever. I know it's possible but have no idea how it will happen since we can go years without contact in this life and no one seems to care. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">There's one plot left in that cemetery in Idaho where my parents, my brother and two brother-in-laws have been laid to rest. My two sisters will be placed beside their husbands when their missions in this life are over. Daddy purchased eight plots before my youngest sister was born, and I know he felt good about having a resting place for his wife and all his children. And while I've always been grateful to have a designated spot for my physical body when my spirit leaves it behind, I'm not sure that's where I want to be anymore. Regardless of the fact that it's already been paid for, two siblings spots have already been filled with someone else and my son says he wants me closer to where he is.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">Not that it's really going to matter, except for knowing where my body is, but I do need to be making a few permanent decisions. That includes finishing my life history that is so painful to write only bits and pieces now exist. However, if I want my posterity to understand why I am more than a little messed up, but a true peacemaker at heart, I need to take that journey through my past one more time. Perhaps I will see things somewhat differently than I once did and my compassion and understanding will show through. </span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">I really want to rid myself of the anger, jealousy and judgment that has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I want to see others as God and my Savior do. There is a bit of divinity in even the vilest of sinners because they were created by Heavenly Parents who love without condition. I think I felt that way more yesterday than I have for some time as fathers were honored at church and I thought about how much I missed mine and how different my life may have been had he been allowed to live past my thirteenth birthday. But everything happens for a reason and we were not sent to earth to indulge every desire. We are here to learn, grow and develop into people who are prepared to return to their heavenly home.</span></p><p><span style="color: #800180; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">And just so you know, I sent a Happy Father's Day text to the man I've been writing about. He didn't respond, but I decided that I would only be hurting myself if I didn't since I've sent one for the past four years. I don't know what's in his heart because he won't tell me. But maybe it's better that way. I'm trying to stay focused on the light, and he's a long away from doing that right now. More about that later, but it's time to get on with my day. Folding clothes and running errands await me. </span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-65344523611906014112023-06-12T10:40:00.001-07:002023-06-12T10:40:48.735-07:00Still Trying To Get Out Of That Hole<p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wish I could say that I am back to my highly-motivated, driven and productive self again--writing up a storm each morning after making sure my beautifully-blooming flowers and promising vegetable garden have enough water, and not even minding that I got so little sleep because the ideas for characters, plots and settings were coming so fast. But I'm not there yet. While my heart is starting to heal from being so unapologetically crushed as I reported in my last entry, my head still has a way to go. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo;"><span style="font-size: medium;">However, the last seven years of being a published author have shown me that childhood dreams can come true and I have the inner determination, along with God-given, cultivatable talents, to accomplish whatever goals I set. I think most of us feel that rush of adrenaline and excitement when the creative juices are flowing and we're doing something that lifts our spirit, makes us smile from our heart and brings a feeling of calm and peace. We need that to offset all the commotion that often makes the world feel like a lonely, overwhelming and scary place we're not sure we want to be part of.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've wanted to be a writer since penning my first novel at the age of fifteen. And I do mean writing it with a pen on sheets of notebook paper when I should have been studying, especially math since I have never understood more than the basics. It was far from being an upbeat, lighthearted story like most of the ones being produced for juvenile readers in those days, but it was my first real attempt at trying to put into words the thought and feelings of a confused, introverted and hurting teenager who had already seen far more of the underside of life than she was capable of understanding. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Those of you who have read past posts know about my being blamed for the accident that nearly cost my little brother his life and forever changed the dynamics of our home life when I was five. Some might even recall my sharing the poem I wrote about being molested by my violin teacher and not having my mother believe me. And there was nothing fun about spending six months in bed with Rheumatic fever when I was in the third grade or losing my father so unexpectedly when I was thirteen.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Silently suffering through so many traumatic ordeals when I was a born introvert caused me to withdraw further than I might have into a world of my own making. I was far more comfortable confining myself to the windowless basement bedroom I shared with three sisters where I could read books underneath the covers at night and play with my dolls and paper dolls instead instead of having to interact with even members of my own family, unless I was doing my assigned chores in a prompt and efficient manner. I was terrified of causing someone else pain or becoming more damaged than I already was.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That's why not being able to write these past two months has been so difficult. I like being lost in my head. It keeps me from having to deal with unpleasantness like being dumped by the only guy where there's been a mutual attraction the past ten years</span></span><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">--and all because I wouldn't fall into bed with him like every other woman he meets. The sensuality he exudes on stage is hard to miss. But like so many other love-starved females, I wanted to believe he possessed more important qualities than the obvious. Unfortunately, the mystique created to bring the women in an audience back for a repeat performance disappears almost as quickly as the bright lights overhead.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;">Despite the number of days that have flitted into oblivion since my last contact with him, I still feel stripped of every inner hope that made writing fiction so much fun. Not that I've lost my belief in love and the sheer joy it can bring, but</span><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);"> I do feel like I'm stuck in some giant hole of my own making whose edges are so high and crumbly that there is little chance for escape. Taking something that was, in realty, little more than a beginning friendship and allowing it to take away my sanity is childish at best. But I can't deny that our texts and conversations brought a brighter ray of sunshine even on a cloudless day. And I can't seem to stop the mental image of a scene from the movie "The Thorn Birds" where Barbara Stanwick's character, a seventy-year old woman who has just been rebuffed by the young priest she has a crush on, ends up telling him that her outer appearance does not match how she feels inside. She's still that young, vibrant girl who wants to be in love.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);">Maybe that's simply a fact of life that must be accepted by those of us who have never found the kind of love we desire while in this sphere called mortality. But I won't deny that it felt heavenly to have an attractive man hold my hand, kiss my lips, smile at me with a certain light in his eyes and sneak his arm around my waist while we were talking to other people. I'd never had that before, even when I was married. My husband was a cold and offish man. He never took me on a date, remembered a special holiday or even acted like he cared. If I had surgery or lost a baby, I was expected to be up the next day taking care of household duties. And sex was nothing more than an act to get me pregnant because he wanted a child of his own, not the two we had adopted. And he had the very unmanly habit of letting me know that everything not up to par in our lives was my fault alone.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);">I have been starved for physical contact my entire life, and feeling some of it during what can only be called my twilight years was a heady experience I didn't want to lose. But perhaps those unexpected feelings need to be mourned like so many other losses I have endured over the years. God made me with a tender heart for a reason, and I love helping people whenever I can. However, there is a flip side to that gift and one that Satan is certainly capitalizing on right now. It's being jealous and judgmental of women who have what I most desire and beating myself up for every possible flaw I see in myself. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);">Since the evil one couldn't get me to go against a promise I had made to God, he chose a more effective tactic--using lifetime weaknesses against me. The last two months I've basically lost interest in doing things that once brought great joy, have stopped putting my health before my food indulgences and spend every night watching TV reruns instead of reading and doing handwork for people who might one day appreciate the effort. If it wasn't for yard work, gardening and two days of committed service to others, I would be a basket case of disproportional size.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);">I know I'm not the only one who has ever felt that way, and maybe it's okay to indulge in sorrow and pain until that stage of the grieving process is over. But I'm to the point that I either start swimming against the current or sink. I've always told myself that it's better the be alone than with the wrong person, and I still believe that. And my being able to write what I have in this post, and the last one, has been an enormous undertaking and help. You see, I am writing again. It might not be a novel, but it is exploring human feelings and tendencies that translate into better understanding my next character. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);">We are no longer living in an "Ozzie and Harriet" or even a "Brady Bunch"world where the worst thing we have to contemplate is burning the Sunday roast or one of our children getting a bad grade at school. Most every headline is designed to cause an intense emotional reaction regardless of which side of the political fence we're on. Instead of trying to live together in harmony, the powers that be seem determined to pull us apart by focusing on our differences instead of our commonalities. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);">I find myself wishing we could go back to simpler times when neighbors talked to each other about things that really matter and schools were a place where children learned to read and write without undo social pressures. But I fear those days are gone, and I need to make peace with where I stand right now. Not that I know how to get over another broken heart--even if it was mostly based in a non-reality--but I know I have to try. So I hope you'll be hearing from me more often and that the next time I write I may have even opened a file where I have a story-starter ready to be developed. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);">Now, I'm going to get my allergy shots and pick up a few things at the store. I'm finally able to sleep laying down after weeks sitting up in a chair so I could breathe. That's a blessing in itself, and I need to pay more attention to God's tender mercies because they're happening every day, even if I'm unable to see them.</span></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19); color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: large;">Books by JS Ririe:</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: helvetica;">The Truth About Strangers - Book 3<br /></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: helvetica;">The Trouble with Strangers - Book 2<br /></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: helvetica;">The Hearts of Strangers - Book 1</span></div><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Rivers of Rage</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Beyond the Glass Doors</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Kismet Finds a Way</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Crossfire at Bentley</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 9px; text-indent: -9px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Final Allegiance - Reagan Sinclair, FBI - Book 1</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Resilience - Reagan Sinclair, FBI - Book 2</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Safe Haven - Reagan Sinclair, FBI - Book 3</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 9px; text-indent: -9px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Unsheltered - Reagan Sinclair, FBI - Book 4</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Welcome Redemption - Reagan Sinclair, FBI - Book 5</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 9px; text-indent: -9px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Indecision’s Flame - Book 1</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Lost - Indecision’s Flame - Book 2</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Exposed - Indecision’s Flame - Book 3</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Betrayal - Indecision’s Flame - Book 4</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Reawakening - Indecision’s Flame - Book 5</span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Unraveling - Indecision’s Flame - Book 6<br /></span></span><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Destiny - Indecision’s Flame - Book 7</span></span></div><p>
