My other half

I have always thought of myself as the strong, independent type. I grew up as something of a “latchkey kid” in South Africa. For as long as I can remember I got myself to school every day. In the afternoons I came home to an empty house. You get used to your own company. After a while you even get to like it.

All that changed when I met my wife. I’ll never forget the day she walked into the gym where I worked. It was like one of those western movie scenes where some stranger walks into a saloon and the music stops. She certainly took my breath away.  The guys behind the counter immediately turned on the charm. My manager was a body builder with Mediterranean looks. I knew I didn't stand a chance against such competition. I shrugged and sighed to myself, carrying on with my work as if she wasn't there.

One day a few weeks later she came up to me and said she liked the music I used in my classes and asked if I could make her a tape. She handed me a blank cassette and quickly left. Inside was a small note with a message saying that she was crazy about me. Her name was Ronell. To me it was the most beautiful name I had ever heard.

Three years later we were married and starting a family in our new home in England. We argued in the first couple of years. Not a lot, but enough to make us both wonder if we had done the right thing. I could not help but think perhaps my independent upbringing was an issue. I loved being around Ronell, but I was also single-minded and stubborn. We agreed that we would both give it 100% and that we would build our lives on God’s solid foundation.

In 2015 we celebrated our twenty-sixth wedding anniversary. I realized that, during that time, I had changed. People often call their spouses their “other half” and it is true. After so many years you stop being an independent person. Your lives become intertwined to such an extent that you become more like a single unit. At least, that is how it felt to me. This was especially true after the kids flew the nest. I realized that every decision I made and every action I took was centred around Ronell.

I remember putting together a two-picture photo frame for our anniversary. The one on the left was from our wedding day. The one on the right was a photo we took on the ferry—our first trip without the kids. Ronell's wedding dress train seemed to flow into the second photo, forming a white path. She said that represented our future lives together. I told her I was looking forward to spending the next twenty-six years together. She said she was looking forward to falling in love with me all over again.

We never made the next anniversary.  The cancer that had been quietly spreading through Ronell's body attacked her quickly and without mercy, robbing her of her health, then her mobility, and finally her life. When she was taken to the hospital in Delft I gave notice at my job and on our house and moved in with her. They did what they could to make her comfortable but they made it clear there was no chance of a cure. She was given the use of a wheelchair and I took her for long walks around the hospital.

Ronell said she wanted to go back to England and we arranged to get her moved to the hospice near our home in Blackpool.

She passed away less than a week later. I was due to return to Holland the next day with a van to collect all our things from the house. Friends were helping out at the hospice and I gave them instruction for Ronell's day-to-day care. I would return five days later. That afternoon, as I held her hand, she took her last breath.

At that moment my world fell apart. All my strength and independence evaporated. I had imagined I would continue without her until we met again in Heaven. Now, suddenly, I felt utterly and completely lost. It was like being torn in half.

It has been almost a year since she passed away. I still feel lost but I am learning to cope. The waves of grief are further apart now but their ferocity has not subsided. Music tends to bring on the tears. Certain songs remind me of her. I have to be careful in public places where they play music.

Writing helps, which is why I bared my soul in this blog post. Thanks for listening. It is therapeutic, putting my thoughts down on paper.

This evening I returned to an empty house. I am, it seems, a “latchkey kid” once more. Curious how life can do a full circle like that.

I don't know why Ronell had to go home. I believe God had a good reason for taking her. One day I will know that reason. Until then, all I can do is pray and wait. I believe I will see her again, God willing.

It may be a cliché but I really am lost without her. She truly was my other half.

The “A” Word - Refelctions on a Road Trip by Marcia Lee Laycock

I was sitting in a friend's house on the night before leaving on a two day road trip that would take us across three Canadian provinces and quite a few hundred kilometres away from my home. I anticipated many hours of varied but rather dry scenery - the snow was gone from most of the prairies but the spring rains hadn't arrived yet. I anticipated some great conversation that might take unexpected turns, and of course several stops at "Timmies,” because you just can't do a road trip without your favourite beverage.  I anticipated laughter and story-telling and unrestricted snacking. I knew there would also be some bird watching since we’d be travelling through the migration paths of Canada geese, snow geese, swans, cranes and many other bird species. I knew I might have to ask my friend, the driver, to stop for a photo- op or two because the sweeping fields and almost-summer skies just cry out to be photographed.

