A Dog Named Jessie by Jaye Lewis

They say love can cover a multitude of sins. I have seen it; yet never have I seen it more beautifully illustrated than in the life of a dog named Jessie.

Jessie came into our lives at the age of six or seven months. By that time he had already experienced the hard knocks of life. Found abandoned on the side of the road, along with his six siblings, Jessie and his siblings were rescued by a kind stranger who picked them up and brought them to the shelter, where we adopted him. With a promise that Jessie wouldn’t grow much bigger than his already forty pounds, we took him home.

Immediately, it was obvious, that Jessie had issues. Instead of the majestic cattle dog that we had been assured he was, he was, well, rather goofy. And he was afraid. Of the car. Of the door. Of the stairs. Of peanut butter. And even scraps of paper. And Jessie grew. Oh how he grew, topping out at eighty pounds.

Jessie was a wounded, terrified part of our family just a few months, when we became the foster parents of a sweet, young beagle-dachshund mix. Jessie’s adoration for my little dachshund, Happy Dog, was evident from the first day, so we believed he was socialized. Loving Happy Dog was one thing. Accepting this new dog was another.

The very first night there was a food fight between Jessie and this foster child. I started hollering, and my husband managed to get in between the two dogs, grabbing Jessie by his collar. Jessie screamed all the way down the hall and into the bedroom. I, quickly put the foster into her crate, grabbed Happy in my arms, and hurried down the hall. The crashing I heard in the bedroom, scared me to death. But nothing prepared me for the scene I witnessed as I opened the bedroom door.

There was my husband, on top of a terrified, snarling Jessie, holding back his head. Blood dripped from my husband’s arm and onto the rug. Lots of blood. From all we could figure out, when my husband grabbed his collar, Jessie thought he was going to be killed. Whatever his past, nothing had prepared us for a dog who was this kind of loose cannon. This was a dog whom every animal expert insisted ”should be put down.”

To tell you the truth, as I was sitting beside my husband in the emergency room, I just didn’t know what to do with Jessie. I was so angry at that dog. My husband had carried him up and down the stairs, coaxed him into a love affair with peanut butter, and sweet talked him out of his corner and down the hall. He slept by his side. Yet one step towards control, and Jessie mangled the hand that fed him.

I was angry with Jessie. I couldn’t imagine what was going through his head. Would he attack others? Would he attack Happy Dog? Would he even attack me? I didn’t trust him, and I wanted him gone! But my husband insisted, No.

No??!! No.

So Jessie stayed. Against all the expert advice, my husband blamed himself. I was not having any of it. Past, or no past, Jessie had crossed the line. You do not bite the hand, and Jessie had pretty much chewed up most of my husband’s arm.

For ten days, Jessie was quarantined. Then my husband began immediate training, and he bought a training collar. I had to learn to use it, and I had to learn the commands. Since Jessie’s trial by fire began with a dog fight and shouting, my husband began to train Jessie with soft commands and hand signals.

Day after day. Week after week, my husband faithfully trained a dog that others would have given up on. As his arm healed over the next months, something rare and beautiful began to take place. Jessie, under my husband’s gentle persuasion, began to understand and obey. And Jessie adored him. I could see, that no matter the tempest that ruled Jessie’s former life, affirmation and love had calmed the storm.

The storm within me also began to be healed. I learned to forgive. I didn’t know that was happening until one night as I was writing, I felt someone watching me. I turned around, and there was Jessie, standing in the hall looking at me. I saw a pleading expression in his eyes, and I seemed to hear his voice. “Mommy, please love me.”

At that moment, my heart broke for the little pup who had been abandoned in a cardboard box, by the side of the road. Then, love burst into my heart, as he came over to me, hesitantly, expecting rejection.

“Yes, Jessie, I love you.” I whispered into his neck, as my arms slipped around him. Jessie had found another home, in me.

Nine years later, things have changed. I’m older, and so is Jessie. Our relationship has grown, as my health has declined. In the house, I’m very much the one in charge, and Jessie, still timid in many ways, knows who is boss. When we go outside, however, Jessie takes over, like the noble watch dog he was born to be. His job, as he sees it, is to protect and defend me and our passel of little dogs. His vigilance is unmistakable. He sniffs the air, and he is exactly what God and fine breeding had made him to be. He is the one who keeps me safe.