</p><div><span style="font-kerning: none;"><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">So Long, Bishop - by Viola Ririe</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">All books available in print or eBook format a: <a href="https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline;">https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv</a></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hq0Tzi4Nkp96pSltc71i2beydE-E7GFsOlNpCtXXoGnCCzZFUxJZka6PaMUyirMsBNbjlihW2Mk-zboOj_zDP4QqOSq7ozkzBV1fLnYYXWQa6s0NEt6Xugk-RJfciXi4ExKQgG19SCRioUh_DTrpagf6US5ZepNTn8rVCgU2zNnV57T39lM1_bkD/s2250/JS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hq0Tzi4Nkp96pSltc71i2beydE-E7GFsOlNpCtXXoGnCCzZFUxJZka6PaMUyirMsBNbjlihW2Mk-zboOj_zDP4QqOSq7ozkzBV1fLnYYXWQa6s0NEt6Xugk-RJfciXi4ExKQgG19SCRioUh_DTrpagf6US5ZepNTn8rVCgU2zNnV57T39lM1_bkD/s320/JS.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br /><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><p></p></span></div><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Cairo; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 78, 19);"><br /></span></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-44101484170366664042023-05-29T12:16:00.001-07:002023-05-29T12:16:42.378-07:00Broken Heart, Moodiness and Self-reflection<p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">I'm finally sitting at my kitchen table with my computer open in front of me again. It's been a strange four months of abstinence when it comes to writing and not at all what I intended after sending my twentieth book, in seven and one-half years, to be published in January of 2023. That series (The Trouble With Strangers, The Hearts of Strangers and The Truth About Strangers) had forced me to open thirty year-old wounds and reexamine a very painful and debilitating part of my past. While the storyline was fiction, the trauma, self-doubt and hope that life could become better was very real because it was based on my own marriage of emotional and mental abuse that caused my body to start shutting down and the doctor to tell me that I would be dead in six months if I didn't do something to relieve some of the stress. That wasn't easy when the sourc</span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">e of that undermining anxiety was coming from the very person who has vowed to be there to love, protect and support me.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Walking away, and losing nearly everything in the process--home, friends, family, financial security, my standing in the community and even my own children until they were able to see beyond the lies and coverups he immediately began spreading--wasn't easy. But the man I had married twenty-two years earlier knew how to manipulate and coerce and make me look like I was a crazy person only fit for being committed because I had the audacity to leave him. But taking my life back and fighting for what I knew was right, despite all it cost, soon brought some of the peace I so desperately needed as I continued to pray for help, understanding and guidance while continuing with my education. I went back to my teaching position at our small local high school that fall with only a couple of teachers and the principal in my corner. He called me into his office the first day and told me to watch my back because the good people of the community were out to crucify me and would stop at nothing to make sure it happened. That was a bitter pill to swallow after serving them in so many ways for nearly two decad</span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">es, but people believe what they want and can become very vocal and almost obsessively cruel about it. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">I suppose one of the worst days was when a so-called good woman I had known for many years came to my small, dark and drafty basement apartment where I was trying to put my life together again to tell me that I could never return to Heavenly Father unless I went back to my husband, made things right with him and then stood in front of the congregation at church and apologized for disappointing everyone. They had looked up to me and I had failed them. That came just days after my one any only confrontation in the parking lot with my husband where he told me that if I would just come home I could have my own bedroom and come and go as I liked as long as we could be seen together in public so everyone would think my leaving had been a huge misunderstanding and we were doing great. My answer was a resounding "NO" even when he told me that he had grown to love me but just hadn't bothered to tell me. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">The heart-felt series I had just completed was a way of bringing closure to a very traumatic experience--where I truly had come frighteningly close to losing myself completely--by letting people I would never meet know what had really happened during some awful years of betrayal and psychological torture. You see, I had promised God before leaving the house I had helped to build with my own hands, the flowers I had so loving planted and the beautiful memories I had created with my children when we were alone that I would never say anything negative about my husband to them or anyone else who knew us as a couple because Heavenly Father had witnessed what went on inside our home and was the only one who could fairly judge since no life was sin or error free. I just wanted to keep on living so I could be there for my children should they ever want me as part of their lives again. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">But I digress. What I really want to talk about was what happened during February, March, April and May. It put me in a tailspin of emotional upheaval that I'm just beginning to work through since I still believe in happy endings, even though I have yet to find one for myself. You see, I based one of the characters in that series on a man I met several years ago. He was handsome, charismatic, talented and involved with someone else. But there was a definite spark between us that only grew stronger during the brief moments we saw each other when I went to visit my sister twice each year. Believing in the sanctity of relationships, I didn't think much about him until a year and a half ago when he became unexpectedly available and during one of my visits really kissed me. For a girl who has not opened her heart to anyone for over twenty years that was a very heady experience. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">We began texting and talking on the phone occasionally but I was leery of any real involvement because we were so different and lived far enough away from each other that it was unlikely we would ever spend much time together. But having a writer's imagination when I started this series he unintentionally became part of it. Our friendship seemed to be growing in the right direction and I even send him a homemade quilt for Christmas because he was always saying that he needed me to keep him warm. I loved how he made me feel desirable, playful and so unlike the very reserved and cautious person the world saw. During one of our lengthy --3 to 4 hour-- telephone conversations I let it slip that I had based a character in my latest book on him. He said the honor was all his and would love a copy. I sent The Trouble With Strangers knowing he would never read it because he'd never read an entire book in his life. He'd floated through school on cliff notes and the movie version of most everything. But even if he did, he would learn more about me and perhaps even see in himself the possibilities I </span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">did.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">I was excited and yet filled with a certain amount of apprehension to see him in April because I knew at least one of my peculiarities would have to be dealt with eventually. But ten days before my flight his mother died unexpectedly. He'd lost a brother in November which made this death doubly hard. Even though I tried to be there for him he pulled away somewhat--a very natural thing to do in times of grief--and I wasn't sure what would happen when I got there. One of the safety provisions my sister and I had set in place for when we traveled was to stick together like glue so we wouldn't end up in a situation we couldn't handle. She was married and I was single, and we both had strong religious beliefs that kept us from being party girls like most every other woman we met. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">He took us out on his pontoon boat for a lovely afternoon soon after we arrived, but when we got back to his house he caught me alone and asked me to sneak him into my condo room late that night so we could be alone. Here I was a senior citizen who had been alone for twenty years facing a moral decision I thought had been left behind for decades. My heart screamed out to know what it was like to make love to a man where the sexual tension was causing my whole body to shake. I had only had sex during my marriage. Any hope for love was destroyed on my wedding night when my husband told me I had married him under false pretenses because my breasts were not as big as he thought they were. But as I looked into this amazing man's hopeful eyes and watched his full, inviting lips move sensually back and forth I knew I could never betray God by giving in to physical desires. I believed God meant it when he said that physical intimacies were sacred and not to be shared with anyone other than a spouse. The man standing in front of me had had many lovers and I couldn't become just another conquest to him.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">To say that I handled the situation poorly is an understatement. I tried to get my beliefs across through the tears. He said he understood as he kissed my forehead and would never be the man to persuade me to stray from anything that was truly important. But as my sister and I pulled away from the curb I knew that while he might understand my desire to do what I felt was right he wanted more than a plutonic relationship. It was all or nothing with him just as it had been with every other man I had dated after my divorce. I cried most of the night and the rest of the week was nearly intolerable. He avoided eye contact whenever he saw me and made sure he wasn't available to talk. He disregarded every text but one and that was only to say that he didn't know he was acting cold and that he always wanted me to be his friend and know that he loved me. We barbecued before I left but there was no hand holding or snuggling, just a few quick pecks on the lips that let me know we were at an impasse that would never be crossed until he was willing t</span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">o talk. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">That hasn't happened yet and I've been home for almost two months. I've received two brief texts. One with smiley faces only and the other saying that he's just moody and knows he pushed a wrong button that made me have to put him in his place in front of my sister. He figured we laughed about it all the way home. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">I will spare you the rest of the sad details, but I've been nursing a bruised spirit along with a broken heart while trying to understand how I could have been so wrong about someone's intentions and desires. He opened his heart to me about so many things and shared parts of his life that I knew were painful for him to discuss. I also know that I never should have expected a relationship to continue when I wasn't willing to bend to the desires of the flesh like most everyone in today's world of promiscuity and satisfying every desire does. I even know I would have been dumped eventually anyway because I'm not exactly experienced in that area and have set eternal goals that will only be realized if I stay true to my beliefs. But even that knowledge doesn't stop the pain, the tears, and the wondering what I could have done differently that might have saved what I thought was a worthwhile friendship.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">But I am glad that I'm finally able to articulate my feelings in what I know is a safe environment. No one out there in cyberspace knows who I am or who I am talking about, but every one of my readers </span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">knows what it's like to be hurt by someone he or she loves. And yes, I did love that guy and still do, but I'm ready to let him go and try to get on with my life. That means focusing on what's truly important to me--family, work, church, community, service, starting to write again and becoming closer to my Heavenly Father and my Savior. Through all the heartache of the past few months there has been no one for me to talk to other than God and I know He will always listen to and answer any prayer in the way that will be most beneficial. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">I haven't been able to talk to my sister about what happened even though she was there. She believes his only motivation in pursuing me was to have sex and when that didn't happen he was no longer interested. Maybe she's right since I'm way past my prime and there are plenty of willing women, but I'm not quite ready to believe someone over sixty is still that shallow, even if he is moody. I think he saw something different in me that he liked but didn't know how to pursue a relationship that wasn't based on instantaneous physical gratification.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">Anyway, that's something that may never be known and full recoveries from anything out of the ordinary take time. But unless something drastic changes, come the end of September I will be seeing him again and have no idea of the reception I'll get. It could be a very cold and tearful one. That's why hope that God will make everything right in the end is so important. It helps me find fulfillment and happiness in what I have now, and I have a lot. Not just the one thing I've wanted my entire life. Meeting the right man while still in mortality is looking more doubtful each day, but perhaps by the time I pass through the veil I will have learned what I need to about loving and being loved. After all this life is a test, not just a place for self-indulgence and taking risks. And when we need answers to our most pressing problems we need to quit filling all our moments with unnecessary distractions so we can hear what God has to tell us. </span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;">That's what I'm trying to do now. It's quiet and peaceful where I'm at, and there's plenty of time for reflection.</span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NlcD7YSaGHTI0jgKkcU3JMYB3Cqkw40y5Dyi8iHIvHn6g0pa9rqOX16mKY0aSWvSM2Fhd5Fa41uinRG3L7czpz9VJPxCnWouAVIX-FB0bFuQG_5clGqsJ0Jxqz5Ki2G8gO-1VFuS1OQ4YQzBcXK2UwNZHxD7HJHE9aNKDdF61SCfvr8aOpxG3WmJ/s2250/Romance%20Novel%20Small%20Kindle%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NlcD7YSaGHTI0jgKkcU3JMYB3Cqkw40y5Dyi8iHIvHn6g0pa9rqOX16mKY0aSWvSM2Fhd5Fa41uinRG3L7czpz9VJPxCnWouAVIX-FB0bFuQG_5clGqsJ0Jxqz5Ki2G8gO-1VFuS1OQ4YQzBcXK2UwNZHxD7HJHE9aNKDdF61SCfvr8aOpxG3WmJ/s320/Romance%20Novel%20Small%20Kindle%20Cover.jpg" width="201" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-66874224933149786552023-01-21T14:59:00.001-08:002023-01-21T14:59:31.581-08:00A New Kind Of New Year<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I had been giving 2023 a lot of thought even before the new year began. Our world is in so much turmoil and people are so intent on getting what they want, without any regard for human life and the unbelievable consequences their decisions cost, that I was unable to see how any goals I set would help relieve much of the suffering. I am an older woman, who has only managed to make it because I don't believe in debt or credit cards since they can so easily become traps that require doing something unethical or even illegal to get out of. I was raised by parents who grew up during the Great Depression of the 1930's and we were taught not to spend money on anything we didn't need and to save every dime possible for the rainy days that would always come.