Garage of Delight

It’s been almost three and a half years since I wrote about The Garage of Doom, my second post on this blog. This is what the garage looked like then, waist-high with stuff:

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The Garage of Doom

Many boxes still needed to be unpacked from our move into the house 28 years ago. Some of the accumulated stuff was pure junk, but some of it had value to me. It reminded me of happy times, when my children were small, when loved ones, now deceased, were still alive. I remembered how much money we invested in this stuff.

I had to face the fact that, if we’d managed to survive up to 28 years without these things, we probably didn’t need them now. I did unearth some family heirlooms, but we’d already bought newer versions of much of the other stuff.

To be responsible stewards of our garage contents, we had to determine what we needed to keep, what could be given away, what could go in the recycling bin, and what should go in the dumpster. Working anywhere from 15-75 minutes a day (except when it was too hot or too cold, or when we were too tired or too busy) we worked until we’d filled the recycle bin and the dumpster many times over, and made dozens of trips to Goodwill and the fiber recycling collection point. We also made a few trips to the hazardous materials disposal site with buckets of old paint and old bottles of chemicals.

Many times during the process, my husband, Greg, said, “Let’s just pay somebody to haul everything away.” I couldn’t. I knew there were priceless treasures among the trash.

Finally, just before Christmas, I unpacked the last box from our move, and Greg removed the last worthless debris from our garage. We still have too much stuff in there, but what a difference, right?

 

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This shot was taken from almost the same angle as the picture above. New door.

 

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I don’t know if you can tell, but the garage door was wooden, very heavy, and dilapidated. Greg had been saying for many years that it hurt his feelings to see how much the garage door detracted from our house’s appearance. And, of course, I always said we had to empty the garage before we could get a new door. And I wanted an automatic door opener, too.

The new garage door was installed two weeks ago, and, for the first time ever, we parked our cars in the garage. Hallelujah!

Did you ever have a household project that took years to finish? Tell us about it in the comments below.

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Abortion…I was there in the beginning, Part 2 by Betty L. Arthurs

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Abortion…I was there in the beginning. Part 2 by Betty L. Arthurs

Looking back over 40 years later, it seems impossible doesn’t it that I, happily pregnant, was helping to care for, along with other pregnant co-workers, mothers killing their babies?

John finished his studies in May and found a temporary job so I could quit working.
We were waiting for a teaching position to open up in Wilson, NY. Julie and I played for many long hours as my due date in June drew near. What a relief to not work and have time to rest. But one day I stopped feeling life in our baby, something was not right. Frantic, we rushed to my obstetrician who confirmed that our baby had died. In a few days I delivered Christopher Lee, always an active little guy, with the umbilical cord
wrapped around his neck. He was so perfect, so beautiful. There were no ultra-sounds in those days to warn of such a danger. And I was in the hospital where I had worked and where they killed babies. Only God and his love sustained us through those days of grief.
A short poem I love comes from a greeting card:

Trust God when dark days assail thee,
Trust Him when thy faith is small,
Trust Him when to simply trust Him,
Is the hardest thing of all.

John did get the teaching position and we moved back home to Niagara Falls country. In a few years another precious boy was born, Robbie, and we eventually moved to Arizona. Through the years we became active in pro-life causes. I have held the hands and prayed with women in church and at spiritual retreats who were held captive in the bondage of depression and shame over the abortions they had…God’s forgiveness was there and they learned to forgive themselves.

We didn’t know God was orchestrating an amazing event. The event was the birth of a boy, our first grandchild, adopted by our daughter Julie and her husband Mike, named Kyle Christopher. We’ve been forever grateful his birth mother chose life for him. Now Kyle is married and he and Rachel are expecting their first baby, a girl. We treasure the years with our children and eight grandchildren, showing us the circle of life fashioned by God brings healing and hope.

Yes, I was there in the beginning and I pray America will wake up and reject the culture of death abortion brings. Will you pray too?

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Abortion…I was there in the beginning, Part 1 by Betty L. Arthurs

 

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Abortion…I was there in the beginning. Part 1 by Betty L. Arthurs

Over the years, many people have distanced themselves from the abortion debate until recently they learned of Planned Parenthood’s selling of body parts from pre-born babies.
Undercover videos revealed the scope of the heartless attitude of executives talking about their gruesome enterprise like they were dissecting fetal pigs in a college biology class.
For years abortion providers have told pregnant women it’s just a blob of tissue, let us help you take care of your problem. A fetal heart saved from the crushing of an abortionist is a tiny bit of flesh?

