My breakfast routine has been pretty consistent.
Take one packet of instant oatmeal.
Add one patient cat.



Add one less patient cat.

Any remaining oatmeal will be licked clean.
Learning about unconditional love and acceptance
Today I was lowered into a tub of water. Renewed, refreshed, and washed cleaned.
I was 15 the first time I was baptized, young, giving my life to God as I understood him; however I was also a Jehovah’s Witness. Being baptized as a JW means you are baptized into that cult. At the time I didn’t fully understand the ramifications.
As I questioned the hypocrisy and the teachings of the JW’s, I moved out and disassociated myself from them in my early 20’s, however, they still considered me a JW. The witnesses, or my parents, looked for a reason to take action against me I guess, sort of an “example”. Often one of my parents would try to call or stop by my apartment to try to “catch me” in some sort of sin. By the year 1984, I found myself dealing with a roller coaster of emotions. In the Spring, the JW’s disfellowshipped/shunned me after a prompting by my father stating I was not living a Christian life to their standards. During the early part of July, we buried my mother after a cancer battle, and my father denied my presence at the casket when JW’s approached. Later, in October, I was married, and my father boycotted attending our wedding and my siblings felt pressured to follow his example.
I felt betrayed, abandoned, unworthy and unloved by my father and siblings. Mainly by my father.
It took me quite a few stubborn, bitter years to acknowledge my part in any of my sins for how the JW’s have treated me.
“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us”. 1 John 1:8
It wasn’t until Oct, 1988 that I was able to reconcile my life to God, and started my spiritual awakening and understanding of Jesus Christ.
Understanding Jesus and what He has done for me was like a refreshing drink of water to a thirsty soul.
Grace a gift, freely given.
Sins, once confessed, are then forgotten.
“As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us” Psalm 103:12
People, were the ones that were continually judging and condemning me, not God. Not only could I forgive my family, I could forgive myself. Looking back, I can see how he has used some of those desert wandering years. One day I will understand all the pieces.
I re-affirmed my baptism in the Lutheran Church, however, I would still think about it once in a while. The whole JW thing would still haunt me at times. I’d talk to different pastors about it. I was told re-baptism wasn’t necessary and/or they’d forget about it. So, I’d stop thinking about it, for awhile.
I didn’t want to negate that I originally gave my life to YAHWEH and Jesus that I knew and loved at that time, just negate the cult. I’d wonder: how confusing would it be to see me doing it again, and I’d think I would have to explain my story. For years I didn’t want to talk about my experiences with the JW’s. See, I was in control of my story. Who I told, and who I didn’t.
However, it started coming to my mind again. Recently during my small group, it came up. Actually, I brought it up, and the girls said to me, usually if God wants you to do something he will keep bringing something to your mind. I was reminded that my understanding was a more mature understanding, not the youthful understanding I had. I most definitely had spiritually grown.
So I deliberately prayed about it.
“Okay Lord, if this is something you want me to do, nag me about it. Hound me about this. I mean ALL the time, so much that I HAVE to come to a decision of either doing it or accepting I’m okay with where I am. Resolve this for me. I don’t want to not do this because of pride, what will people think, I want to be obedient to you, so hound me Lord. Oh, and if it’s not too much trouble; on Sunday, let there be a message about baptism to confirm it.”
That Sunday there was a message about upcoming baptisms and Jeff talked about Jehovah’s Witnesses in his sermon. Does God have a sense of humor or what?
These last few weeks we’ve been studying about Exodus on Sunday mornings. The last few years I’ve been studying, reading and re-reading the Old Testament.
I don’t think this is a coincidence. This is a God-incidence. This is a God’s thumb print puzzle piece.
Over and over again YAHWEH asks his people – do you trust me?
Over and over again He’s asked me – do you trust me?
Time and time again he’s told His people:
Yes, you’ve seen struggle in finances, health, jobs and relationships. My power is made perfect in weaknesses. I am in control.
You try to control things and it never works out the way you ‘think it should’. Dear one, I’m glad you want to help, but give in. I am in control.
You’ve had people hurt you and others you love with sinful and unloving behavior. I love them as much as I love you. I am in control.
You’ve been betrayed and abandoned by people who you’ve trusted. I was, I am, I will be. I AM NOT LEAVING YOU.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16
My JW life has been dead and gone, and now it has been washed clean from me. My life and story is His to control as He sees fit.
I see the Promised Land. I want to cross over.
Had a dream this morning. One that I remember.
I was dreaming about a wedding. A wedding that I needed to hurry and get to. One that I wasn’t dressed correctly for. Outside it was beautiful and sunny, and people were hurrying to get inside. Women were dressed in long, light, pastel, flowing dresses.