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">While those principles often seemed harsh, they have been one of the biggest blessings of my life. But they have also been a stumbling block because I never learned how to do special things for myself or purchase the niceties that most everyone else considers necessities, even my own children. I have hated watching them struggle over the years, and have helped whenever I could, but I know that we only learn by paying the debt our actions bring. At least that's the way it's always been for me, and I'm learning as much now as I ever have because I finally understand how much I can benefit from the wisdom of others.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Perhaps that's why I was so deeply touched during a talk given a couple of Sundays ago by a man young enough to be my son. His topic was how to make positive changes in the right way--very applicable for a new year. He began by saying he doesn't believe in setting goals because they never work for long. The enthusiasm of committing to lose weight, exercise more, spend less money or whatever else it might be soon dwindles as life goes back to normal after the holidays end and old patterns seem to come back like warm and comfortable friends. Even if those twenty pounds are lost, the satisfaction is soon gone because it simply means that another goal needs to be set.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">He said he equated a new year with deciding what minor changes could make his overall life better. They didn't have to be anything noteworthy, and preferably not, because that would make them too hard to fit into an already busy life. Perhaps it resonated so completely with me because I have been thinking along similar lines for weeks. I was conditioned from early childhood not to believe I was worth much. It stemmed from my mother blaming me for the accident that nearly cost my younger brother his life and condemned him to a lifetime of disabilities, surgeries and the inability to do most of the things he really wanted. I was five and he was three when my father accidentally ran over him with a tandem disc while getting ready for spring planting on our farm.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Guilt is a horrid taskmaster and I wasn't the only one to suffer. But that experience was soon followed by many others that stripped what was left of my fragile self esteem. After recovering from six months in bed with rheumatic fever at the age of nine, I was molested by my violin teacher. When I approached my mother about it, I was told it never happened because he had been her violin teacher too and had never touched her. Two years later my father died and soon after that I went through two more bouts of Rheumatic Fever. One of them caused significant hair loss which was one of the worst things that could happen to a teenage girl because I became so self-conscious I could hardly look at anyone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I ran away from home during my senior year after my mother came after me with a butcher knife but was lucky enough to get an academic scholarship to college--good for one year and more if I kept my grades up. Unfortunately, I found that boys could like me and I was so desperate for approval I let my grades slip and had to work even more outside jobs to complete my education.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">In other posts I've talked about my marriage and how destructive it was to my soul. I won't rehash those things here, but like everyone else, I am a composite of everything that has happened to me in this life. And I would imagine what I learned in the life before we came here, because I have always believe in God and my Savior and that we have a specific reason for being here during this age of our world. I might not understand how everything is connected, but I do know I can turn to them regardless of what I am going through at any given minute.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">That's why I'm taking a very different approach to what I want to accomplish during 2023. It took several weeks of praying to even know where to start before I was led back to an old therapy I found in a series of books that have helped me find clarity when everything around me was a jumbled up mass of confusion. It's the easiest exercise I've ever encountered, along with being the most beneficial and productive. It can only be done when a person has at least a half hour of silent aloneness when thoughts and feelings can run unobstructed. I begin by writing down the question I wanted answered with my dominant hand on a sheet of clean paper, and then answering with my non-dominant one. It often takes time to decipher what I've written, but is so worth it I try to tell everyone I meet about the process. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I have always believed that we have the answers to our most puzzling difficulties inside, we just don't know how to access them. I also know that there are many different dimensions to me--most of them chi</span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">ldren who just want to be heard. I've accessed my playful child, my soulful child, my frightened child, my spiritual child, my tempestuous child and many others as the need arose. They each have a very specific reason for addressing me; some with censure, some with information and some with nothing but love. This time, I approached them all and waited to see which one was ready to address me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Here's what I said in my request: "I don't know how to move forward from where I am right now--not spiritually, physically, mentally or emotionally. I have no idea about what goals to set or what changes will be the most beneficial. But mostly I don't know how to focus and figure out where to start. What's standing in my way against the changes I need to make and how do I move past it so I can love and nurture myself like I want to do with others?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Then I switched hands with my pencil and allowed the ideas to come. I was quite amazed at the response. I won't duplicate everything I wrote but will share the highlights in bullet points. I'm hoping that what I learned about change will help someone else because it came from a place where I was obviously ready to accept the deepest truths.Yours may be quite different, and much less disjoined, but my personal response seemed to be linked to learning to accept and love myself just as I am.</span></p><p> <span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"> ~ Stop acting like there is something horribly wrong with you </span></p><p><span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"><span> ~ Your challenges are hard and life-altering, but not impossible to overcome</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"> ~ You're different than other women, but that doesn't make you bad</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> ~ You feel for the less fortunate because you are one of them. Embrace that and keep trying to include the misfits that will never become one of the beautiful people because they hurt inside just like you do.</span></span></span></span> Love them like you want to love yourself</span></p><p><span><span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"> ~ Start looking for the things you do well, write them down and find ways to build on your strengths</span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"><span> ~ Forget about all your sister's beauty and how many people love them. God looks on the heart and you want yours pure, not weighted down by how you look. That only breeds discontent and self-absorption</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"> ~ Keep trying to reach out to others. Succor the lonely misfits who, like you, have never felt they belonged</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"><span> ~ Look in the mirror and see with your heart instead of your eyes. Your body will continue to deteriorate, but your heart is just learning how to soar</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: medium;"> ~ Keep working on things you can leave behind to build and bring joy to others</span></span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span>It wasn't exactly what I expected, but it was definitely what I needed to hear. Since then I've been turning off the television after dinner so I can work on other things. I've been riding my </span></span></span></span></span></span>stationary bike for at least 20 minutes while reading an edifying book. Then I work on some stitchery project for an hour or so while listening to some of my favorite music. I had stopped making things by hand because everyone seems to be more impressed by what can be purchased at a store, but </span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">I've already decided what projects I can do for family and friends for birthdays and other holidays</span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The love and time involved never seems to cross their minds, but I no longer care. I'm doing this because it gives me time to really think about the individual I am creating something unique for. I also do fifty reps with five pound weights, read my scriptures, say my nightly prayer and even tried out a face mask I was going to give someone else. They're not huge changes, but they're ones I can live with and hopefully I will see some positive results by tweaking a few points in my nightly routine--like lowering my blood sugar and blood pressure and adding relief when it comes to aching joints and swollen ankles. There really is nothing uplifting about being glued to an entertainment source for four to six hours when there is no positive interaction. The only plus was bodily rest and feeling a little less lonely.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">When I look in the mirror now, I am trying to study my face like God would if he was gazing at me. There would be no more despicable self-talk about being old, fat, wrinkly, ugly or unloveable. Someday I will be at my best again because my spirit body has never aged, and I want my insides to match what can be seen on the outside. I won't say that it's changed my life yet because I've only been viewing myself differently for a week, but my heart does feel lighter. And with that, I know the real changes I need to make will come eventually because I deserve being treated with kindness and love. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I wish all of you an epiphany of your own that will help you see the parts of yourself that could use a little tenderness. The best change comes gradually and is not rushed before its time. I will never be young again, nor will I be as fit and trim as I was when everything was working as it should. I want to be one of those older ladies who radiates beauty because she is kind, thoughtful, forgiving, patient and wise. After all, old age is a blessings if used the right way. It's a time for reviewing a life well spent and preparing for a glorious future. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">If you like to read, you might enjoy my new series about one woman's journey from abuse to truly living and loving again. The last book in the series came out this week. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">THE TRUTH ABOUT STRANGERS in print and eBook formats is on Amazon at </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv</span></a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">As always, those with Kindle Unlimited can read any of my books for free</span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12px;">.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12px;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdSnDr4xBxiJkUSHfxjk7GpIaK2KgLEYlWoAYfkKAdNtRUPnED87g8mvYL2pC7RbYpqjPWUQpSFbqnTUY7ApJOl2GwepkEVVtGAM5kDjiV4KzrpIjDzD6Yhue9jV5IYMVRmlPX-tpRlq1Ib0dDMf9zZxeSUxxwS6SLCwh695Vryyh9luqSz_aJY7V/s2250/JS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdSnDr4xBxiJkUSHfxjk7GpIaK2KgLEYlWoAYfkKAdNtRUPnED87g8mvYL2pC7RbYpqjPWUQpSFbqnTUY7ApJOl2GwepkEVVtGAM5kDjiV4KzrpIjDzD6Yhue9jV5IYMVRmlPX-tpRlq1Ib0dDMf9zZxeSUxxwS6SLCwh695Vryyh9luqSz_aJY7V/s320/JS.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br />We all have so much we can offer others, we just need to be brave enough to do it.<p></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-62885574874071233382022-12-12T08:51:00.000-08:002022-12-12T08:51:04.529-08:00What's on Your Christmas List?<p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I have been awake for the last hour and a half watching the day come alive through my bedroom window. It's peaceful, calm and beautiful outside with the white, pristine snow covering the grass, trees, road, sidewalk and roofs of my neighbor's houses. No one on my street has ventured outdoors yet and I can walk onto my front stoop in my pajamas and breath deeply of the crisp, invigorating air and twirl around with joy without fear of anyone seeing me. I would love to jump into the nearest pile of snow or form an angel with my body like I did as a child. But common sense tells me that a woman my age would not be able to get back on my feet as easily as I did sixty-five years ago.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Still those quiet moments free from all the confusion of the world today give me time to reflect on the pure joy of the Christmas season and the miraculous gift of my Savior, Jesus Christ, who taught his brothers and sisters the way to return home to God and gave his life freely as a ransom for every sin that would ever be committed, regardless of how heinous it might be. As I watch the atrocities being committed throughout our world today and the gross and unjust pain inflicted on the innocent, I have to admit that my finite mind cannot begin to understand the infinite love that allowed him to make such a selfless sacrifice. He knew that the majority of people who arrived on earth would not take his message seriously and would do everything in their power to stop others from using the gifts of faith, obedience, selfless love, overcoming temptations and trials, and going through the steps of true repentance when something was amiss that would enable his glorious gift to work for them.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">But he did it because we needed a Savior--someone truly worthy of that role--for our Heavenly Father's great Plan of Redemption and Happiness to work. Without him, our bodies would simply decay in the ground and our spirits would have no place to go when our hearts quit beating. He won the victory over both physical and spiritual death that would allow us to live on through all eternity, and the only way I can show my gratitude is by trying to live as he taught. It's an overwhelming responsibility because humanness so often keeps me distracted from doing what is most valuable. Even in a very fallen world, there is so much beauty and numerous worthwhile ways to spend my time that it is often difficult to decide between the good, the better and the best.