Jessie has taught me many things about life, love, and forgiveness. He never was a bad dog. He was just afraid. I’m so glad that my husband insisted that Jessie’s life was worth saving. I’ve seen the animal shows, where a dog like Jessie is tested for sociability by jabbing at the poor creature with a fake hand, attached to a long stick. Then, when the dog fails he’s put down, without giving him a chance.

I don’t know how much longer God will allow us to have Jessie, before He calls him home. All I know is, that I love him. He is healthy, happy, and just a little bit goofy. He has taught me that all things are not necessarily absolute. Some things just have to be tested and felt in the heart. I also know one very important thing: that if you allow a lesson to really change you, it often will.

With love,
Jaye Lewis
www.entertainingangels.org
www.entertainingangelsencouragingwords.blogspot.com

Matters of the Heart by Jaye Lewis

Hello friends,

I can’t believe that it has been over a month since I last wrote, but, then, this has been a bad flu season…a really bad one. I’ve had virus after virus, then relapse after relapse. When you’re gasping for air, I guess it doesn’t really matter what they call it. I just hope that your health has been better than mine. I hate the thought of anyone else being sick.

There are some other reasons that I haven’t written, also. I call them “matters of the heart.” I have found the world to be extremely disturbing, and I can’t help but wonder when a person makes that first decision to follow evil? Perhaps that decision is forged in an unhappy childhood, or perhaps one is simply born that way. One must have an element of shame in one’s character, in order to evaluate the right or wrong of an act, before it is committed. To do deliberate harm to another living being cannot be blamed upon a disappointing childhood. Doing evil is not a mistake, it is premeditated.

I grew up in the 1950’s south. My father was a chef, so I spent many of my days in restaurant kitchens. Most of the kitchen help were black, but I saw no difference, since my Dad also was “kitchen help.” Day after day I spent with the ladies of the kitchen, who spoiled me mercilessly. And I loved them passionately.

I could not grasp the meaning of prejudice. I could not bear to hear evil words spoken about or to those gentle, kind, and loving women, and I delivered many a bloody nose over it. I hated the “separate, but equal-ness” of the south in which I grew up. I could not comprehend why a person could not go to the bathroom, or drink from a water fountain, simply because they weren’t the right color. It hurt my heart to see the ladies that I loved, ordered to the back of the bus, or forced to give up their seat. I couldn’t understand then, as I can’t understand now. The absolute callousness of those who harbor such wickedness in their hearts is a mystery to me. I hope that I go to my grave without that understanding.

Perhaps you may wonder why I bring this up today? I usually prefer to avoid speaking about those who believe that it is all right to harbor hatred in their hearts, yet still maintain a “church face” on Sunday. I can only say, I marvel; just as Jesus “marveled” at the unbelief among his own people. Do you suppose He marvels at those of us who profess to be Christians, yet who gather together as a rabble of pretend believers, and stir up a crowd into a mob, all the while pretending “free speech?” Or worse − Christian duty?

One of my favorite scriptures is Luke 6:45. “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.”

This scripture makes me wonder about our radio airwaves, and the “performers” who are applauded by “good” people, who encourage a tirade of poorly veiled racism and even worse. I want to ask them “why?” And yet I cringe at the thought of exchanging any words with those “sounding brass” or “clanging cymbals,” who disturb me beyond belief.

For those who don’t know Christ or the Bible, I want to assure you that our Master did not sway His followers, then or now, with pretty words. He spoke plainly, and often He spoke things that chill the blood in ones veins. Do those mistaken Christians who follow those who speak evil, understand, or have they read the scripture?

For Jesus says:

“Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven. Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’ And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’ Matthew 7:21-23

Every time I think of this scripture, I have to look within myself, searching out the evil within my own heart. If I am truly humble, I allow God to pour out His light into my soul, chasing all the shadows and ugliness away. I dare not embrace those shadows. I must fight and resist the chains of hatred, prejudice, and anger within. I must not give into them. If I cannot forgive, I still can lay that burden at the foot of the Cross that held my Lord and Savior. I can heal, instead of hurt. I can walk away and wish no harm. I can even pray for the one who has hurt me. I can wash my hands in the blood that He shed for me. How can I not shed my petty selfishness, when Jesus sacrificed so much for me?