I anticipated the warm hugs at friends' and family members' homes along the way and then finally at our destination where we would meet with others of like mind and spirit. I anticipated meeting new people, since this would be an inaugural event, first of its kind in Canada. But there would be some reunions too, as we picked up familiar passengers along the way and met with organizers of the First Nations Christian Writers' Conference - some of whom I had been acquainted with for years.

I anticipated good food and fine fellowship - with pickerel, wild rice and bannock how can you lose? I knew there would be laughter and undoubtedly some tears as I listened to the stories of those whose lives had known much hardship and pain. I knew I would hear words like residential school, suicide, alcoholism and incarceration. But I knew there would be other words as well, words like forgiveness, healing, reconciliation and redemption.

I anticipated some wonderfully inspiring talks - the kind you listen to and the kind you participate in. I anticipated God's gentle voice speaking through others, speaking to my heart, speaking to my soul. I anticipated being in awe of those whose voices have been silent far too long. I anticipated being in awe of the One who had led us all to that place.

I anticipated that weariness when you've been sleeping in too many strange beds, but also the elation in knowing that what you've helped to make happen would have long-lasting ripple effects. I anticipated that deep peace in knowing you have been obedient to an unusual call, a call that came at an inconvenient time, a call so clear that it drove away all the valid reasons for not responding with obedience.

I anticipated coming home, happy to have gone but always happy to return and thankful to the One who orchestrated it all, all to His glory.

And as I pondered all these things I thought of another anticipation that rises in me from time to time. It happens when I see light streaming from a grey cloud or the blaze of the setting sun over a calm lake. It happens when I realize my life has a time limit. The anticipation comes with a longing for heaven. I don’t know a great deal about what it will be like there but I anticipate a joy in God’s presence that is impossible to comprehend on this earth. I anticipate an existence without stress or pain because sin does not exist there. I anticipate a complete peace because in that place all will be made right.

I can be sure that one day I will have the joy of that experience because one day 38 years ago I asked Jesus Christ to forgive me and take control of my life. Because of that decision my anticipation of heaven brings no feelings of guilt or fear. I know “Whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I’ve committed unto Him against that day.”

If you do not have that assurance there is a very simple way to achieve it - simply ask God for that same forgiveness. It’s available to anyone at anytime. Don’t let the “A” word cause you stress. Ask Jesus to be part of your life today and it will bring you nothing but joy.

****

Marcia Lee Laycock writes from central Alberta Canada where she lives with her pastor/husband and two golden retrievers. She is a long-time member and past president of InScribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship and the American Christian Writers’ Fellowship. 

Marcia has published two contemporary novels, four devotional books and numerous articles and devotionals both online and in print. Her work is available on Amazon or on her website - www.marcialeelaycock.com

A Piece of My Heart by Marcia Lee Laycock

Reminds me of Heaven

Anyone who has traveled has felt it. Many of us have said it and heard it said: "That place has a piece of my heart."

I felt that way a few days ago when a friend sent me a link to a video about a Bible dedication in Papua New Guinea. It shows a man praying as his village is about to receive God's word in their own language for the first time. My husband and I had the privilege of attending two Bible dedications while we lived in PNG and both were experiences I'll never forget. Seeing the emotions and heart-felt response of the people to the scriptures was inspiring.

When I received the video and saw it streaming with no sound for the first few moments, I was immediately taken back to that place - the sights, the smells, the sounds. I remembered the chanting of the men who surrounded our plane as we landed in the village, singing a song of welcome both to us and to their new Bible. I remembered the old woman carrying the first box of Bibles in her bilum (string bag) and being told she had been given the privilege because she had prayed for this moment for many years. I remembered the look on a young man's face as he clasped his Bible to his breast and said thank you.  

I was a little surprised at the intensity of these memories as I watched the video. It's been twenty years since we've been there. But yes, a piece of my heart is still in Papua New Guinea and there are times when I long to go back.

I've felt a yearning like that at other times too, a yearning for heaven. It has hit at odd times, at a funeral once, in the middle of a magnificent forest another time, as I stared at an incredibly beautiful flower not long ago. That longing surprises me because, unlike Papua New Guinea, I've never been to heaven. But a piece of it has been placed in my heart, probably because One who lives there has put His Spirit in my heart. And I long to be where He is.

Some day I hope to go back to PNG. Friends are working on a translation of the New Testament that will be done soon and it's one of the things on my bucket list, the hope to get there when they dedicate it to God. I trust that will happen, but there is no guarantee.