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I love the beautiful Christmas hymns that are sung this time of year in church meetings, by carolers, over the radio or at devotionals or special social gatherings. They reflect what my heart knows is true, and I feel great sorrow when I hear of a church being defiled, Christmas trees not being allowed in public libraries or people being ridicules for believing in the greatest miracle this world has ever known. I know I was watching from my vantage point in the premortal life that night when Mary and Joseph arrived at the inn and found no place for them to stay. And even though I was not given an even relatively pleasant singing voice, I know I was part of that heavenly choir praising God and proclaiming our Savior's birth because I knew my journey to earth would come. And when it did I would need the gift he freely gave as he prayed so fervently in the Garden of Gethsemane that blood seeped from every pour. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">While Christ's birth and resurrection are indelibly linked, I love the time spent thinking about him as a newborn baby laying in the arms of his earthly parents. How overwhelmed and excited they must have been not fully understanding the critical role they would play, but trusting that God would help them and he did. My Christmas list this year is short, and there is nothing of a material nature on it. I simply want to share the light I have inside with others who appear to be stumbling around in the dark because they don't know where to find what they most need. I'll do that by baking goodies to take to my neighbors, sending off Christmas cards and texts, listening the the beautiful music of the season, wrapping meaningful gifts for family and close friends and offering service wherever I can. </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I've always had what I needed most, regardless of my financial situation. It's the gift of knowing about and loving my Savior that was instilled by imperfect parents when I was a child. We never had much in the way of material possessions but there was always food on our table and a roof over our heads. And the small gifts we got were treasured. I still have my lady doll and the head of my baby doll that I finally put on a body I made myself, and the books I loved back them are still on my shelves. I tried to create the same atmosphere when my children were young. They didn't get a whole lot of expensive gifts either, but they could recite the story of the Savior's birth by heart.</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Perhaps my most memorable Christmas was when my son was three. We were at his grandparents and there had been a gift exchange. All the little boy cousins his age got matchbook cars but his grandmother gave him crocheted chicken she had purchased at a church bazaar that pooped jelly beans. I watched as the excitement in his eyes went out as he unwrapped his gift. But instead of throwing a fit like others of his cousins had done because they didn't get what someone else did, he put his little arms around his grandmother's neck and told he loved his gift. I still get teary-eyed just thinking about that because he is that same wonderful, compassionate and loving man today. What greater gift could I be given as a mother?</span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Since the sun is now coming up and my mind is drifting to the activities of the day, I want to end by sharing three poems. The first is my reflections on my Savior, the second a letter my grandfather once sent when I was alone at Christmas, and the third about Christmas at my house when I was a child. I hope each of you reading this will think about the true meaning of the season and feel the peace and joy our Savior wants us to experience the year round as we remember who we are and from where all our blessings come. </span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My Savior</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In this world of modern marvels,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">one seldom takes time to think<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">of the creator of both heaven and earth,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Jesus Christ, the Savior of all mankind.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But who is this man?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A babe,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">born in a stable in the village of Bethlehem. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A boy,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">reared as a carpenter in Nazareth. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A citizen,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">of a conquered and subdued nation. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A man,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">whose mortal footsteps never went beyond a 150 mile radius. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A scholar,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">who never received a school degree. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A preacher,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">who never spoke from a great pulpit.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A citizen,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">who never owned a home.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A traveler,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">who moved about on foot, without money. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He is Jesus Christ,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">author of our salvation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">His life, brought light and understanding<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">of things eternal and divine. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">His teachings, influenced the behavior <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">of unaccounted millions.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">His matchless example became the greatest power <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">for goodness and peace in all the world. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;">Grandpa's Christmas Letter</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">I am not yearning for a white Christmas<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">as well you may have guessed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">The white stuff that so delights you<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">can stay in the mountains in drifts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Christmas, as other holiday, is just another day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">My parents who were not into gift exchange,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">but gave more to the needy than anyone else in the valley,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">being liberal with us when they sensed the need.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">I understand their viewpoint now that I am older.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Too much money is wasted on throwaway gift giving.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">So, granddaughter dear, do not send me things<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">I do not need or have any particular desire for.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">The things people need more of <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">in this country of ours are<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">worthy compliments,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">appreciation, and just plain love.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Childhood Christmas</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When I was a child, Christmas meant anticipation,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">taking our pennies and dimes <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">to Kresses or Woolworths<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">to buy simple, well thought-out presents.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We were poor, and the six of us children shared <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">one basement bedroom and a couple of cots in the hall.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We didn’t know just how poor we really were until we <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">went to church or school and saw what others wore.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We’d read the story of our Savior’s birth<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">from the book of Luke on Christmas Eve,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">then open one specific present,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">homemade flannel pajamas from our parents.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We would hurry off to bed as soon as we were wearing them,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">all thoughts of sleep gone </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">until we knew Santa had been there.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">That meant creeping up the stairs as many times as we dared<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">tiptoeing on the edges so they wouldn’t crackle or creak.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But we never saw if the jolly old elf had arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">An old Army blanket, suspended in the l</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">iving room doorway </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">was too formidable an object</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">to either push aside or crawl under</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">when we knew what would happen if our parents found out. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">At five in the morning, Daddy hurried out to the barn,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Mom called Grandma and Uncle Douglas, saying it was time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We would warm</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">ourselves by the old coal stove trying</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">to keep </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">our excitement down so we wouldn’t explode.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The morning would still be dark when the magical barrier</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">came down and </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">we kids rushed to find our pile of presents.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There was never much to look at, for money was not,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">a doll, a book, plastic animals for the boys.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A new pair of shoes and a homemade dress or shirt, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">an orange, peanuts and hard candy for our stockings.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">They were simple holidays, but happy ones.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Dad played with us and Mom fixed the traditional meal.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">After Daddy died, leaving seven little children alone,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">the real joy of the Christmas season was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We still got gifts and kept the blanket in front of the door,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">and Grandma and Uncle Douglas came to spend the day.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But Daddy wasn’t there to make the holiday special, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">to play with us or to hold us tight in his protective arms.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The hole in our family was so immense we went through<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">motions but were never really happy and smiling again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">That was also the time when the real meaning of Christmas <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">made more sense for death is part of life just as birth is.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Christ walked the earth, by example showing the way,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">atoning for sins, dying so we can be a complete family again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I have seen many Christmas’ since I was a child but <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">none have been more meaningful than those of early days,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">except for the Christmas’ I shared with my own children<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">when they were young and starry-eyed and still believed.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I played the magical elf, and my son and daughter <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">climbed the stairs to see if Santa had been there.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There were more gifts purchased from stores </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">but homemade ones</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">still played a significant part along with a festive meal.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">They were glorious times, but life moves on, children grow, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">have children of their own, and our part in the celebration changes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But the meaning for the day is always clear, and the gift Christ gave</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">can only be repaid by faithful, humble and</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> complete devotion.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-1774350430425337222022-11-19T16:07:00.000-08:002022-11-19T16:07:16.947-08:00A different Kind of Gratitude<p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">No real excuses for almost two months absence from this site, except for situational depression and anxiety over mid-term elections that haven't been completely decided yet. It was certainly a worry for many American Christians, along with members of other denominations, who hold religious views sacred and want desperately to protect their family values. There were also well-founded concerns for those who believe our country--that was once a beacon of hope to every struggling nation--is in the biggest trouble ever since its conception. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">The founders fathers did everything they could to ensure equality and protect the lives of legal immigrants who came here for freedom to pursue their individual dreams of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness without the threat of government overreach and infringment on their God-given rights. While portions of their own lives may come into question, what they created was a God-inspired masterpiece that countless nations have tried to replicate without success because faith in something greater than what could be seen with mortal eyes was left out. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">While I am not naive enough to believe our country came to the awful state it's in during the last two years alone, the personal climate has certainly turned from one of building mutual respect and prosperity to one of hatred, division, pointing fingers, unlawful accusations and dependence on enemy nations for survival. The southern border has been opened to the cartels so they can traffic in drugs, weapons and humans with little fear of retribution. Single men from the age of 18 to 30 are coming in masses from places like Venezuela where prison populations have been freed, from Mexico and Central and South Africa to join MS-3 or any of the other Latino gangs that wreck havoc in many of the larger cities, and from middle Eastern countries to help strengthen terrorist cells that are already operating here.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">That has been enough to keep me awake at night, but the media never talks about any of that or the devastating amount of fentanyl coming into our country that has already killed more people than Covid and is being made enticing to children because it looks like candy. Nor do they acknowledge the plight of the people in Texas and Arizona who are having their crops, their homes and their way of life destroyed by people whose only desire is to escape capture and have no intention of becoming legal citizens who work, pay taxes and become contributing members of their communities. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Not that my heart doesn't ache for the families and abandoned children who are coming here in hopes of escaping dreadful situations. Human suffering should not be tolerated, but they are a very small minority of the invasion coming across the Southern border now and humanitarian efforts, along with massive government assistance programs, cannot take care of the needs of millions of people if there is no order in the process. Our country is already overwhelmed by homelessness, drug addiction, violence and crime, social unrest and a recession that is causing people who have worked hard their entire lives just to scrape by to have to decide whether to buy food or prescribed medication. It's gotten so bad that many honest, tax-paying citizens are afraid of losing their livelihoods altogether or having them reduced to a point where survival is no longer possible. They even fear their homes being seized and given to someone the governing body deems more important.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">It shouldn't be that way for people who were born here, who honor their country and stand for the flag, and who have done nothing but work hard, pay their bills and try to be compassionate and give something back. But now that the Covid crisis is over there are too many people who refuse to go back to work or comply with their employer's requests. Businesses have been forced to close at an alarming rate while theft, vandalism and unprovoked attacks on those unable to defend themselves is skyrocketing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I am literally horrified by the trend of intentionally indoctrinating small children into sexual practices they are too young to understand and allowing persons of the opposite sex in school bathrooms just because they identify as a different gender without having to prove it. But the person who no longer feels safe while undressing is punished for stating any objection. It's the same with Critical Race Theory that teaches white kids to be ashamed of who they are, and the cancel culture mentality that is rewriting what was being taught in history classes and removing long-revered artifacts of our founding fathers and other influential Americans just because nor one dares stop them. The idea of canceling people has become so engrained in the social media platform that suicide deaths among the youth has become an epidemic few people want to discuss.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I could go on for pages about how I feel regarding the absurdity of the unrealistic push to go green when we're not ready and the fact that it's failed in every industrialized nation that has tried it. There's also the need be energy independent as a country because we have unlimited oil and other resources of our own, and the dire necessity to reduce our national debt because it just doesn't make sense to have China own us when they're a communist nation and our greatest world enemy. The problems with voting, hypocrisy among the different government entities, wasteful spending of tax-payer dollars and the fact that we're already in a recession that could easily go on indefinitely, or turn into something worse, are as baffling as the people who want to make our free nation a socialist country and are very outspoken about it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">The very fact that the founding fathers wrote a constitution and added a Bill of Rights that limited the federal government to specific duties, disapproved of a party system because it could be too easily manipulated by people who used emotions over logic, and left most of the matters directly related to specific populations to the states who knew their needs better, should be food for a great deal of thought. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I add that to the the mind-boggling belief that it's okay to castrate our children and kill our babies up to the day they're born--with legislation now being passed that makes it unlawful for doctors to save the lives of those who happen to survive a most gruesome abortion-- because a woman has the right to do what she wants with her body. Even the definition of what constitutes being a woman is being hotly debated, as are pronouns for newly invented genders. I can only say I'm glad not to be part of the public education community any longer because I wouldn't last more than a day in a classroom where using the right pronouns for newly invented genders is more important than actually teaching marketable and life-enriching skills. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">But my rantings and observations are not the main reason for this blog. I feel a very different kind of gratitude this Thanksgiving because after looking at a map of the United States once the majority of the votes for this election were tabulated almost all I could see was red. It filled my heart with joy and hope because I felt I was no longer alone in my sorrow over what is happening to the country I love. No one's rights are any greater than anyone else's, and the people who were afraid to speak out in defense of their beliefs for fear of ridicule or outright violence against them, their homes and property or someone they love, have revealed their heart's wishes through voting. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Perhaps my logic is too sentimental and a little lopsided because there are wonderful, moderate-minded people on both sides of the political fence. But mainline media--who is both financially and content-controlled by the liberal left--has a habit of distorting the truth so no one ever knows what is really going on. Still, tears came to my eyes when I saw a bust of Abraham Lincoln being returned to its rightful place in one of our country's top university libraries and read where the pro-life movement felt encouraged because they now knew how to use their far more limited resources in getting people to see the value of an unborn child's life. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">I know there will be many dark days ahead when I feel discouraged and want to stay locked inside my home because it's one of the few places where I feel completely safe, but my heart feels so much lighter just knowing I do not stand alone in my moral convictions. There are thousands of like-minded people in every state in the union who have not bought into what is being preached by people with agendas that make the angels in heaven weep. We are all God's children and he doesn't play favorites, but the day of reckoning will come for each of us where we will be judged according to the lives we've lived and the desires of our hearts. I want to be standing firmly on his side when my Savior comes to reign forever. What a glorious day that will be, but I have to make it through all the trials first.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Hind Madurai; font-size: medium;">Have a beautiful Thanksgiving with your families and loved ones and take peace in the knowledge that God will prevail and everything is going according to his plan.</span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-70617340020016696402022-10-02T12:55:00.001-07:002022-10-02T12:55:31.649-07:00Overcoming Abuse<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">There is a great deal I could say on this subject since I've spent the majority of my life suffering under the hands of people much stronger, and better able to vocally express themselves, than I will ever be. My years of tears, torment, self-doubt, apology, and never feeling good enough have stripped me of most everything. But through all the unrelenting difficulties, God has been by my side lifting and encouraging me not to give up because his ways are not my ways and what will never be understood in this life will be compensated for in the next.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I believe I have mentioned in past posts my mother blaming me for the farming accident, that instead of taking my younger brother's life, committed him to an existence of mental and physical disability. She also never believed me when I told her that my violin teacher was molesting me and even came after me with a butcher knife because I wouldn't condone a relationship she was having. The trauma I experienced under her hands is better understood now, and I hope complete healing occurs when I get to the other side. But her attitude and behaviors towards me led me to marry a man who also needed to be in control. He blamed me for everything that went wrong in our marriage, including the inability my body had in carrying an already conceived child. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I have spent years trying to come to terms with the divorce I had to pursue to save my life and the trials that came as a result. It was very easy to blame myself for not being stronger, but I believe now that my strength lay in getting away. The months I've been silent in my blogging were spent writing a trilogy about abuse and how one woman survived its unknown consequences and blessings. Much of what she suffered came from my own marital experience, but I have tried to make the story universal in its appeal since all abuse comes from a place of anger and need to control. I was lucky in many respects but still have trouble trusting. That's probably why I've remained single for the past twenty-five years, but the past few months have seen a release of some of the pain. I find myself wanting to be held, loved and cherished by a man I can love with my whole heart and who does not bring so much fear. I believe healing is possible for anyone, but it doesn't come without work and a willingness to let go. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I'm including a brief summary of the first book, and directions for obtaining it, in case anyone reading this post knows someone who might benefit from a fictional story based on fact. Book two is also available in print, e-Book and Kindle Unlimited formats. And the last in the series should be out before the end of the year. My characters have yet to tell me how they want it to end. Please know that my thoughts and prayers are with everyone who suffers the affects of abuse. It is never deserved.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Kalam; font-size: medium;">When the abuse in her marriage nearly costs Everly Todd Holt her life, she makes a bold and drastic move. But she is unprepared for all the loss. On her own after twenty-two years, with even her children turned against her, she sets off to find the biological family she has never known. There are only two memories to guide her—the name of a town in England where her father was supposedly born and a never-seen image of a family crest with three animals on it. With nothing left to keep her grounded, Everly sets off on a voyage that has every chance of turning out as badly as her loveless and destructive marriage. Will strangers help her find her way, or will they only add to her heartache? It’s a risky journey, but she has nothing left to lose.</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">
</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">All books available in both print and eBook formats at <a href="https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); color: blue; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv</span></a></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKxqlJgkwT__VxbOHX0lpv7WOP0XXfhjiAXaHaVWpM7Icf5DV3fd8XO8wE5QS1S9pvjlTSPzGbGud8-6upSUgFtVNXQNZqaQHnIMACMSAFPDu_CkyGgHybmNAaUABdJHMUYGb85liyH6JdUr1_q5xO16QXs9SosD7gcpM7egaUS8nqeevzM82saNu/s2250/Romance%20Novel%20Small%20Kindle%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKxqlJgkwT__VxbOHX0lpv7WOP0XXfhjiAXaHaVWpM7Icf5DV3fd8XO8wE5QS1S9pvjlTSPzGbGud8-6upSUgFtVNXQNZqaQHnIMACMSAFPDu_CkyGgHybmNAaUABdJHMUYGb85liyH6JdUr1_q5xO16QXs9SosD7gcpM7egaUS8nqeevzM82saNu/s320/Romance%20Novel%20Small%20Kindle%20Cover.jpg" width="201" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /> </span><p></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-12134432091725000882022-10-02T12:16:00.000-07:002022-10-02T12:16:37.238-07:00Let God Prevail<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Like many of you, my heart and soul have been deeply troubled these past months by all the turmoil, distress, unrest, division and animosity that has plagued the world and much of our country for nearly two years now. l have cried into my pillow at night for the lost hopes and dreams of people everywhere as their voices are silenced and evil is promoted as being good, justifiable and the voice of the people instead of the wants of a few who have certain political agendas in mind. I have found myself longing for the simpler days of my youth. While they were not without struggles, the world was not in such complete commotion as it is today, and I've struggled to find my equilibrium in times that test my patience and understanding but not my beliefs</span>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I know that God lives. That his son, our Savior, Jesus Christ, rules and reigns with the complete devotion, gentle caring and eternal truths that will not change. While the world around us may be in complete chaos, the work preceding Christ's return to this earth is proceeding as it should. I believe the main reason for my own tired soul and weary body has been my forgetting my place in God's eternal plan. I am not in charge. I am merely one of his children who has been blessed to come to earth in a day when my inner peace and brightness of hope can bless the lives of others who are struggling with things I might never truly understand.