May I share with you, friends, a part of the interior journey I take?

All the Way to Calvary

All the way to Calvary,
He carried all my sin.
I followed Him with purpose.
The nails I pounded in.

I lashed with Herod’s soldiers,
And stripped Him to the bone.
I hung Him naked on a cross
And let Him die alone.

My sins were oh so evident…
The pride, the rage, the fears…
I watched in wonder as I saw
Jesus shed my tears.

I watched his blood come pouring out
And puddle on the ground.
And though He could have told my guilt,
He uttered not a sound.

I hurled my accusations:
“When I hurt, you weren’t there!”
“Where were you when I needed You?”
“I can see that You don’t care!!”

He looked at me so sadly,
As He hung upon that tree.
He willingly became my sin,
And set this captive free.

I had failed so many times,
So it was difficult to see,
How God could come from heaven
And choose to die for me.

Yet, I accept the mystery,
How Jesus from above,
Could take my unforgiveness,
And return to me His love.

© Jaye Lewis, 2006

So now, friends, you know the worst of me. I am human, just like anyone else. I have hated (it doesn’t matter who or why), and I have refused to forgive. I have fought the wrong fight, and I have battled the wrong wars. I have chosen so many wrong things, that I wonder how God can keep me in His care. Yet, though I have many sins still to give up, God loves me. With all my faults and imperfections, He has accepted me as His own. Why? I don’t know. I only know that without Him my life is empty, and with Him, I am full.

Father in heaven, forgive us for our sins of prejudice, bigotry, and pride. Grant us the grace to step away from the gossip, which strangles the soul. Compel us, Lord God, to desire the virtues of acceptance, forgiveness, and love. Give us hearts that are filled with generosity, and may we not shame you with our thoughts, words, or deeds.

With love,
Jaye Lewis
www.entertainingangels.org
www.entertainingangelsencouragingwords.blogspot.com

Welcome Home by Jaye Lewis

Hello friends,

This is a true story from my childhood. It's not a perfect story, but it does have some beauty. It's a story of my mother, a woman who did the best she could with the life that she was given.

So, Mom, if you're listening, please believe me now. I love you. I always have. I'm glad that you are home.

Welcome Home by Jaye Lewis

It was not long after we moved from Florida to Louisville, Kentucky, in 1958, that my Dad was caught embezzling from his company. The story goes, that he had taken the money to move his family up to Louisville, and he was paying it back, little by little. When the company auditors arrived, my Dad, being the “honest” person he was, refused to doctor the books to save himself, and he just waited to “take a licking,” which meant the loss of his job and the impoverishment of his family. Supposedly, the authorities were so impressed with his honesty, that they decided to just “let him go,” without criminal charges.

At the age of eleven I found this very confusing. He was without a job, because he did something wrong, and he was too proud to go on welfare, so we went hungry. We ate until the food ran out. My Dad was able to find a job at a diner, but we had two weeks to wait before he would see a paycheck.

The food supplies were rationed for over a week. Each meal became smaller and smaller. We lost weight, especially my mother, and I can’t help but wonder just how much she sacrificed for me. I’ll never forget that last meal. Hard biscuits. Chicken gizzards and livers. I hated that stuff! And rice. Oh yes, there was that lovely dessert of canned pie cherries and chocolate syrup made with cocoa, water, and a small amount of spilled sugar that was brushed from a shelf. It was just awful! I refused to eat anything but the rice. My brother was glad to eat my gizzards and livers, but I had such a small amount of rice, that my plate was nearly empty.

My mother looked at my plate, and she quickly scooped up all her rice and put it onto my plate. Then she picked out all her chicken livers and gizzards and distributed them around the table to my father and brother. I was so aware of her pain, that I wish now that I could go back and tell her just how heroic I thought she was.

“I’m so stuffed!” she lied. “I picked while I was fixing supper, and now I’m just not hungry. You go ahead and eat this. I don’t want it.” It was our last meal for two days. We had already pulled in our belts, and now there was nothing left to pull in.