Some day I hope to get to heaven, and thanks be to God, I do have a guarantee that day will come. Jesus Himself has promised to meet me there. He said: "I am the living bread which came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever; and the bread that I shall give is My flesh, which I shall give for the life of the world" (John 6:51). 

Yes, there's a piece of my heart in heaven and one day my heart will be made whole again.
****

Marcia Lee Laycock writes from central Alberta Canada where she is a pastor's wife and mother of three adult daughters. She was the winner of The Best New Canadian Christian Author Award for her novel, One Smooth Stone. The sequel, A Tumbled Stone was short listed in The Word Awards. Marcia also has three devotional books in print and has contributed to several anthologies, including the Hot Apple Cider books. Her work has been endorsed by Sigmund Brouwer, Janette Oke, Phil Callaway and Mark Buchanan. 

 

Abundant Rain, an ebook devotional for writers can be downloaded on Smashwords or on Amazon. It is also now available in Journal format on Amazon. 

Her most recent release is A Traveler’s Advisory, Stories of God’s Grace Along the Way.

Visit Marcia’s Website to learn more about her writing and speaking ministry.

Sign up to receive her devotional column, The Spur

DEVOTION: No Place Like Home ~ by Kathi Macias

How lovely is your dwelling place, LORD Almighty (Psalm 84:1)!

I’m in a season of traveling right now, flying in and out of national and international airports, speaking here and teaching there, promoting and signing books, staying in hotels or with friends, and often eating on the run. Each time I complete a trip and the plane’s wheels touch down on the runway, I think, “There’s no place like home!”

It’s true, isn’t it? Even if you enjoy traveling (it has long since lost its glamour for me!), it’s still a good feeling to come home at last. I enjoy being reunited with my loved ones, experiencing the familiar, settling back into my own personal “nest.” Yet I know that this is truly not my home—at least, not for much longer. One day, very possibly sooner than we would imagine, we will each breathe our last on this earth and, assuming we have received Jesus as our personal Savior, be transported into His presence. Then we can truly say we are home at last. The best part isn’t so much that our home is some glorious place where sin and sickness and death no longer exist, but that our eternal home is with God—in His very presence. For that is what makes it heaven.

Through the millennia those who dismiss and reject God spend their earthly lives trying to create their own version of heaven, yet all fail miserably. Even an island paradise on earth would be hell without the presence and love of God. But with Him? Ah, there’s the difference. Even when I’m landing in another city or country where I’ve never been before, where I may not know the geography or customs or even the language, focusing on the fact that God is with me wherever I go reminds me that I truly haven’t left home at all.

There is an old saying that “home is where the heart is.” If my heart is full of love for Christ and I know His Spirit dwells within me, then I never really leave home at all—no matter where my body goes. And that puts an entirely different perspective on it all, doesn’t it?

The Lord’s dwelling place is indeed lovely, and I for one plan to spend every moment there, both now and for all eternity.

Kathi Macias is a multi-award winning writer who has authored nearly 40 books and ghostwritten several others. 

A former newspaper columnist and string reporter, Kathi has taught creative and business writing in various venues and has been a guest on many radio and television programs. Kathi is a popular speaker at churches, women’s clubs and retreats, and writers’ conferences. 

She won the 2008 Member of the Year award from AWSA (Advanced Writers and Speakers Association) and was the 2011 Author of the Year from BooksandAuthors.net. Kathi “Easy Writer” Macias lives in Homeland, CA, with her husband.

A Secret

(I'm sorry. This didn't post at the time I asked it to.)

Warning: this ain't no light-hearted blog for today.

I have a secret. A silly secret when you think about it, but it's a secret nonetheless.

I am terrified of dying.

I know, right? I'm a Christian, I believe in God, I believe that heaven is my eternal home and I know for a fact that I am going there.

But see, many, many years ago (let's say when I was 23 - oof, that was 15 years ago), I had bronchitis and took nyquil to help me sleep and yes, I had crazy dreams. But I dreamt that I was in Forestry school (I was at the time) and we were doing soil samples (where you collect soil beneath the forest floor and determine whether silt/clay/loam - absolutely fascinating to me) and a winter storm came and we all ran into a barn to wait it out. I was freezing and someone had built a fire to warm up. And then there was loud crashing and banging and the roof caved in and I was completely covered in snow and heavy lumber. It was pitch black and I told myself to stay calm, help was on the way. And in the back of my mind, I was praying (I don't know about you guys, but I usually end up praying in my dreams) that God would rescue me and if He chose not to, that He would forgive my sins and take me into His loving arms. The dream continued in that it stayed pitch black and I had died. And there was nothing. Just pitch black. No heaven, no hell, just blackness and I was alone. I woke up screaming and shaking. I knew it was just a dream brought on by the wonder of drugs, but it was still very real.

