Ruth's Daily Journal.

It was Easter that we sat around the Cox living room reading through G'ma Ruth Cox's journals.

This women was the heart and soul of the Cox family. The year I met my husband she was diagnosed with colon cancer, that eventually spread to her liver.

In November of 2001, we celebrated her 80th birthday. All 5 of her children, 12 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren; which today is at 11 and counting... (that's Rob and I in the white shirts)

Ruth kept a daily journal. It wasn't one of those diary kinds that you poured out your soul to. It was a calender kind. You wrote a few sentences for that particular date.

Ruth wrote everything down.

What I mean when I say everything, I mean the things we over look to be normal, mundane even.

The weather, who she saw that day, who came for dinner, the baby-sitting she did.

Let me tell you, it was far from boring.

Every page was like a treasure, who would be mentioned as her days highlights?

One particular post : Rob stopped by today for a chat. He told me about his new job. He brought Sue with, so good to see her again, she is a nice girl. I am so happy for him.

The job: The one he still has today. The girl, was his college sweetheart. They broke up because of long-distance. everything was genuine for her.

Another post: Babysat for Ryan and Ellie today. They bring such joy to my day. So full of energy, they keep me young.

Katie came today and cooked a nice meal for me, she is such a wonderful cook.

Tonya came and took me shopping, I needed some new Keds.

 G'ma Ruth wore Keds! and she liked them white!

She wrote about everything!  It wasn't just her daily life; it was a glimpse into her soul.

These were the things that mattered to her.

We only had three years worth of journals, and hungered for the others that were spilt amongst the 5 of them. I can't wait to trade!

It's like getting a second chance to know her.

We weren't sure if Ruth would be able to make it to our wedding, which was in December of 2001. By that time they had started aggressively treating her.

Not only did she make it, she looked incredible.  I didn't know then how much this photo would mean to me today.

Or this one.

The writing on the side says:

"This is the only picture we have of Nina with G'ma Ruth...It makes it all the more precious."

Just after this her health declined, we didn't get to see much of her, we should have tried harder, but it felt like everyone wanted a piece of her, if she wasn't busy, she was resting, if she wasn't resting, she was in and out of the hospital.

The truth is, I don't remember Ruth passing, I don't remember the funeral service much. I remember comforting my husband after his speech, but the memory that sticks out is: At the cemetery, after all has been said...you can see just beyond the hill the trucks waiting for family to leave so they can put the body in the ground. Do their job, go home.

It was January.

The sun peaking through the heavy winter clouds.

You could see every one's breath linger in the air.

It was cold.

No one wanted to leave.

Heavy dark wool coats, dark leather gloves, the only color coming from the scarfs some people wore and the flowers...

Our feet betraying us, this is not the place for dress shoes. Snow covered the ground, but had been removed just enough for a walkway.

It was like a stand-off, who could endure the longest.

Slowly people began to go back to their cars, giving in to the cold, the finality.

I stood there, looking at the flowers that covered her casket, Rob's hand in mine.

I could feel him, ready to depart.

I could not stop staring at the flowers, so beautiful in all the gray cold.

I let go of his hand, reached out and plucked a flower out of the arrangement.

I worried that if one of them saw me they'd be angry...I glanced to the cars, nobody was looking they were busy getting into the cars.

I held it tightly in my hand, felt it's fragile petals against my palm. I gave a final prayer, a goodbye kiss.

I don't know why I did that back then, it seemed odd to me, but looking back on it, having read some of her journals; I realize that even then I knew what kind of woman she was.

She loved her family, her friends and she loved her Jesus.

Death wasn't something she feared, because she lived.

She lived and found joy in everyday.

Her  journals tell us so. My pause wasn't a wanting her to stay, it was a making a remembrance; Of who this woman was and how she lived and loved.

I have started my own journal. Not here in cyberspace, but on paper. There is something cathartic about taking pen to paper, seeing the handwritten thoughts.