The next day, my Dad went to work. He ate at the diner, so that there would be one less mouth to feed, but there was still no food in our house. That was a hard day. I would have done anything for a sandwich. I didn’t understand, at the time, where the food went. I remember a terrible empty feeling and a stomach that ached to be filled. The ache turned into a gnawing pain, and my mother became terribly anxious. She begged my father to let her go to the church, so she could ask for money. But my father was proud. He wouldn’t accept charity, and I never understood.

Finally, after two days without food, my Dad agreed to ask his new boss for an advance on his pay. He came home with a five dollar bill. That would feed us inadequately for a week if we were careful. I believed that if I went with my mother and brother to buy the food, I could control the outcome. I begged and pleaded, but to no avail. So, when I was ignored, I flew into a rage. Perhaps it was the hunger speaking. Perhaps I thought I could control how the money was spent. My Dad drank, and everyone in my family smoked, except for me. In my childish ignorance about addiction, I resented every beer and cigarette that ever came into our house, and I guess I hated them a little for needing such things.

My Mom and brother returned with bologna, bread, milk, a jar of instant coffee, and a pack of cigarettes. I knew it! I just knew that they would buy cigarettes! I was so angry about that pack of cigarettes. In spite of warnings to eat slowly, I wolfed down a sandwich and a glass of milk. When that food hit my empty stomach, it recoiled. Instant agonizing pain! I screamed! I grabbed my stomach, and rolled on the floor, half blind with pain. I just kept screaming. I’ll never forget the terror in my mother’s eyes. Finally, I threw up all over the floor! There was relief as my stomach emptied, but I was in bed for days.

Somehow, miraculously, my mother got extra food. I was put on a diet consisting of soft boiled eggs and dry toast. I never knew if she went to the church or if angels showed up at our door. Knowing my mother, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised about either possibility. It took me over a week to recover.

One day, while I was still recovering, there was a knock at the front door. My mother hurried down the inside stairs and opened the door. My bedroom door was just above the landing.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a man said, in a quavering voice. “Do you have some food you can spare for me? I’ve been walking and walking, and no one can spare even a piece of bread.” There was a long pause. Curious, I tiptoed out of bed and peeked down the stairs. My mother’s face looked pale, and she was so thin.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “We don’t have any food to spare.” She pointed her finger, in the direction of town. “Try the restaurant, down the block. Surely, they will have enough to spare.”

The man shook his head, sadly, and turned away. I watched as my mother slowly shut the door. She stood there awhile, with her face pressed against the glass. Her shoulders began to shake. I thought she was laughing, but when she turned to come up the stairs, I saw her tears. I tiptoed back to bed, and I never breathed a word about it. I can still hear the sound of my mother’s sobbing, as she sat on the stairs.

“I’ve missed Jesus!” she sobbed. “I’ve missed my Lord. He came to my door begging, and I’ve turned him away!”

She sat there for a long time, my mother in her grief. I had never doubted her love for Jesus. I knew that whatever she did for the “least of these,” she did for Him, and now she had to turn the “least of these” away. I’d seen her in terrible circumstances. I’d seen her reach into empty pockets and give away all she had. I’d seen her angry. I’d seen her on her knees. But I had never seen her cry, until that day.

Something left my mother that day. I believe that it was hope. Little by little I watched her slip away from me through the years. She still loved Jesus, and she clung to Him, like a drowning woman. She could still be a force to reckon with, but she quit the fight too soon. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. When God’s grace began its pull upon my life, I remembered, and I decided to allow Him to change my course.

Years later, after I got tired of being battered in my own marriage, I made the choice to change my course, at first for my children, and then for me. Each time that I felt as though life would overcome me, I remembered my mother’s defeat, and I refused to give in. The best part of my journey is that God never gave up on me. He drew me to Him, and He convinced me that, as I trusted in Him, He would transform me. Somewhere inside of me, He found courage, and through His grace, I began to change.

By the grace of God, after two failed marriages, God stepped in, and He brought Louie and me together. It’s been a wonderful marriage. We’ve shared joys and sorrows, triumphs and defeats, but nothing could shake the love we have for each other. I’m amazed that God loves me so much that He would care enough to bring us together. But then, that is God ― He is a God of tender mercies.