I was there from the beginning when abortion was made legal in the state of New York…before Roe v Wade.

In the early 1970s my husband and I moved to a college town in the Finger Lakes region of the state of New York so he could attend graduate school. I worked an evening shift, 3PM to 11PM, at a small hospital as an RN. This shift worked well for us since John could watch our toddler daughter, Julie, after his classes were done.

My nursing tasks were routine pre-op and post-op care on a surgical floor. All accident victims came to us from the ER since most would need surgery. Giving out medications, checking surgical dressings, comforting those laid up in traction, checking on cancer patients, making rounds with doctors…as nurses we kept busy, depending on our nurse’s aides and orderlies for help.

Back then I never paid much attention to the news so it was a shock when my co-workers talked about the new doctor, I’ll call him Dr. S., (I will never forget his real name) and how he was using the operating rooms to perform abortions. Up until then I had lead a very sheltered life. Obstetric textbooks taught us about miscarriages or spontaneous abortions where a grieving mother and father lost their baby, but not intentional abortions.

The nursing staff was in an uproar. Operating room nurses ran out, crying and threatening to quit, “some of the babies were born alive.” Other doctors were also horrified. But the hospital by now was making a lot of money off abortions since the women had to pay cash up front…no way would they stop these procedures. New nurses were hired with stronger stomachs to help the doctor of death.

Soon the overflow of women waiting for abortions came to our surgical floor. The doctor had advertised in newspapers and magazines. The women poured in from states where abortion was illegal. A thirteen year-old girl from Ohio told my nurse’s aide, “I have a boyfriend,” when her parents said she had been raped.

In a room with six beds, one woman would be recovering from a mastectomy, another had had gall bladder surgery, but one bed held a woman with a huge stomach undergoing a saline abortion. Hours earlier, Dr. S., huge syringe in hand, plunged the needle into her uterus and gave her baby a few hours to be poisoned and burned alive. Then in the operating room he would remove her “problem.” In the coming years, saline abortions would stop since so many babies survived the procedure, giving way to late term abortions where the abortionists carved up the baby to remove it.

After their procedures, the women would come back to us for a few hours and we would monitor their blood pressures and check for excessive bleeding. They looked half dead, not much of a medical term, but that’s what I observed. Soon they were discharged.

I never saw any poor women. There were college students, women who said, “I already have three children and my husband and I don’t want anymore,” teenagers whose parents didn’t want the shame of an unwanted pregnancy; older women and very young from all walks of life came to our Dr. S. In case you’re wondering, birth control in all forms was cheap and available at this time.

Now, 45 years later I know, this was how mixed-up American culture would help the poor, give sexual freedom, control the population, give the founder of Planned Parenthood, Margaret Sanger, the superior race of intellectual white people she craved. It’s true what the Bible says: “ For wherever there is jealousy (envy) and contention (rivalry and selfish ambition), there will also be confusion (unrest, disharmony, rebellion) and all sorts of evil and vile practices.” James 3:16 (AMP)

I remember those months as being a time when the hospital exchanged its call of giving and sustaining life for a spirit of death. It was a time when I prayed for God’s help just to get me through each shift. My co-workers and I were locked into our jobs since there were no other hospitals in the area. The women were our patients and needed care and I knew God loved them more than they could understand.

And I was six months pregnant. Part 2 tomorrow, August 1, continues my story.

 

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In the Meme Time: Ask for Forgiveness

Mess up

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In the Meme Time: Heads Up

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Cold Night by ARHuelsenbeck

I like to picture the hills in Bethlehem covered in pure white that night, but it seldom snows in Bethlehem. Even if there was snow that night, how long could it have lasted? And how long could it have remained white, trampled by men and beasts?

The young mother had no female relatives with her to assist at the birth, only her betrothed, who was not the father, but he knew the Father. What a heavy responsibility he bore, helping to bring the infant King into the world. Or did he step outside to give Mary privacy, protecting her modesty?

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The Baby who was born that cold, cold night was God himself. Did He remember why He was here? A fully human infant, maybe He was blissfully unaware that night.