Fast forward. I have anxiety attacks. I literally freak out. I start breathing heavily, my heart races and I panic, thinking that this is all there is. I wake up my husband, my body sobbing with pain and sorrow and fear as he prays over me, asking God to protect my heart, to still my heart, to fill me with peace. These attacks would occur more frequently when I was getting closer to God in my service or writing (go figure). And nothing could stop them from coming. Nothing. I would tell myself that heaven was real. I read scripture on what heaven was like, but it wasn't enough. I begged God to give me something, some kind of visual to know what heaven was like. Something tangible for my over-active imagination.

A few months ago, right before bed, hubby and I were doing our quiet time (very rare, I usually never do it at bedtime) and I was talking to God, my eyes closed. 'Tell me Lord, tell me what heaven is like.' I imagined the way I wanted to look (vain I know, but hear me out). I imagined my hair huge and long and tied back with flowers. My dress was your typical Arthurian dress with long sleeves, a tight bodice and a train that was about ten feet long. It was turquoise. With sparkly beads. I had no blackheads, no wrinkles and no wobbly chin (shut up). And I imagined I was walking with God. Now God is huge. So as we walked, my head only came to the lower part of His chest, and my arms circled His huge arm as He held it out for me to hold. As we walked, I leaned against His arm, enoying the warmth. We were walking through the most beautiful garden, down a gold path. The sky was so blue. God kept pointing out different flowers and when I would look, the flowers would turn towards us and open wide, showing their beauty. Then I asked God if we could walk in a field of lavender. And it changed. A large white castle with blue turrets was off in the distance, looking majestic. And this was our conversation:

me: Thank you for Dan and Jackson

God: (hugs me) I knew you'd love them.

me: Where are they?

God: they're at the castle. Waiting for you.

me: Where's Daisy? (my neurotic dog)

God: in the field. You can see the lavender move about as she runs

me: Can Jackson look like Dan when he grows up?

God: You know who he'll look like? Jackson.

me: (I laughed - then became serious) What about X and Y? (people I know who are dear to my heart and not believers)

God: their salvation?

me: Yes. Can't You do something?

God: Yes. But they ultimately have to choose on their own.

me: Can't You do more?

God: yes

me: look. No headaches. No stuffy nose. Tanned skin. No pimples. Long hair. Vain isn't it?

God: wanting to look your best is not vain.

And then I woke up.

Occasionally the panic attacks sneak up on me. Sometimes quietly when I'm not paying attention, and sometimes when I'm imagining life when hubby retires or Jackson is old enough to have children. I fear getting old. The aches, the pains, what if I get cancer? What if Dan gets cancer and leaves me alone?

I shut my eyes tightly and I can see that lavender field and that white castle in the distance, and I can feel a strong arms within my grasp as I lean against a strong shoulder that is holding me up.

And as for my over-active imagination, I choose to see life as an adventure. Wait, that's too cliched. I am now seeing my aches and pains and frustrations as ... something to experience. Not a hinderance, but something to feel. I don't mind getting older and having hip problems because then I can 'feel' it. Does that make sense? I can collect those discomforts in my hands and feel their intricacies, knowing that soon, I'll never feel them again. I will embrace my pain, and my suffering and then 'feel' through it, and possibly write about it (write what you know!) and then let it go. I'm looking forward to the day I can eat fettucini alfredo swimming in cream sauce, and drink cold milk with oreo cookies (lactose-intolerance sucks and don't even tell me that there are great alternatives. Nothing compares to properly made cream sauce)

My prayer for all of you is that you would 'see' those lavender fields and you would run towards that white castle and that you would all have tanned skin and gorgeous hair. And you would feel that strong muscular arm within yours as you lean on your God and just say hi.

Jenn Kelly is the author of "Jackson Jones: the Tale of a Boy..." books. She has an over-active imagination and dreams far too large for this world. She is currently working on a YA dystopian but her Amish novel is starting to push on her heart so she may switch over. She loves walking in gardens, loves lavender and looks fantastic in turquoise with flowers in her hair. This is a picture of her eating a hot dog in Central Park, NY. http://www.jennkelly.com/