I do not blame my mother for the defeat that she suffered on this earth. She was from another time, when women had few options. Knowing what I know of her life, I realize that she didn’t know she ever had any. My mother died in October of 1982. She would be the first to tell you that she never accomplished much. I disagree, because I would not be here without her, and I would not choose to miss my memories of her. There were no accolades. She was buried in a plain pine box. A woman of simple tastes, she would have wanted it that way. She made mistakes. She was not perfect, but she clung to her faith.

I have no doubt that my mother was joyful to be able to cast off the things of this world. She must have run into the arms of her Savior. I can almost hear His words as He greeted her. “You’re safe now, Margaret. Welcome home.” © Jaye Lewis, 2004

For the Love of God by Jaye Lewis

Hello friends,

I haven’t been keeping in touch as much as usual, due to some super bug that no one tested for in my region. It’s probably because most people (even those who live in Virginia) forget that our region exists. Strangely enough, our President came to our region several times on his campaign. His manner was warm, inclusive, and sensitive. I was astounded and pleased. The last candidate for President who visited us was John F. Kennedy, nearly fifty years ago.

I love where we live. I love the people, who are honest and outspoken, kind and generous, unspoiled and patient, and who have etched themselves upon my heart. Because of my health, we attend no celebrations, parties, or other functions. Not many people understand, but my gosh they are polite about it.

Church became an impossibility for me. Colds and flu can literally mean the death of me. Being an asthmatic and a diabetic is a little like playing Russian Roulette with a shot-gun. To survive, I must go on prednisone, which shoots my sugar up to 600 or more, a number which can mean coma, even death. So, I fight, by using my diabetes medication, not knowing which numbers are real. And finally, as I am now, I get well.

The thing we all missed most, about Church, was Bible study. Oh, how we missed that hour, immersed in the Word of God. One day, my husband suggested we do our own Bible study, right in our living room, sometimes at the table, and it has become such a blessing. We take as long as it takes, from one hour to three or so. We share wonderful things that God has done for us during the week, and, dear friends, God never sleeps. He is always busy blessing, correcting, and loving each of us.

One might think that since my daughters and I all have serious health problems, that we might resent God’s correction. Well, being human, sometimes we do. But gathered around the kitchen table, or ensconced on the couch, in our living room, we share all that God has done in our lives, and we know that we are truly blessed.

That relationship with God, is the best thing in my world. He has given to me, the best man, the kindest man, without guile or pretense, loving, unselfish and so very funny. I love his sense of humor. I would rather laugh than eat, and there is much laughter in our house.

God has been impressing new understanding to me, during this last illness, and I realize that everything we have comes directly from Him. Evidence of a loving God is written in the universe. In order to dismiss Him, we must close our ears, our eyes, and our hearts to the beauty around us, refusing to see that all the earth belongs to Him, and we are His caretakers. We haven’t been doing much caretaking in the last hundred years, or so. So my gift to God, are my gardens, just as my children’s and my husbands efforts to beautify our God’s little acre, is all because of their love for me and Him.

God is good. He delivered me from a hopeless life, and He gave me the best man I have ever known. My husband sees me through the eyes of love and devotion. He is a man who sacrifices every day, to make a home filled with laughter and caring. I can’t say enough about him, and he just hates when I write about the beauty of his soul, but I cannot help myself. I believe that with a little effort and will, any marriage can be a joyful thing.

I hope you know that I am not bragging. I just had so many hopeless years, that I can’t shake the newness of the love I’ve been given. I will never “get used to it” as I’ve heard people say. Each day is a miracle, knowing, to the best of my ability, a loving God, and seeing how evident is His love for me and my family. Knowing exactly from where my blessings come, is the greatest miracle of my life. And one of the blessings is sharing my heart with you.

Things are tough right now. I know that. I get scared every day about what could happen, but I also have evidence in my life before, that God is still with us, especially now. I wish I had a plan for you. Just writing to you, and sharing my life and loves, has been a blessing. Thank you with all my heart. Jesus said, that “out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. I hope that you have seen abundance in my heart.

Many years ago, long before my beloved Louie, I was pregnant with my last child. It was a difficult pregnancy, and I was in a town where I was a stranger. I was a member of a church, but I was isolated. My health was so bad, that I was expected to die in child birth. The last six weeks of my pregnancy, I became very close to God. However, closeness to my Church family simply did not occur.

