Wisconsin vacation

We got here on Sunday during a near-record heat wave with temps in the mid-90s. I spent some time in the lake (some planned, and some unplanned), and my phone did too, so it's been a struggle trying to function without it. I miss it. Thankful I brought my little point and shoot camera, which has a neck strap AND a wrist strap, both of which I utilized so it wouldn't meet the same demise as my phone.  This is Friday, and the temps are now in the mid-40s.  I brought two swimsuits and a winter coat on this trip. We're staying at a house on a lake, and Mike didn't even bring a swimsuit. I have been in the water every day, although yesterday was so cold that only my feet were in the lake, and not for very long, but I love water and if it's around, I must be in it. 

Today was the best day! Mike was searching online and discovered Ottawa National Forest, about 20 miles away in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. I had heard of the Upper Peninsula but never been there and didn't even realize it's a whole separate part of Michigan. It looks like it should be part of Wisconsin. At some point we crossed into the Eastern time zone and back, and I was confused what time it was all day and now I have jet lag. It was 47 degrees and cloudy when we started out this morning around 9:00. We stopped for breakfast at a town called Watersmeet, Michigan, the self-proclaimed "Home of the Nimrods" as they proudly display on signs all around town.

The cafe was called Roadhouse Grill or something like that, and certainly nowhere we would have stopped by looking at it from the outside, but Mike has a gift for finding great breakfast places online, and this was what he picked. The inside didn't look much better than the outside, and the carpet (yes, it was carpeted) was so filthy that Mike said it looked like there'd been a fire. The whiteboard advertised a breakfast "burritto" as the day's special. A sign around the corner promoted "Big HONKIN' Sandwiches".  Immediately, I noticed an older guy telling what was clearly a gripping story, so I chose a table close to him. We came to learn that his name is Don, a Vietnam vet with a New York accent and a knack for telling great stories. He told one about a bear he had killed and had turned into a rug and had the feet sewn back on it. He also told of a locust he found in his yard that was the size of a robin and he tried to catch it so he could eat it but it flew away. Then there was the time he was out in his boat and saw a huge catfish in the lake but he didn't have his net, so he went home to get it, got back in the boat, drove back out on the lake to where he thought the catfish was, and it was still there, just sitting there in the same spot waiting for him. His gesticulations were almost as entertaining as his words.

Then we went to the Ottawa National Forest Visitor Center to get tips about hiking trails and met another interesting character named Marti. As I listened to her spinning tales about Native Americans and animals and local lore, I wished I could introduce her to Don and listen to them talk all day. She was a fascinating fount of information, a former teacher and photographer, who insisted on taking our picture with Smokey the Bear and a stuffed wolf. 

Mike disappeared into the bathroom, and I asked Marti questions about porcupines and trees, and she referred me to the naturalist, Joe, who had such beautiful hair that I asked him if I could touch it.  He readily agreed, so when Mike came around the corner, he found me looking at what turned out to be a European Mountain Ash and petting Joe's lovely curls. We left with maps, posters, and directions to Bond Falls, which Marti assured Mike were the best waterfalls in the area, with access to good hiking. 

We took an accidental detour several miles in the opposite direction, so by the time we reached the falls, the sun was coming out, and it was warming up to be a perfect day. Marti was so right! The falls were a wonder, and we hiked all around them and appreciated them from the front, back, left, and right.

Rocks and woods all around, and no real trail, so we were free to wander and explore.  I found a natural recliner formed by a tree and its roots on the edge of the river, and I spent a long time reclining there and praising the Lord for His goodness. 

I ended the day with a solo trip on a paddleboat, which is the safest of the watercraft available to me. I paddled out to the middle of the lake and convinced a loon that she didn't need to be afraid of me. I approached slowly and sang her a song about us called "Two Loons Paddling on a Lake" and she turned to look at me. I admired her for a long time and then paddled closer to shore, through a field of aquatic plants that threatened to tangle my rudder. A speedboat zoomed by, and I enjoyed bobbing in the waves its wake created. 

Dirge for my oldest friend

I finally decided to euthanize my old piano.  I wrote her this dirge, cried (a lot), and played her one last time before I disassembled her. 

You've always been there, a steady presence my whole life. My first memory of you is watching my dad play “Ain't She Sweet”. I watched my brother master you. You stretched out long when my 7-year-old fingers couldn't even reach an octave. You absorbed my angry teenage tears when I didn't want to practice. You stood stoically when I left you behind for college. When I moved into my own house, you came with me. We moved you with us to our second home, then our third and fourth. When I got busy with life, you waited patiently for me to return to you. I taught my children to play you. You barely flinched when my little boy ran his monster truck into you. You didn't make a peep when my young daughter stuffed library books inside you. You collected dust as I neglected you for years. You tolerated my frustrated banging as I learned a new way to play you. When I was happy, you bounced along with me in the major keys.  When life was hard, you mourned with me in the minors.  You gave my husband projects.  When your sustain pedal quit working, he took you apart and fixed it.  When your G# key broke off, he glued it back in place. I've played many pianos, but none of them feel like or sound like you.  In your glory days, your sound was fantastic. When I play other pianos, my fingers feel like they're visiting distant relatives, but when I touch your keys, my fingers are home. When your sound started to go, I brought in an expert to fix you, but he said he couldn't tune you because your soundboard was cracked. When you became hopelessly out of tune, I got a second opinion that agreed with the first. The prognosis was that you were incurable, and one day your soundboard would break and you would die. You are worth nothing to anyone but me. I can't even give you away.  But to me, you are priceless. Goodbye, dear old friend.  Thank you for everything.  I will miss you.