I would encourage you to pick someone in your life, write them a short note. WRITE it, don't email it, text it, facebook message it.

Write it, in your own precious handwriting.

Trust me, in this day and age, it will mean so much more to the one receiving it.

Boats and dreams

The Theory of...Any thing's possible...Some people learn to interpret their dreams...Now it's your turn...Make it snappy.

It's been awhile since I posted some of my journal. I chose this page to share today because I'm curious about what you are dreaming of.
Not just what your dream are about, but what are your dreams today, in this moment?
What were your dreams in High school? Have they changed? How so?

For the most part the dreams I dreamt long ago have come true. I have a wonderful husband, two adorable children, a dog, a cat and a fenced in yard. I'm living the dream!
Yeah, not so much. See I want more! Not more stuff to fill my house, not more things to take up space. I want more of what Peter had. Faith. Passion. Love for Christ. Trust.
He got out of the boat. Sure he started sinking the moment he took his eyes off the Lord, but he GOT OUT of the BOAT. The other guys didn't, they sat there. Scared, comfortable, safe...Peter walked on water. (This next bullet points is taken from my John Ortberg study I did nearly 4 years ago)

The Pluses of Water-Walking

• It is the only way to real growth
• It is the way true faith develops
• It is the alternative to boredom and stagnation
• It is part of discovering and obeying our calling
• The water is where Jesus is!

In another chapter it talks about the high price of saying yes. That everyone in Scripture who said yes to their calling had to pay a high price.

Maybe it won't involve the recognition or wealth or influence you had always hoped for.

Sometimes it will mean long hours and effort.

Sometimes it can mean devoting yourself to a dream and not having it turn out the way you had wanted, causing crushing disappointment and discouragement.

Somewhere along the line people will oppose you, disapprove of you or block what you are trying to do.

It was storming that night when the disciple's were in the boat, Peter took his eyes off Jesus because of it. Storms have a way of teaching us what nothing else can.

I have been having dreams of storms. Most recently, one involving my family. We are in an SUV, driving, when I look behind us and see dark clouds, pouring rain. It looks as if we are coming to miss the storm. We are ahead of it. We go under a bridge, when I look again I see a very large, very black tornado. It is spinning wildly, I can't tell which way it is going. It looks to be standing still, spinning in one spot. Go go go! In think. I'm not driving, Rob is. Both children are in the back, buckled in. It is moving away from us. Relief. Then it changes and suddenly it is chasing us down. I can feel the tires lifting off from the ground, we are floating up up up.

I shot up in bed, heaving for breath. I may have been screaming, I was in my dream. Rob is not there to comfort me, he is gone to work already.

I have experienced storms in my recent out ward life. When my sister in law was in town.

I failed to keep my eye on Jesus. When it matters most. I cling to what I can see, feel grab hold off. A pillow, a phone, a blog, my husband, my ipod...

I am young in my walk with Christ, I'm still learning how to pray. I know table prayers and bedtime prayers and prayers of asking for help or praise when things happen. But I'm still learning how to talk daily with him. I once heard someone say it's like Jesus is waiting in your living room for you to sit down and talk to him. He'll wait and wait and wait, but all he wants is to have that conversation with you. It kinda weirded me out: Jesus is sitting in my living room? Right NOW? But I didn't vacuum or dust. I haven't made the coffee yet. I need to shower and brush my teeth. You get the idea. He can't be sitting in MY living room, there are other people far more put together, far more in need...I'm just me. J.u.s.t. me.

So, this means I've got a lot of walking ahead of me. Looks like I'll be on the water for a good long time, or at least in the boat. Any body got an extra life preserver I have a fear of drowning. (That is very true btw)

I now have asked you two very deep things:

About your dreams and now about your boat. (What fears keep you in the boat and out of the water?)

I haven't been in a study in two years. Two long, dry years. I am going back to a bible study group starting Tuesday. I can't wait. I can't wait to see what study we choose together, I can't wait to see my lady friends again, but most of all I can't wait to get back into God's word.