One day I had visitors. Two ladies from the Church were handing out pamphlets filled with the love of God, but love was not there. I staggered my way to the door, my heart uplifted. Somebody cared, and they were coming to visit me. I opened the door, dressed in my nightgown. When the door opened a crack, they pushed the pamphlets in to me.

“Oh, come in,” I cried, thrilled to see them. “I’ve been very ill,” I said.

“Uh-huh. Oh, we can’t come in, we have so many people to visit.”

What? This was a visit? “Please come in, I could use a friend.”

“Oh no, we can’t. I’m sure with your sweet spirit, you have lots of friends.” But I didn’t. I didn’t have a friend in the world, and if I did die, no one would know or care. It was one of the hardest days of my life. Through a crack in the door I received the gift of indifference, but I learned something very powerful. I made a promise to God. Lord, if you let me live, I will find a way to reach others and give them the hope and peace of your love. I will not turn away souls who simply need to know that someone cares.

I did my best in spite of my health, yet I felt I was not doing enough. Twenty-eight years ago, God led Louie into my life, and my life changed forever. One day, about ten years ago, I went before the Lord. I was so sick, and felt I couldn’t do what God laid on my heart twenty-four years before.

“Lord,” I again prayed, “why do you allow me to be housebound, so that I can’t go out and do what I promised you?”

I felt His answer, so clear in my heart. “I will bring souls to you.”

I was dumbfounded. Were people going to line up in our driveway? I couldn’t think of any way to reach anyone. Then we got our computer, an old one, and we discovered the world wide web. In spite of me being dragged kicking and screaming, I learned how to use the dad-blamed box, and a whole new world opened to me. People, whom I had never met, shared their hearts, and I to them. That was ten years ago, and much has changed, but I kept my promise, and God showed me how.

So, I want you to know I care about you. I pray for you, and I ask God to bless you with your daily needs. I beg Him for jobs and a government that does not forget whom they are working for. I pray for our President, that he will be given the wisdom of Solomon and the faithfulness of David. Yes, I disagree with him on some very important issues; however I believe that his heart is honest and faithful, not only, to those who voted for him, but also, for those who did not.

Father in heaven, bless every soul who reads this, every soul who is searching, and especially those who are suffering. Make yourself known, Lord, in each life, for we are strangers in a strange land. May we understand that we have the most powerful being in the universe on our side. May we walk with You, and when we stumble, may you pick us up in Your arms. Protect each of us, oh Lord, and grant us Your peace in our hearts.

With love,
Jaye Lewis
www.entertainingangels.org

www.entertainingangelsencouragingwords.blogspot.com

Gentler Time by Jaye Lewis

Hello friends,

We lived across the street from one another for nearly eight years. For two military families, that’s a lifetime of friendship. Like the blazing sunrise over Charleston, South Carolina, and the sunset in the west, I knew that no matter what, John and Pat would always be there, not only for me, but for my husband and children.

We celebrated one another’s birthdays and graduation parties, along with all of the surprises of life. When John was aboard ship’s deployment, I was there for Pat; and when my Louie was out to sea, she was there for me. I don’t remember a single fight that we had. We simply found ourselves on a different page than the rest of the world.

We dressed up for Halloween, and went to the mall, Pat as a six-foot tall, green faced witch, wearing a towering hat, and I, thinking I looked like a rock star, mistaken for a lady of the night. In many ways we were quite innocent, even naïve. You might say that in our late thirties and, in my case, early forties, we went through childhood together.

We watched each other’s children grow into adolescence and beyond, wondering who would wind up taller, Pat’s son or my daughter, since one year’s growth for the two of them leaped eight inches.

We went back to school together, driving through the Air Force base every day. Pat helped me to bear the insults of my father, who lived with us, and who had decided to make us as miserable as the last years of his life could muster. Pat made me laugh about tragic things, and in that gave me back half of my life.

John was always there, when his ship was in, either in the driveway chatting with Louie about guy stuff or planning a surprise party for somebody. He was a good man and a kind man. Unpretentious, John was down to earth and unspoiled by either the ups or downs of life. He was humorous, and a hard worker, a virtue not much admired these days, except for those who truly knew him. Now he is gone, and though miles have separated us, as we went our separate ways into retirement, the thought of that big man with an even bigger heart, not with us, breaks mine.