The last song I played on her while she was intact was "The Seal Lullaby". I thought that would be the last thing I ever played on her, but after I told Mike, "I'm six screws away from never playing her again" I discovered that I could still play her!  So I played a song I wrote called "Psalm 23".  Then I discovered that even after I had removed all the white keys, I could still play "Amazing Grace" using just the black keys, so that was actually the last song I'll ever play on her.  

I'm keeping these pieces.  I don't usually get sentimentally attached to material objects, but this one was hard to let go.  I'm hoping to think of something crafty to do with them. It's the F key (my favorite key), the A flat key (the last note I played on her), the music stand, and the decorative piece off the front.  

What a sad burn pile.

Notes from her yearly tuning, I assume, from 1959 to 1963.  My grandma took good care of her.  

I found a quarter deep in her bowels. 
After I cleaned off layers of dust and grime, I saw that it was from 1939.  

Revival

I heard about a revival starting at Asbury University in Kentucky.  I don't even remember where I heard it, and I knew next to nothing about it.  Sunday morning at 3:30 a.m., the Lord woke me up and invited me to take a road trip with Him to go see what He's doing in Kentucky.   I would have left right then, but I had to run the livestream at church.  The pastor talked a lot about the revival during his sermon, which I took as confirmation to go.  I asked Mike, "Is it ok with you if I don't come home after church but go to Kentucky?"  He was a little shocked.  He said, "Did you pack any clothes? Do you even have a toothbrush?" I admitted that I did not and that I had absolutely no plan.  All I knew was that I had to be back by Tuesday for work.  

So as soon as church ended, I started driving.  I was hoping to arrive before dark, but when it became clear that I wouldn't, I stopped to watch the lovely sunset over a pond with geese.  After I got off the interstate, the roads got a little sketchy.  Narrow, winding, hilly, no painted lines to mark the edge of the road, and no shoulder, just a dropoff and a crumbling stone wall that stretched for miles in various stages of disrepair.  On this road, I began to ask myself, "Really? THIS is where the revival is?  Not in a big city or somewhere well-known, but out here in the boonies in the middle of the country?"  It occurred to me that that's probably what the people seeking the newborn Messiah were thinking too.  Jesus appeared as a baby born in a humble, lowly place, not a majestic king riding victoriously into a big city.  This is just like God.  

I finally arrived in the little town of Wilmore at about 6:30 p.m.  It was dark and I had no idea where I was going. I assumed it wouldn't be hard to find a raucous revival.  I drove through the town in about 5 seconds and didn't notice anything revival-ish. I think I was expecting some huge venue with a Billy Graham sized crowd with lots of noise and commotion.  All I saw was a chapel with both doors open.  I slowed down and peered inside and saw some people sitting calmly in pews and presumed that wasn't it.  I texted Mike and said I thought it had ended and I missed it.  He said he was still seeing live reports on Facebook, so I parked at a Dollar General a few blocks from the chapel and walked to it. No rowdy crowds, no banners announcing "REVIVAL HERE!", no noise emanating down the street.  

I walked in, and someone greeted me and said "Glad you're here." I wandered in and took a seat on a wooden pew.  There were plenty of spaces available.  I had the whole pew to myself.  There was a man speaking up front.  A couple students gave testimonies.  I was a little disappointed and largely unimpressed.  I had been expecting a wild party, miraculous healings, people being saved and delivered...not a small crowd of people sitting quietly.  I had expected to be hit with a wave of the Holy Spirit that knocked me to the floor, but instead I didn't sense His presence at all.  I said, "Lord, where are You? Didn't You invite me to meet You here?" Then a small worship team started playing "The Blessing" and everyone sang in harmony and tears started rolling down my face the way they often do when I sense the closeness of the Lord.  I said right out loud, "Oh, there You are." And so it began.  

The worship was anointed but very tame.  No screaming and shouting, no fancy lights, not even any words projected on a screen.  The speaker dude (never had any idea who he was, but he was good) invited people to the altar to pray.  I didn't feel a call to go up, but I thought...I drove 6 hours to get here; I'm getting the full experience.  I sat on the floor with some other people and started praying.  I asked for forgiveness for not doing a better job raising my kids, not praying for them enough, not being a better example for them, etc.  I cried and repented and prayed for my kids and my nephews and the kids attending that university and eventually expanded it to the younger generation throughout the world.  