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My sister and I just got back from a trip to Branson, Missouri. We try to go there twice each year to reconnect with friends and enjoy time together. We love being in a place where God, country and family are honored and everyone recognizes the bravery and sacrifice of our veterans who have put their lives on the line to protect the freedoms so many today seem almost eager to give away. I love knowing I can walk down the streets in safety and express my innermost feelings without fear of being mocked, targeted or even punished for having them. It is a place where everyone is equal and no judgments are made</span>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">While Christian beliefs may vary when it comes to certain doctrine, I always feel among friends. We attended a worship service on Sunday morning, not knowing beforehand that it was being conducted in Spanish. Neither of us understood a word, but following along in the hymnal I felt as if my poor attempt at singing the words was acceptable to my Savior as my voice tried to blend in songs of praise and devotion. The people were welcoming, kind and appreciative of us being willing to spend time worshipping with them. I came away feeling an even greater gratitude for the universal message of our Savior.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Since then, I have been trying to find the peace that seemed to be missing from my life for much too long. I have taken more time to enjoy quiet moments in nature, additional time on my knees not just asking for blessings and giving thanks but listening for whatever counsel might be placed in my heart and contemplating what in my own life needs to change so I will feel less stressed. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've come to the conclusion that being too tuned in to what is happening in the nation and world isn't really in my best interest. In most every way I can think of, I am as prepared for the future as I can possibly be. But I can't do anything about what other people think or how they act. I can only control my own little spot in the universe. I can decide which music I listen to, which programs or movies I watch, which books I read, the kind of nourishment I take into my body, and even</span> <span style="font-size: medium;">how much exercise I will force myself into doing each day. I will quit beating myself up because I don't have the energy I used to and my entire body aches most of the time. I will pace myself better when doing strenuous tasks so I don't have to spend two or three days in recovery after a mad day of digging, weeding, pruning and cleaning things up outside. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I</span> <span style="font-family: verdana;">will set aside more time for family and friends and doing something I enjoy. I will quit judging myself by what I see others my age capable of doing. I will search for whatever talents I might possess that may bring a moment of peace, understanding or love to someone else. I will pray more fervently, study the scriptures with a more clear purpose and render service wherever I can. But most importantly, I will LET GOD PREVAIL. He knows exactly what he's doing. And if I'm too afraid to trust him, he will find someone else who might be even better than I am in fulfilling my reason for being here. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is a challenging time, but it is also a glorious time to be alive. Anyone familiar with the scriptures knows that prophesy is being fulfilled at an exponentially expanding rate and Satan is rejoicing in the actions of the rich and powerful and those who care nothing about anyone but themselves. If I want to make it and not be deceived, I must remain strong in my convictions and ready to bend my will to that of my eternal Father. I want to be with him again. I want to be like the servant in the scriptures who was called good and faithful and invited into his rest.</span> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Whether I'm looking into a clear blue sky, the clouds of stormy weather or the stars at night, I know my Savior and my Heavenly Father are watching over me. They know my sorrows, my pain, my concerns, my weaknesses, my strengths and my often misguided thoughts and actions. But they are always there to help if I but turn to them. With that in mind, I know I can make it. And I know you can make it too. </span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-59471542042160736262022-06-13T15:51:00.000-07:002022-06-13T15:51:09.418-07:00Father's Day<p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I've been thinking a great deal about fathers the last few weeks. Not just the father I have missed for more than sixty years but all the fathers throughout the generations that were responsible for giving me life and a great many inherited traits - both good and bad. For some reason I have been drawn to Family Search, one of the largest genealogical databases in the world, with quiet regularity and have found the information available literally addicting and riveting with family trees, stories, picture and detailed data about how I am related to everyone who appears in anywhere in my family tree. </span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Some of those lines can be traced back to the 400s, and I literally marvel at how records can be found that go back that far. I've even met people who can trace their ancestry back before Christ's birth. I love looking at names, many of which I have no idea how to pronounce, and thinking about the struggles those wonderful people must have had just to survive the difficulties of their days. Most of them were completely illiterate and would have to pay someone to write down any information they didn't want lost. However, many of those scribes were basically illiterate as well and names were spelled the way they sounded. That's why there are so many discrepancies in older records that must be triple-checked for accuracy. </span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">My mind cannot even comprehend what must be done to find and verify family members. If a job has more than three or four steps I forget what I'm doing and trying to figure out relationships when it comes to anything more than the obvious is almost impossible for me. I was lucky to pass the Praxis test so I could get into graduate school because it asked every question this way. If this is related to this then how is something else related to something else. It made absolutely no sense to me and still doesn't. I guess my brain just wasn't wired for that kind of logic. But oh how I love tracing family lines from one generation to another. It helps me see just how inconsequential my life is in the great scheme of themes but how very important it is to me.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">My paternal grandfather died from lead poisoning when my father was barely a year old. In those days there were no painkillers and he sought relief in the only place he could, alcohol. My grandmother never had much in the way of kindness to say about him, although he gave her four children. That always bothered me because I felt a real closeness to my grandfather the moment I first saw his picture. I suppose part of that had to do with the fact that I looked great deal like both him and my father. I just wish I could find a living relative who knew that side of my family. What a joy it would be to learn everything I could from him or her, but there were too many early deaths and small families. I'm hoping I will get to meet all of them when I get to the other side.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">But for now, I want to concentrate on my own father, just as I hope everyone else will do come Father's Day 2022. I really don't remember much about him. I was thirteen when he died. That should have been old enough to recall a great many things but the trauma I suffered when I was five by having my mother tell me I was responsible for the farm accident that nearly cost my little brother his life caused a sort of amnesia when it comes to anything other than a few highlights throughout my entire life. I suppose it's been a safeguard to keep me from having a complete mental breakdown, but it's also hard not being able to recall events my children or siblings remember with great clarity. </span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I often wish I had been able to talk to my father about that life-altering day. He must have gone through even more agony than I did because he was driving the tractor when the blades of the tandem disk ran over my little brother's body. He didn't see the little three year-old coming and the noise from the old tractor was deafening. When he turned around, thinking he had run over a rock, seeing Sandon laying there under such monstrous blades must have broken his heart. With superhuman strength, he lifted the disc with one hand and pulled my little brother out with the other. He raced towards the house saying Sandon was dead but also calling for the keys to the jeep. That's when mother turned to me and said. "If you had been watching him the way I told you to this never would have happened." Oh, how careless words can hurt and destroy.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">But the accident couldn't be reversed and we had to get on as best we could. All I really remember about my father was him being a six foot, four-inch gangly cowboy who loved to ride horses and bulls in rodeos, play the part of a clown or announce events from high up in the stands. He worked incredibly hard to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table and just wanted to work the ground and raise a herd of beautiful red Hereford cattle. But he had to leave part of that dream behind so he could manage the garden department of The Mart in a nearby town because he had seven children and Sandon's doctor bills continued to come as new operations were necessary to keep him alive.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">My father's voice was deep and melodious but we knew better than to get in trouble with our mother because he always supported her and he wasn't afraid to use his thick, leather belt on our soft behinds. It was called discipline, not abuse, in those days and I can't help but feel the children of today would be more responsible, better-mannered and not so me-oriented if they knew where a few boundaries lay. </span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Three main events stick out in my mind from those brief years and they all happened not long before his death. He thought I should know how to drive a car so he put me behind the wheel of one Sunday afternoon when we went to get my older sister from a friend's house. I was terrified and immediately drove off the road. He wasn't any happier about that than he had been when I was nine and ten years old and driving the tractor to help him feed cattle each morning before dawn and I tipped the wagon into the ditch. I must have been a very slow learner in some areas. The next was him building an addition onto our home so six children would not have to sleep in one bedroom and a short hallway in the basement without any windows. He did all the work himself, with us kids helping as best we could. It was finished less than a year before his death.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The last was the day he died. He had come home from work early claiming he wasn't feeling well. When the bus arrived from school and I learned he was there, I had an awful feeling inside because he was never sick. My mother took my older sister to town to get something she hoped would help settle his stomach and I was left in charge of my five younger siblings. It was Friday night and daddy loved the cowboy show, Rawhide. I tried to get him to come out of his bedroom to watch it with us but he said he didn't feel up to it. I kept running down the hall to check on him every few minutes. Then about five-thirty I heard a crash. I raced to the back of the house to find him out of bed and in the bathroom. I tried to push the door open to get to him but his body was blocking it.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I suppose you can easily guess the rest. He'd had a massive heart attack and was gone. When my mother got home she sent all of us kids to the neighbor's house. I'll never forget walking down that country rode with my baby sister in my arms, crying and pleading with Heavenly Father to let my father be okay. No one was home, but we knew better than to disobey our mother so we stayed where we were until our grandmother and uncle came to get us a couple of hours later. My father's body had already been taken to the mortuary and my life was never the same after that.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I have missed him dreadfully over the years but have known moments when I knew he was there protecting and guiding me. Those are precious, spiritual experiencs that have only been shared with a few people but they helped me to see just how close those who have gone before really are to the ones who have been left behind. Still I can't help wondering why he had to be taken when seven little chicken needed him so much. That's when I remember the old saying that goes something like God didn't promise life would be easy, only that I would be worth it one day.</span></p><p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I'm not the best poet, but I wanted to share one I wrote about my father. I'm hoping my feeble attempt will encourage others to write down a few thoughts of their own. Posterity relies on the written or recorded word and any efforts will be greatly appreciated by those who come after we are gone. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Daddy,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know that perfect spring morn when the flowers</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">first started to bloom, that you would be leaving</span><span style="font-family: "Josefin Sans"; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Josefin Sans"; font-size: large;">your family </span><span style="font-family: "Josefin Sans"; font-size: large;">to return to your heavenly home?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know that the loss, abandonment and grief</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">your little ones felt would bring sorrow </span><span style="font-family: "Josefin Sans"; font-size: large;">and tears </span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Josefin Sans"; font-size: large;">and lifetimes of questions, regrets and feeling alone?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know that the wife you had loved above all</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">would lose her way, struggle with fear, temptation, grief, and</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">the harsh responsibility of doing a job meant for two? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know your sons and daughters would become</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">divided, holding all pain inside, trusting no one,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">no longer even remembering having you in our lives?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know that the emptiness we felt </span><span style="font-family: "Josefin Sans"; font-size: large;">would keep </span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Josefin Sans"; font-size: large;">some of us from ever knowing love, acceptance, fulfillment,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">true intimacy with others, especially with our spouse?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know that far too many of us would fight</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">to stop the abuse in our own homes, the kind of abuse</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">that became so commonplace once you were gone?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know that after a near lifetime of living most of us </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">would still not understand why we had to be left alone</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">when other fathers got to watch their children grow up?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Did you know that all of us would want to be with you again,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">to see your smile, to hold your hand, to let you know that</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">we had done our best through some very difficult times?</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">I doubt any of those thoughts crossed your mind that day,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">but they must have later on as we navigated through our own trials.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: medium;">Perhaps strength, acceptance and compassion could be learned no other way.</span></p><p><br /></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-80847157165796452322022-05-08T13:39:00.001-07:002022-05-08T13:39:53.384-07:00Mother's Day<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I skipped over Easter for some reason this year--that defining day in the life of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, when he atoned for our sins and rose from the dead so that we might have eternal life and earn the privileged of returning to his presence one day. I love him with all my heart and am so thankful for the gift he gave to all mankind regardless of their life circumstances or what they choose to do. His supreme gift is one that should never be forgotten. But in a way I feel even closer to him than I did in April on this particular Mother's Day. Perhaps that's because I've read a little more about his mother, Mary, the past few Weeks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">What an extraordinary, spiritual and amazing woman she was to have been chosen to be his earthly mother. We don't know much about her from the scriptures but she had to have known how remarkable he would be from from the very beginning and what an incredible responsibility she had to help prepare him for such a divine and important mission. Tears fill my eye just as they do when I think of our mother, Eve, and the choice she made between staying in the Garden of Eden where life would remain perfect and bringing life and death into the world so all of God's children would have the chance to come here.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">It breaks my heart to see all the people protesting Mother's Day in front of churches in our country on this special day. I never thought I would live to see such selfish, blatant and hateful disregard for the sanctity of life and religious freedom. Each person on earth has a mother who was willing to go through the perils of carrying a child, not knowing how he or she would turn out, but hopeful each one would bring love, acceptance and joy into the lives of so many others. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">And regardless of what some would-be comics on television say to get a laugh, not one woman I have ever known has not mourned for a child lost through miscarriage. These little ones were loved, wanted and cherished from the moment of conception and the hurt never goes away. I know this from losing every baby I ever tried to carry. Motherhood is the supreme gift of being a woman and our bodies were specifically designed for such a glorious challenge.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Mine was not a happy, peaceful home growing up. There was little laughter, nurturing or guidance, and I've had a hard time over the years trying to understand why I never felt like my own mother loved me. I know it began when I was five and she blamed me for the farm accident that nearly cost my three-year old brother his life. Her very words were. "If you had been watching him the way I told you to this never would have happened." He was in a coma for six weeks and when he came out of it the right side of his body was paralyzed. He demanded constant attention and care as he struggled to survive and began learning how to do even the most basic things again. I became his guardian and would sleep on the floor by the side of his crib. Needless to say, our home was never the same again. The constant stress and tension could be felt by every one of us.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">When I was nine, I was confined to bed for six months with Rheumatic Fever. My mother had joined the work force to help pay all the medical bills and I was left on my own on a chair and footstool combination during the long hours of the day with only my father to check on me at irregular times when he came in from the fields. I was only allowed to stand up when I needed to go to the bathroom or went to my weekly doctor's appointments. At ten, I had sufficiently recovered and was given violin lessons, even though I knew we couldn't afford them. I wanted to play the piano, but that wasn't the worst thing about that experience. My teacher, an old man with white, pulp hands, began to molest me. I was too young to understand what was going on but the horror I felt grew to the point that I was pulling out all my eyebrows and eyelashes. When I told my mother, she said he had never touched her so he couldn't be doing anything to me. Things were very different then.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">After my father died when I was thirteen, leaving seven children ages fifteen to one, my mother had a mental breakdown but never missed a day of work. Our home life was horrible and she began to do some very uncharacteristic things that impacted a few of us siblings so much that we have never recovered from them. At one point she came after me with a butcher knife because I wouldn't go along with something she was doing that I knew was wrong. I ended up running away from home a few months later never to return. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I saw her occasionally after that, but it cost lots of money to make long distance phone calls in those days and traveling more than a few miles from home was seldom done for the same reason. She would remember</span> <span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Christmas and birthdays but I could never talk to her about anything that was important, especially the decision to marry a man I somehow knew would not be good for me. I think one of the reasons I married him was simply because he didn't like her because of the way she treated me. When I finally left him after 22 years of similar emotional abuse all she said was. "Maybe you should reconsider. You're not attractive to find anyone else."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">And when she got cancer and had only few months to live, I was told I could only see her for twenty to thirty minutes once a week. My job was to type up all my grandmother's short stories and readings and put them into binders so all my siblings could have one. I didn't even get to tell her goodbye the day she died, even though I was at her house when it happened. It was a rather bitter pill to take.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I don't write these things for any other reason than to let you know that even though life with my mother was not at all I wished it could have been, she was trying to do her best in some very trying circumstances that were too painful for her to even talk about. I guess I better understand now because of all the mistakes I've made with my own children. Not that I didn't love and nature them with every fiber of being. If anything, I was too protective because I had to work so hard to have them in my life and knew that one day they would each find their biologicals mothers and I would have to decide how I was going to react to that. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">That's happened now, and it's been hard. But I have come to realize that every child needs many good women for support throughout their lives. Perhaps that's why teaching has always been such a passion for me. I've always felt like my students were part of my family and treated them as such, even when they least deserved it. My grandmother--who died when I was nineteen--an older neighbor and several teachers who took me under their wings provided that stability, hope and encouragement for me. I would never have survived without them.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So on this special day I really am thankful that my mother did not decide to get rid of me because I was an inconvenience or she may not have wanted me as much as she could have. Life has not been easy but the opportunities for refinement and growth have taught me more than I thought possible. I just hope we'll have time to really talk when I get to heaven. I think we'll both be in a better, more understanding, place then. Without mothers mankind would be lost. They bring life, purpose and hope into the world. May God bless each one of them with added wisdom, understanding, patience and love.</span></p><p> </p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-74755215066345241372022-04-10T12:44:00.000-07:002022-04-10T12:44:17.741-07:00<p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Last month I was asked by a dear friend, Andre Gensberger, who is both owner and publisher of Books 'N Pieces online magazine to write an article for his April issue titled: <i>Why the World Needs Clean Fiction and Characters With Value.</i> At first I thought he was baiting me because that's not a popular type of book being written today, so I asked if I could think about it overnight. But when I said my prayer, I knew this was an opportunity to address why I write books that are suitable for the entire family. I feel like God has given me a gift that can be used to bless the lives of others by expressing my love an devotion to Him and His Son, Jesus Christ. It is a sacred responsibility I take seriously, even though I know few people will read what I've written. I decided to share it with you since I sense that many of you feel the same way I do about the eroding moral fabric in society today. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;">Those of us who <span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);">believe</span> need to stay true to our convictions and not allow the woke agenda's being promoted today to take away the peace and safety we feel when we are free to express our religious beliefs. If you would like to read the many other good articles and short stories in his magazine you can access it at <i>www.BooksNPieces.com</i>. Here's what I wrote in answer to his most thought provoking questions.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Why the World Needs Clean Fiction and Characters with Values</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;">I see the need with most of the books my 13 year-old granddaughter reads because her obsession with the macabre, violent and unreal frightens me. Fortunately, she's not into the really graphic sexual stuff yet, but I see the handwriting on the wall. No one wants to write about normal people with regular problems anymore because it's much too tame and doesn't appeal to the masses who have been conditioned to accept things as being routine that caused people to gasp even a generation ago. I feel a great need and responsibility to help fill the gap between people who have decided that God no longer exists, and ones who still believe in him, with stories that cause people to get in touch with their inner selves and hopefully find the strength to fight their own problems without giving in to all the negative influences that are so prevalent in our me-centered society. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Brylee Hawkin's Virtue</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Brylee is a character of the twenty-first century. She knows what it's like to feel rejection, regret, betrayal, anger and loneliness. Watching her grow from a frightened young woman with no real sense of self into a confident adult who can run a ranch and give emotional support to a family she doesn't know helped me to identify my own strengths. She has no answers when she arrives in Australia to face her estranged father, but she has the faith necessary to keep moving forward when her beliefs threaten to destroy everything she is trying to build--even a new romance. She learns how to fight through the hardships and pain without turning her back on God, like most everyone else in her family has done, because she understands that without her faith she has nothing left to cling to. Her journey parallels that of most anyone who has ever lived, not in exact experiences, but in the throbbing disappointment, excruciating heartache and loss of dreams that few mortals escape. Brylee's story is not for readers who prefer fantasy to reality, but it is for those who want a thought-provoking and exciting read that is full of twists and turns they will not see coming.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">An Author's Values</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;">I am in the minority and can only speak to the values I've set for myself, and they are ones I cannot violate even though I know I would garner far more success if I did. I was raised in a very strict home where our mouths were washed out with soap if we said even the mildest swear word and our behinds felt the pain coming from a razor strap if we back-talked to our mother or stepped out of line in any other way. I'm not saying that's any way to raise kids, but we knew what it was like to respect God, country and adults--something that is sorely lacking in today's permissive and self-indulgent society. I also grew up reading books where the authors could tell a riveting story without lacing it with profanity, violence, drug and alcohol abuse, explicit sex and many other things I feel are unnecessary but still show up on nearly every page in the books that are coming off the press today. I feel accountable for every word I write because it defines who I am as a person. I'm proud of being a Christian in a very unChristian world. I want people to know I believe in God and in my Savior who died for each of us since I know I will have to account to them one day. That stance offends a lot of people who can say some very unkind things, but I try to let their comments roll off my back because we have the right of choice and should never condemn someone else for their personal beliefs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Creating Women of Substance </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;">In the past seven years, I have published sixteen books--two series and four standalones. Each lead comes from a place of true individuality underscoring diverse problems that could happen to most anyone. I write in first person because it feels more authentic to me, and I cast women as my lead characters because I really have no idea how men think and want my stories to be believably real. I also feel that the genres of family life, romance and mystery are more likely to be read by women who want to identify with the lead character. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;">In Indecision's Flame, Brylee is searching for forgiveness and family as she tries to make peace with a very disturbing past while trying to build a future where she can thrive. Reagan Sinclair, as a new FBI agent, finds out through some very desperate experiences that perhaps her parents were right in saying that a career exposing her to the seediest underbelly of life isn't the right place for a girl who attends church every Sunday and believes in God. Maya lost her husband in an unexpected avalanche and is left with two children to raise. Rani has a chip on her shoulder as big as the state of Colorado and cannot stand weakness in anyone, but then she discovers some of her own. Andrea just wants to be married but falls in love with a guy who is all wrong for her. And Jada goes back to her old college as an adjunct professor hoping to find answers as to why her professional life is flourishing while her personal life stinks. The series I'm working on now is about a middle-aged divorced woman who finds herself alone with no one to cling to for help, but she is willing to risk everything she has left to become part of a family she has never known and isn't sure still exists. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #741b47; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script;">Indie vs Mainstream Publishin</span><span style="font-family: Dancing Script;">g</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;">I'm not sure I've ever really broken into mainstream publishing. That's pretty hard to do without some serious cash backing, and I'm afraid to push too hard because I don't want anyone telling me I have to change my characters values and beliefs just so the general public will be more interested in their stories. I guess I have to say that I value my integrity over potential dollars earned. Whatever I make goes directly into an account for my grandchildren, and I like having people tell me how much they appreciated one of my books because it gave them direction, courage and hope. I appreciate being able to connect with other writers of faith-filled books who are going through the same struggles I am in finding the right audience. It gives me the courage to stand by my beliefs because the work we're doing is helping people, if only one by one. For me, that's what my writing is all about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Personal Growth Through My Writing</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;">I think I realized how much I've grown as both a person and an author when I started my latest series. While each of my books contain reflections of an incident or feelings I've had somewhere throughout my life, I was able to truly let go with these. I no longer care what someone else might think about the storyline or how my characters react to personal problems. We live in a very diversified world and have to accept both the good and the bad in others if we want to be happy. That doesn't mean we have to embrace a lifestyle that isn't right for us or accept any kind of abuse, but we do need to show compassion and understanding. That's something I've always believed but have managed to let judgmentalness, jealousy and anger cloud many of my dealings with people. I don't feel that way anymore. I know who I am and would like for my faith to embrace everyone who is struggling and fill them with the same peace I've managed to find. I would still like to find that golden <span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);">niche</span> every author dreams of, but I'll keep on writing until I do.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There you have it. I hope it makes a little sense and would love to hear how you feel about the books being written today. I can only say that in these times of turmoil and strife I only read things that will build and uplift because I get enough of everything else from the news. People need to know about all the good there still is in the world and how kind and loving most of the people are. Maybe I just choose to look for the positive because that's how I'm trying to live my own life. May safety follow your footsteps and may you find joy in the little beauties you find along the way. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;">Books by Author JS Ririe found at: <a href="https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv">https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv</a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Crossfire at Bentley<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Kismet finds a Way<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Rivers of Rage<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Beyond the Glass Doors<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Agent Reagan Sinclair series:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Final Allegiance<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Resilience<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Safe Haven<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Unsheltered<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Welcome Redemption<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Indecision’s Flame – Book One<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Lost – Book Two<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Exposed – Book Three<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Betrayal – Book Four<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Reawakening – Book Five<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Unraveling – Book Six<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;">Destiny – Book Seven<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Kalam; font-size: x-small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402507995217014724.post-85589542561924102312022-02-09T16:31:00.001-08:002022-02-09T16:31:26.856-08:00Confessions<p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">This won't be as long as usual since I'm still in pain. After having such a great January, as I explained in my last post that talked about doing something creatively exciting instead of writing down my usual list of goals, I was simply waiting for the next shoe to drop. But I didn't expect such an uncomfortable blow. I've been doing a little updating in my home so it would feel more like me and take away some of the eyesores I've hated since moving in nearly seven years ago. The granite countertops went in without too much of a hitch right before Christmas. Then I spent most of January waiting for the flooring I wanted throughout most of the main level to arrive. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">There was plenty of carpet available, but I wanted laminate floors because I knew they would never grow ugly and have to be replaced as long as I took care of them. Besides, with all my allergies it just made more sense. It took three months for my backorder to arrive, but by the first of February the installers were ready to go. With no one to help me, I began boxing things up and moving them into places where they wouldn't get ruined by dust or be in anyone's way. I wasn't the least bit sorry to see the old carpet being tossed. It was being held down by a hundred little nails in all the places it had buckled anyway. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">But with the prep work done by noon the first day, I was told that they wouldn't be able to start laying the new floor until morning because they had another job to finish first. That was irritating, but I let it go and swept all the floors again and settled in on the sofa for the night. I'd had to take my bed apart so its parts could be moved. Sleep was intermittent at best, as it always seems to be when I'm going through any kind of mess, but I was ready for another late arrival as soon as the sun came up. This time I was told that the boss wouldn't be coming to help. He was spending the day with his pregnant wife. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">"Goody," I thought. But the twenty-one year old young man seemed to know what he was doing. So I went into my office to work since it was the only place I would be out of the way. He got most of the great room finished, but said it would take him until the early morning hours to finish and he would do better work if he came back in the morning. I agreed since my nerves were pretty much shot. I cleaned up everything I could find after he left and then spent another night on the sofa. He managed to finish by three the next afternoon, but I was unaware of just how extensive the silicone mess he left behind was. I could see large smudges of it when the overhead lights were on and raised bumps seemingly everywhere, but research on the internet told me some of it might come up with alcohol. I spent a couple of hours scrubbing but it didn't work.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">So before I went to my volunteer job the next morning, I picked up some goo-remover at Lowe's. I spent a couple more hours on my knees that night trying to get it up and started putting a few things back together. I'll omit the rest of my ordeal since I know many of you have experienced it, but by Saturday night I had the floors polished and was ready to sleep in my bed. Unfortunately, I was also starting to develop a rash in an embarrassing place I won't mention. By the next morning all I wanted to do was scream, but I figured I could live with anything until Monday when urgent care centers were open. I really didn't want to go to an emergency room.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">Much to my surprise, the doctor told me I had shingles and a UTI. I'd had the first shot and hadn't thought much about ever getting it because I try very hard not to get overly stressed. But when it hits it is ruthless, and I must have taken on more than my body could handle during my renovation projects. I picked up some meds and lidocaine patches at the pharmacy but knew there was nothing I could do to spend up the recovery process, although the doctor felt we had caught it early enough that it shouldn't get too much worse. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">I spent forty-eight hours in horrid pain, but I was able to sleep last night and feel like I will be able to return to my volunteer work tomorrow. I've always believed in the power of prayer, but my quick recovery from something that could have lasted so much longer has certainly increased my gratitude for God's love and protection, along with the marvel of modern medication that can treat so many rough things. I still have four days of meds left to take and they cause some uncomfortable nausea, but when I get on my knees it is with complete gratitude in my heart.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">I don't know what this has to do with making new year's resolutions, but I thought it rather ironic that such a low could so immediately follow my jubilant high. Nonetheless, it's all part of the unavoidable things that happen just because we are part of the human race. I suppose all I can really say is that it is so important to cherish the beautiful moments of fulfillment and joy because the bad will always slip in. At least that's been my experience. And it's a good reminder that there is always someone above who is there to listen and offer encouragement and hope. For so many of us, we don't have anyone in our homes to fill that very basic need. </span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">By the way,</span><span style="color: red; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;"> Happy Valentine's Day</span><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Abel; font-size: medium;">. Don't know that I'll get another post out by then.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Books by JS Ririe</span>:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Dancing Script";"><span style="color: #e69138;">Crossfire at Bentley</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Kismet finds a Way</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Rivers of Rage</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Beyond the Glass Doors</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Agent Reagan Sinclair series:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Final Allegiance</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Resilience</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Safe Haven</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Unsheltered</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Welcome Redemption</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Indecision’s Flame – Book One</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Lost – Book Two</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Exposed – Book Three</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Betrayal – Book Four</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Reawakening – Book Five</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Unraveling – Book Six</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Dancing Script;">Destiny – Book Seven</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Dancing Script;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: medium;">Book by Viola Ririe:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script;">So Long, Bishop</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script;">All Books available on Amazon at </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv" style="color: purple; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv</a><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4855hmxamFB7XwJXizWZli8aHFKG8u_cc9b75_rjFKKBxl9lGgjBuIGE7huSSMtoyb0oq9IVFYMC0Xcp4AllQjOfhfv50l4mNA5dFNzIcchO8qHW457pFG8vjnG2t1DtA7nsa7topZ7n51fha6aG0rBHJ3-shZndKaBUduYKS_fVzxyu2leLe8DMw=s2625" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2625" data-original-width="1682" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4855hmxamFB7XwJXizWZli8aHFKG8u_cc9b75_rjFKKBxl9lGgjBuIGE7huSSMtoyb0oq9IVFYMC0Xcp4AllQjOfhfv50l4mNA5dFNzIcchO8qHW457pFG8vjnG2t1DtA7nsa7topZ7n51fha6aG0rBHJ3-shZndKaBUduYKS_fVzxyu2leLe8DMw=s320" width="205" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><p></p>Jan Hill Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09523156080356429962noreply@blogger.com0