You would have liked John. He would have made you laugh. He would have surprised you with a glass of iced-tea or Pat’s to-die-for bean dip and chips. Things were simple to John. You were a friend, and that meant good things. I don’t think he had an enemy in the world. Oh, I remember so many things about John, that would mean nothing to anyone else. I guess my most revealing memory is that John was real — truly himself, unapologetic in true simplicity, he was a man without guile. Now he’s gone, and he will be sorely missed.

Pat and I went through hurricanes, separations, heartache, and wild laughter. We were always together, and always 100% in each other’s corner. We backed each other up through the serious and the ludicrous of life. My heart is with her right now, though we live thousands of miles apart. She was and still is my very best friend. We have one of those once in a lifetime friendships that neither time nor distance can separate. In fact, I think I can honestly state that we are forever friends. I just didn’t think that forever would come so swiftly.

Gentler Time

Sittin’ on the curb, Settin’ on the stoop,
Grilled cheese sandwiches.
Tomato soup.

Buffalo nickels and silver dimes,
Penny candy and church bell chimes.

Hop scotch, jacks, and skates with keys.
Kinder words, like “thanks” and “please.”

Hop-Scotch, Butterscotch, Cracker-Jacks,
Hopping home o’er sidewalk cracks.

“Simon Says.”
Walkin’ to school.
Greaser hair and being “cool.”

Jackie Gleason. Name that Tune.
“Alice, Pow! Right to the Moon!”

Licking “Eat-Ade” from your hand.
Dancing close with a dancing band.

Hoola Hoops and Poodle skirts.
Boys wore ties, and girls were “flirts.”

Chevys. Hot Rods. Thunderbirds.
Holding hands, no need for words.

Sunday chicken and mashed potatoes.
Lots o’ gravy and fried tomatoes.

Meat loaf night, sittin’ at the table.
T.V. night without a cable.

Taking a stroll instead of a jog.
Letter writing. Sittin’ on a log.

Simple pleasures, short and sweet.
Crossing in the middle of the street.

Saddle shoes and crinolines;
Eating tuna out of tins.

All those memories in my mind
Of a kinder and a gentler time.

Copyright Jaye Lewis, 2002

Good-by John. I'll see you in heaven.

With love,
Jaye Lewis
www.entertainingangels.org

Yes, Virginia, There is a God By Jaye Lewis

Hello friends,

Last night, rather late, I received an email from someone whom I will call Virginia. She told me that I am a good man, which tells me she has read at least one of my works, without a picture. So she doesn’t even know that I am a woman.

Well, Virginia went on to say that my belief in God was, well, childish, when everyone else knows He does not exist. Her email was less than cohesive. She flipped from one thought to the next, without any connection to her claim. Her thoughts scattered all over my computer screen – Big Bang, God as Big Bang, Big Bang as God. Another interesting observation was in the form of a question: “If there is a God, who came before Him? Who created Him?”

That question stimulates my own reasoning:

If there is no God, then who or what came first?
If there is no God, then why are you so afraid of Him?
If there is no God, then why do you care so much to inform me?
If there is no God, then when my time is up on this earth, it won’t matter.
On the other hand, if there is a God, and you war against Him, you have an eternity to regret your decision.

Quite frankly, I don’t believe you. It would not occur to me to contact someone that I don’t know, and set them straight about their core faith. So, you are afraid that there is a God and you’re mad at Him for some reason, because He didn’t do what you wanted.

Anyhow, friends, these are the things that are on my heart today. There is a God. He loves us, and He doesn’t give us everything we want. He gives us what we need. For instance, my eyesight is failing. I have no depth perception. I hurt myself all the time, because what I think is there is really too close, and I can’t judge the distance.

If my macular degeneration continues to advance, there are many things that I will
miss. I will miss the sunsets and the sunrises, that I see from my back door. I can no longer distinguish one bird from another. I take pictures of everything, hoping that one day there will be a cure.

If not, then I understand. God has another plan. He always does. I love God, with an incredible passion. He makes me glad to be alive. He fills me as nothing on this earth can. He came to me, not because he needed me, but because I needed Him.