I was in shorts. The kind of shorts you wear in your yard to garden in, and don’t care if they get messed up or who sees them. Yeah, those shorts.
I was carrying two plastic bags, one of which I instinctively knew had in it a long, light flowing dress. I thought I need to get this dress on, I’m supposed to be here, but I’m not dressed right. I don’t recall what was in the other bag.
I remember getting a message, or the impression (you know how dreams work) that my best friend was waiting for me in the restroom, and that she didn’t want the wedding to start until I got there. She could only wait another 65 or 67 seconds (it was one or the other that I heard, and I wondered why she was so specific). So I knew I must hurry.
I was trying to get there, guests were hurrying past me, but I kept getting stopped, or distracted by people and would talk to them. I remember having a discussion with a couple about a home they were looking at. I stopped to notice the children playing in the aisle. I mean, really, why couldn’t I get a move on it!
I started thinking again about my appearance. I thought maybe I should just sneak around this corner, I could get to where she was and quickly change before the wedding and nobody would see me dressed this way. However, doors opened, and it was the main aisle. All of a sudden more doors opened and now the aisle was wide and there wasn’t any way to go around it you had to cross it.
Three or four middle aged women in “apron-clad” kitchen dresses, also carrying plastic bags, choose to cross the aisle, but not in a hurried way. They didn’t seem concerned with their dresses nor their plastic bags. They swayed and danced, swinging their bags. I joined them at the outskirts of the circle, and found myself in a side room in front of a counter with stools. The woman behind the counter asked me if I had my “strands” (here it sounded like ‘strands’, or I don’t recall the word she said). I shook my head. I didn’t know what she was talking about. (I got the impression, it was something I needed, I had to have brought or bought.) I started to feel sad and inadequate, and late.
One middle aged lady stepped up and counted what seemed like $10-15 and said “Denise, don’t you remember ‘mumble mumble‘ had me get this for you” (that’s what it sounded like anyway) Another lady stepped up and purchased or handed over money for me.
I just remember feeling overcome with emotion from the love and and dropping my head.
Soothing words started coming into my thoughts. With my head bowed, I could see an older male presence to my right. I knew this was an older male by his hand. While his left arm pulled my shoulder close, my head dropped and rested on his chest, while I glazed at the right hand which seemed familiar. It was moving, getting ready to stroke my head. I sensed I knew this hand.
My first thought was is this hand my earthly Dad’s? Then, immediately, I thought, no, this is Abba, Pappa. This is Abba, Pappa. This is my real daddy. This is God coming to comfort me. Telling me, He is here, He is telling me He has always been here. Everything is okay.
It was then I woke up.
Maybe you are inclined to think dreams are just jumbled up things, and don’t make sense. Maybe you think you can make logical sense out of dreams.
I believe this dream was an affirmation of a decision that I had made three weeks ago and had been thinking and journaling about prior to a posting that I am working on and plan to post this later this weekend.
Part of this process is blogging about what I think, regardless of what I fear a reader will think. Remember, I’m on this getting rid of clutter thing (A.k.a. C.C.). That includes clutter of my mind. Fear of what people think is something I’m working on.
You’ve been duly warned. 🙂

When I was younger I used to go visit my Aunt Anna Lemmon. Well, she was actually my great, great Aunt Anna, however, she was just Aunt Anna to us. I always liked visiting my relatives and hearing what they said, and also wandering around and looking at everything. The Aunts, (I had another great, great Aunt, named Lily) lived in orderly, well kept homes with their possessions that they had accumulated over their lifetimes. So, I was used to seeing old (i.e., antique) items and would often be told what they were used for and by whom. There were always fun things to look at, and interesting stories. (Alas, I wish I could remember all their stories).
Aunt Anna’s house was located outside of town on a bend and had a wide wrap around porch (I think that started my fascination with miniature dollhouses with wrap around porches) and had a barn with a fantastic “miniature” black iron” fence surrounding a black walnut tree. This fenced in area always fascinated me, I would go inside it and wonder why the tree was fenced in, where the walnuts so special? I knew that we would collect the walnuts, and my Great Grandmother while she was living would make a mean black walnut nut-bread. (My Grandmother faithfully followed after her, and gave me the recipe, however, it never tasted the same.) Apparently, I must have commented about the fence being pretty short for horses or ponies, or about the special walnuts and was promptly corrected that the fenced area was a “proper croquet” area. After that, I would visualize ladies and gentlemen playing croquet inside the fancy black iron scrolled fencing, in Victorian dresses and garb playing a game of croquet.
At the side door of the home was a plant she called a “money plant“. I had never seen a plant like it. When it dried it was pale, round, and papery with an almost transparent quality. They were quite fun.