I prayed for my little group of leaders that I pray for daily, and I saw angels around them.  Sometimes I see angels for real, but these were just in a vision in my head.  They were circled around the people I was praying for, with their arms around each other's shoulders so their wings overlapped.  They were ministering to them, speaking to them, filling them.  And there was another circle of angels around the smaller circle, but they were facing out, so it was a double ring of back-to-back angels.  The ones facing out were holding flaming swords and shields.  They were big warrior angels protecting the people I was praying for from all kinds of sickness, lies, attacks.  

I stayed there a long time.  Then I noticed a woman in front of me facedown on the floor sobbing.  I felt called to minister to her, so I crawled up next to her and put my arm around her and prayed for her.  I prayed for the worship team to be refilled and refreshed as they continued leading worship for hours.  My mind just wandered around in prayer for a long time, and at some point I went back to my pew. I don't remember what time it was when someone came up and announced that they were going to close the chapel until 10:00 the next morning but we could go across the street to "Hughes".  I had no idea what that was, but I had driven 6 hours and I wanted the full experience.  So I crossed the dark street with a small herd of people (absolutely zero vehicle traffic) and followed the crowd up the steps of a building that said "Hughes Auditorium" on the front.  

This was a bigger space, louder, and filled with mostly college-aged kids.  It was definitely wilder than the chapel experience, but still, not the craziness I had expected.  There was a bigger worship team (but still small) leading songs we all knew.  I stood at the back at first and got the lay of the land.  Then I moved to the middle because I wanted to be in the middle of this singing crowd.  It was glorious.  I moved to the front because I wanted to watch the guy playing the beautiful grand piano.  After a couple hours, another guy came up and tapped him on the shoulder and they did a fascinating dance of seamless transition.  The new guy sat next to him on the bench and slid his foot onto the pedal as the first guy edged his foot off the pedal. The new guy scooted in and simultaneously slipped his hands under the first guy's hands and the music continued perfectly as the first guy pulled his hands off the keys and slid off the bench and leaned back in to hug the new player.  If I hadn't been watching, I wouldn't have been able to detect that a completely different person was now playing.  

Eventually I moved to the balcony because I had driven 6 hours and wanted to get the full experience from every angle.  I had been cold the whole night (where are those hot flashes when you need them?!), and the longer I went without food, sleep, or adequate clothing, the colder I got.  Around 2:00 a.m. I noticed I was shivering.  I determined that it was not the Holy Spirit experience I had been hoping for, but just tired and cold and hungry.  I decided I would go to the car and turn the heat on and drive around a little to look for a closer parking spot, then get the blanket out of the trunk to take back in with me. It was cold out and I was underdressed so by the time I got to the car, my teeth were chattering, and I was shaking so hard I could barely open the door.  I cranked up the heat and drove through town, not finding a better parking spot. Then I was on the other side of town, and I realized my car was heading home.  Sometimes God uses my car and surprises me. I was 100% planning on going back to the auditorium, but suddenly here I was driving home.  It was weird.  

I drove all night and got home just as the sun was coming up and Mike was just about to leave for work.  

Update: The Lord started writing this song on the way home.  We've been working on it all week. 

Verse 1
He made the sky
And every grain of sand
He owns the waves
And holds the stars in His hand

Pre Chorus
But He is not too far to see you
He is not too high to love you
As a matter of fact
He did it all for you

Chorus
Come and sit in His lap
Come and rest in His arms
He's the powerful One
He's the God who loves you
He made the moon
He made the sea
And all He wants is you and me
Come and receive
He is all we need
Come and receive

Verse 2
Drop everything to hear His voice
'Cause He's speaking to you and He always hears yours
Make room inside your heart for Him
'Cause it's you that He loves; you're the one He adores

Click to listen

Unexpected reprieve

Can this day get any better?  

I was supposed to have a long shift at Costco today.  I got up and saw a kitchen that needed a lot of time and effort, laundry on the floor that needed folding, a full hamper of laundry that needed washing, garbage that didn't get collected and taken out yesterday, and not enough time to do anything about it.  

There's a funeral at church this weekend, and I usually help with the funeral meals, but all my time is scheduled between now and then.  I was feeling guilty about that yesterday, and Pastor Eric sprinkled fake holy water over me and absolved me of all guilt, which actually did help, but guilt was lingering around my edges anyway.  I wasn't overwhelmed by any of this, but I did feel the weight of it.  

Then my boss called and said something wonderful to me: "The warehouse sold out of the product that you were scheduled to demo today, so we won't need you to come in today."  I've worked there two years and never heard of this happening. That weight lifted off of me immediately and I praised the Lord, and in the next instant I had a breakthrough with a difficult situation I've been going through with someone. We had a chance to talk and clear the air.  Then I had a ministry opportunity and the Lord gave me the right words.  Then I tackled the kitchen.  The laundry is in progress, and I'm about the do the garbage.  I emailed the funeral person and said I'd make food for the funeral.  And I should still have some time left to worship in my empty house before meeting Mike and kids for dinner.  God is so good to me to care about all these little details and give me what I need.