So, you see, Virginia, there is a God. You just have not taken the time to know Him, and blind or not, I will always see Him in the life that I lead. Without sight, I know that my husband’s love is there, because I will be in his loving arms. Even though I don’t see God, with my naked eyes, I know the touch of His hand on my life; I have felt his arms around me. Believe or not, Virginia, because I will keep on believing for you. I will believe, because that is what I do. It is who I am.

Father in heaven, I am well aware that there are those who do not know you. Maybe they don’t want to know you. How sad, for You are so well worth knowing. I know how these doubters, or non-believers, feel, because I was once one of them. They are afraid. I know that. Perhaps by reaching out to me, they will begin to understand the Scripture verse, “See the lilies of the field. They neither spin nor sew, yet not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed as one of these.”

We have a God who loves the birds of the air and the flowers of the field. If He loves them, then how much more He must love us, each of us. So, Virginia, as long as there are birds that sing and flowers that bloom, we can be assured that God is real and that He loves us.

With love,
Jaye Lewis
http://www.entertainingangels.org/

Honor, Integrity, Trust By Jaye Leiws

Hello friends,

I’m reclining here on my messy bed, trying not to turn up the volume of my T.V. set. It’s on, simply because I haven’t had the gumption to turn it off, and every other channel either upsets me, or scares the heck out of me. Yes, I’m in T.V. hell.

I’m on my second relapse of an upper respiratory infection, which has thrown me into another asthma attack. I’m complicated, or so said a doctor of mine, several years ago, who, basically fired me.

“Get out of my office! You’re too complicated! Diabetic/asthmatics die!” His exact words.

Of course, my answer, had I been clever enough at the time, might have been, “Not without taking you with me, you quack!” Of course, that never came out of my mouth, but it might have felt good, for a moment. However, that doctor had already told me some upsetting news about himself. His doctor had just died, and now where was he going to go?

So, if truth be told, we just don’t know what other people, even doctors might be grieved about. I used to get so mad, that I was just furious, and I’d say anything, but now, I wonder. Isn’t that what this world is coming to? Just a kind of craziness that makes us watch endless T.V. programs that we simply don’t care about.

Even the decorating channel is simply unbelievable. Houses for $300,000 or more, for FIRST TIME BUYERS???? Payments of $2,000 or more?? And, since the bottom has fallen out of every market, how many people still have those homes? Also, why would anyone feel a need to spend $40,000 on a kitchen redo, with granite countertops? It is so unreal.

A home is more than real estate. It is where you go to feel safe. A home embraces you much like an old friend, and, as with people, one’s home should be treated with honor, integrity, and trust. My home is where my heart is, my husband, my children, and my God. Everything I think, and say, and do, is cleared through Him. We did not buy our home for the spa-like master suite bathroom. Bathrooms are functional, must work for the right reasons, and I’m not in competition for the extra sink. Bathrooms, for us, are private and not to be shared at the same time. That’s just my opinion.

We bought our house, because I fell in love with its 55 foot deck and its magnificent view of the mountains. We have planted and pruned and spent 11 years landscaping the outside. The inside keeps us warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I am what you might call a semi-invalid. I do what I can. And if I can do it outside, then that’s where I’ll be. The decorating shows give me some ideas, and that’s all, but I probably won’t go wild, and then wonder how we will pay things off. The market in this area has never been unaffordable; yet there are many homes in foreclosure. It’s sad.

So, I guess the message, today, both for you and me, is this: Let us all live our lives with honor, integrity, and trust, especially to ourselves. Honestly, can I afford the home-improvement? Does my integrity say, sure I can take out this unaffordable loan for a spa-like bathroom? Or anything else? Then trust. The most important virtue. Do I trust God to provide for my needs? Do I have integrity when I promise Him obedience. Do I have honor? Do I honor Him?

These are the things that are on my heart today, as I lay here in T.V. hell. Do I believe the foolish things I see, or do I simply marvel at the stupidity of my fellow human beings? I cannot hold myself up as a shining example, because I have been so foolish in my life; but I’m learning. I’m becoming a more obedient child of God. And I try to be honest in every aspect of my life, especially within, where no one else sees, except God and me.

With love,
Jaye Lewis
www.entertainingangels.org