The kitchen and dining area was combined, and she had a big hutch with a wide assortment of salt and pepper cellars and shakers along with various tea strainer or brewing baskets, one of which was in the shape of a miniature teapot which I usually wanted to play with. (are you noticing an common interest here?)
There was a steeply curved staircase to get to the two bedrooms upstairs, even being younger, tall and lanky, I remember the awkward turn.
Aunt Anna’s, late husband, whom I only knew as Uncle Bill, was known in the family for his wood-working skills. He produced the tables, chairs, toys, working miniature Grandfather clocks (woohoo) that he gave and/or sold, and at least two (that I’ve seen) detailed inlay tables all from the wood off their property.
I don’t recall exploring the barn, perhaps I wasn’t interested in wandering there, or knowing my Mother, she would have kept me away from the barn with warnings of poison ivy, as I was highly allergic to the stuff. However, it is more likely I was too nosy about what my Mother and Grandmother were talking about with Aunt Anna during our visits.
Most of my recollections of her house come from when we walked through it after Aunt Anna’s death. Both Aunt Anna and Aunt Lily (who had passed earlier and had left her estate to Anna) did not have any children to leave their estates too. Aunt Anna left her estate to my mother and her three siblings (the connection is my maternal grandfather who had died at age 30). The siblings best decided they would distribute the estate by having a sort of “bid” on items they wanted at the estate and then subtract that their share of the value of the estate.
Prior to the days of the “bid”, Mom took me (I can’t recall if my sister went, however she probably did) and we walked throughout the house. Mom wanted to she if there was something that I wanted to remember Aunt Anna by. I choose a wooden vase with some dried money plants in it, a black box from an upstairs bedroom and the miniature teapot brewing basket. I don’t recall if when I moved out if Mom asked for the wooden vase and dried money plants or if I left them, however, I have the other items, along with some of Uncle Bill’s handy work, a miniature Grandfather clock (one he did not get finished), a Chinese checkers board he made for my Grandfather, and a side table.
Part of my Clutter Cleaning Process A.K.A. C.C. is going through things that I have accumulated that were Aunt Anna’s, my Grandmother’s and my Mother’s and other family members and I will have to decide what to let go off.
Part of this process is also about finding things. I came upon this piece of paper that I wrote in 1973 (ahem, when I was younger) at the time they were closing Aunt Anna’s house.
The Lemmon Estate
The grass is green and blowing with a breeze, of an early summer evening.
Horses of every color are running in the wind, before they are hitched and leaving.
The sun is red and gold, a sight to behold, and everyone is dreaming.
The children run here and there, saying catch me if you can, the shine on their face is beaming.
The house is white and green, tall and kind of lean, as it reaches for the heavens above it.
It brightens with it’s lights, as the sun is sinking right, and on the porch, everyone can be seen.
I glaze at this sight, of peacefulness at night, and wish that I could live there.
I could sit all say, without being afraid, and never want to move away.
I open my eyes to catch a better glimpse, of all these marvelous things.
I strain and strain my mind, but nothing still remains, as I go to turn off the alarm ring.
Today, I will see, the place of which I’ve dreamed.
But now it is lonely and crumbling.
I look at that old house, and move my eyes about, but dirt is all I see around me.
Ah, memories. Things are just things, however, you can still keep the memories.
Mondays are a busy day around here.
After the usual morning cat dance, I get up to prepare some sort of soup or meal that Craig takes downtown to feed the hungry souls that gather at Finley Park for OSS.
Last Christmas, Craig presented me with a gift certificate for some watercolor classes to rekindle my painting that I have not done since the late 70’s (I know, but I’m serious). The classes proved to be a refreshing drink to my creative soul, and for the meantime I have continued to take them. However, the class time starts before I could get back from downtown, so that is one draw back.
While I miss seeing the folks downtown, I am still able to continue to prepare the food, and so we are able to serve and be part of this blessing together.
There are over 200 people coming to the park now, which has greatly increased from when we originally started. Craig says there has been an increase in the women that are coming through the line.
Since OSS has started, some of the friends we’ve meet have been blessed by homes, jobs, marriages, and children. Dawn & Ernie are employed and have housing. Chuck is in permanent housing. Levi is married and has a child. (Chuck, and Levi will often come to the park to visit or assist, a sort of pay-it-forward).
Yes, there has been some that have been imprisoned or returned to prison. Some have disappeared. We have known some that have been attacked, and at least one that has died.
Today was an especially rainy day. Everyone was pretty wet today. The rain doesn’t care if you have a roof over your head or something to eat. People can care though.
Regardless of rain or shine (& even the occasional southern snow) every Monday this is our routine right now.
And we are blessed for it.
Monday Monday don’t go away.