Mary and Joseph celebrated their blessed event with shepherds, who had been sent by angels. Later, three wise men came from the East.

Then an angel warned the young guardians that Herod was displeased with the thought of a new King.

And so they fled to Egypt, where they lived awhile as refugees, until the angel told them it was safe to return to their hometown of Nazareth.

By the time He was twelve, the Boy knew He must be about His Father’s business. He learned His earthly father’s trade, but studied His divine Father’s word.

While Mary watched her Son’s growth, her joy was bittersweet. She understood that sorrow was to come; yet she treasured her memories in her heart.Cross silhouette

When He grew up, He revealed His true identity, and was publicly executed for being Who He said He is. He took all the sins of the world with Him, and paid for them on that cross.

But that’s not the end of the story. It’s actually the beginning.

 

Because He lives, and He cleared the way for us to live with Him for eternity. Though we were separated from God because of our sinful nature, Jesus, through the sacrifice of His blameless life, won us the right to call God our Father.

It’s His Christmas gift to you. Will you unwrap it? Invite the Christ Child into your heart.

 

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A Manger in the Shadow of a Cross by Betty Mason Arthurs

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This year’s Christmas elementary program at our Christian school entertained and touched me. For me, watching children perform is more fun than watching a favorite TV show or taking in a movie. You never know what’s going to happen.

Digital cameras clicked as parents and grandparents captured for all time:

The sweetness of children singing about angels and baby Jesus;

The shepherds scratching their itchy spots;

The black-nosed, floppy-eared lambs baaed and giggled;

The white fuzzy feathers from the angel wings floated in the air and were chased by one lamb which he tasted and spit out;

“Glory to God in the highest” the angels shouted and no one minded when the word “angles” came up on the power point screen.

The crash of the microphone hitting the floor sounded like thunder.

Fortunately, tiny Mary took good care of baby Jesus and rocked him gently in her arms all evening.

Overshadowing the pageant in the center of the stage was a large wooden cross. I don’t know about you, but I seldom connect the cross that Jesus died on with Christmas time.

Baby Jesus, a king, born to a virgin named Mary, was placed in a manger in a smelly stable instead of a palace. Angels told the frightened shepherds the good news. I would have loved to have been there to hear their shouts of joy as they searched Bethlehem for the baby. Wise men came from the east following a star, another strange sight, all to give gifts to a baby and his parents. No cross is mentioned in the biblical story of Christ’s birth. Why have a painful reminder of how Jesus died when the lovely story of his birth is a Christmas theme?

Perhaps I need to rethink how Christmas is celebrated. So many suffer through the season because they have lost loved ones. My neighbor’s only child, a son, struggled with drug addiction for years, entered a fine rehab program and seemed to be doing well. A few days before Christmas he died of an overdose and lay in a morgue for three days until they identified him and found his family. Imagine the pain and heartbreak for his mother every Christmas…and all who have suffered loss.

Another friend, just last week, lost a beloved sister to heart disease. She was married 47 years to her high school sweetheart. I struggle to find words of comfort but have given up and replaced words with loving hugs.

Perhaps the cross reminds us that Jesus also suffered. He was born to die for us. Can we all find comfort in God’s plan? As messy and pain-filled our lives become, can we find hope and comfort in the manger…and the cross?

Yes, I now believe the cross belongs in the Christmas program. I also remembered my high school performance of “Amahl and the Night Visitors” by Gian-Carlo Menotti. Our director hung a huge star in center stage and at the end of the musical the star turned into a cross. My dad remarked, “That’s the finest part of the program, to see a star become a cross.”

Christmas is not about the presents or the beautifully decorated tree or the best-dressed, lighted house on the block. Isn’t it about the birth of the most treasured baby of all time who God sent to die on a cruel cross? Jesus so loved the world that he came as a helpless baby to experience our humanity and show us God’s love.

This season, I’m going to remember the manger in the shadow of a cross. There all of us can find hope.

 

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Merry Christmas Darling by Betty Mason Arthurs

Merry Christmas DarlingOrnament Wreath

By

Betty Mason Arthurs

 

Are you lonely this holiday season? Have you experienced a loss so devastating you wonder if your heart will ever heal? I don’t have an answer for your grief, but I can share this sweet Christmas song from the 1970s with you. It’s a poem of love which has brought me comfort for many years. With a haunting melody line and enchanting words, sung by the Carpenters, a popular duo of Richard and his sister Karen, “Merry Christmas Darling” reaches deep into the spirit.

 

Open your grief-stricken heart and hear the message of love that sweeps down from ancient times and echoes across the hills of Bethlehem. A supernatural voice at Christmas time sings out, “Hello, my darling child. I am called Jesus and I love you and came to die for you. I bring you healing in your time of grief. Let me touch your heart. I will wrap my arms of love around you.”

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How to Make It Through Christmas When You’re Depressed by ARHuelsenbeck

Shortly after Carly, my first child, turned a year old, we discovered I was pregnant again. After the initial shock, Greg and I were delighted, looking forward to a new baby in January, and joking that we hoped he or she would come in December, so we’d have an extra tax deduction.

But after a few months, our delight turned into concern. I never felt the baby move. The doctor could never find the baby’s heartbeat.

At my 20-week checkup, the baby measured slightly smaller than the month before. My little one was dead, and my body had started reabsorbing him/her. Despite my request for a Caesarian delivery or an induction, I was advised it would be safer for me to just wait and let nature take its course.

Sad child

In the meantime, I still looked pregnant. That meant that when I went grocery shopping or took Carly to the park, people commented on my coming blessed event. Not wanting to explain what had really happened to casual acquaintances and perfect strangers, I accepted their good wishes with a smile and a nod, though I was crying inside. Two weeks later I went into labor, and delivered in a hospital room. I chose not to see my baby; he or she will always be an anonymous angel to me.

When the holidays approached, all I could think about was how I’d expected to almost have a babe in arms by that time. I’d envisioned myself as a radiant madonna, creating a beautiful Christmas for my family, baking cookies with Carly, and buying and making perfect presents. Instead, I barely had the energy to get out of bed, and I felt incredibly guilty not to be genuinely in the holiday spirit for my family.

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What are some tangible ways to acknowledge the Christmas season without draining your emotional resources? Here’s what I did that year:

  1. Read Christmas books. You don’t even have to buy them—most libraries have a large selection. Luckily, I already had started collecting Christmas books. I reread some myself, and I read Carly books about baby Jesus and about Santa Claus. (Here’s a list of some of my favorite Christmas books.)
  2. Bake the easiest possible Christmas cookies. Buy a roll of refrigerated sugar cookie dough. Slice it. Sprinkle it with red and green sprinkles or colored sugar. Bake as directed. Easy peasy. Your kids can help (or, if they’re old enough, completely take over). Even a one-year-old can help with the sprinkles if you don’t mind a little mess.
  3. Listen to Christmas music. If you subscribe to a streaming service, you can probably find a playlist you’ll like. If not, head over to Walmart. They have a bin of Christmas CDs for only $5 each. Mannheim Steamroller is the quintessential Christmas band, but this year I treated myself to Sarah McLachlan’s album. Back in the day, I’d already amassed a lot of classic albums on vinyl and cassette. (Here are some of my favorite Christmas CDs.)

 

 

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What holiday traditions can you let go when you’re struggling?

  1. Hosting a Christmas party or dinner. You don’t have to. There’s plenty going on; it’s unlikely you’d be depriving someone of their only fun activity. And you don’t have to go to any parties either, unless you want to.
  2. Giving perfect presents. Don’t obsess about it. A token to those you love most will suffice. It’s really okay to give a gift card instead of a hand-knit sweater. And don’t worry about getting a present for everyone.
  3. Sending Christmas cards. Forget about the annual holiday letter about everything your family has done. Just sign and mail cards to your nearest and dearest, or nobody at all. Lots of people never send Christmas cards, ever. You can skip a year.
  4. Decorating the house. You don’t have to have a Christmas tree, door wreath, or boughs of holly. Pine-scented candles go a long way to create a festive atmosphere; so does cider simmering on the stove. If you have one or two decorations handy, like a nativity set or a Santa or a sleigh, put it out. But you don’t have to do the Christmas lights or the blow-up snowman family.

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I pray these suggestions will help you get through this difficult time. My heart is with you. I give you permission to not do it all this year. And if anyone tries to pull a guilt trip on you, blame it on me—give them a link to this article. Take care of yourself, and have a peaceful holiday. Love you.

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Thanksgiving in the Woods

Happy Thanksgiving to you from all of us at Doing Life Together.

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