O' Lord

O' Lord, O' Lord, I know you hear my cry! Your love is lifting me above all the lies. No matter what I face, this I know in time, you'll take all that is wrong and make it right.  "

Those are the lyrics that I heard this morning as I woke up from a jet-lagged sleep. Those lyrics are still harmonizing in my mind and heart...eight hours later. I am currently finding myself sitting in a coffee shop in small town, Sugarcreek, Ohio. I find myself at home. I have been here in Ohio for five days now, and I have done nothing but cry out the words "O' Lord, O' Lord" over and over again.

 I am, once again, in a position where I am unsure of where God wants me. What I thought was going to happen, was that I was going to come back to Ohio for three weeks to try and somehow begin mending the brokenness in my family. Mainly with my parents. But I have come to realize, that I can't fix them. I can't change them. I can't change anything but myself. I have to come to realize that the doors for me to go back to Alaska have come to a close, and it brings sadness to my heart at that reality. I mean, what am I to do? Physically and worldly, I have nothing. I am now without a job, a home, and possibly a car. In both places. But the one thing that I know has remained and will ALWAYS remain, is Jesus.

O' Lord, O' Lord. 

 I am unsure of what I am to do. In two weeks, I will be approaching the date that my flight leaves for Alaska. Do I get on that plane knowing that I have nothing to return to, or do I stay and start over here in Ohio? All I know is that I can't worry about the here and now, or anything in my past, but I must stay focused on the one thing that I know will never change. The one thing that will always remain...

O' Lord. O' Lord, I know you hear my cry! Your love is lifting me above all the lies.

Differences

Two days ago, I found myself boarding flights to come back home to Ohio to see my family who I haven't seen in almost a year and a half. As I was having my bags checked, I went passed the "First Class" check bag line and said "Must be nice". A friend of mien was with me at the time and she looked at me and said "Mal. Its just a ticket. There is no difference between you and them. You are ALL going to the same place." I looked at her and said thank you for reminding me of my undesirable selfish thoughts.
   When I boarded my first plane, ironically enough,God placed me right behind first class. I mean I was a single seat away from being in first class. (God sure is funny sometimes) As the minutes progressed of being able to remove our seat belts, I watched the flight attendants walk up and down the aisle of first class and asked if anyone would like a drink. I wanted to shout out "Me! I would like one please!" But then, I started thinking to myself "What is so different about them? Why do they get treated better than those of us in coach?"

I just didn't get it. What is so different? I mean, we are just the same on the outside...humans. That's it

Salty Tongue

"For we all stumble in many things. If anyone does not stumble on word, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle the whole body...Even so the tongue is a little member and boasts great things. See how great a forest a little fire kindles!...But no man can tame the tongue. It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison." (James 3;2,5,8)

I first heard those words of truth from the book of James when I was eleven years old. I was a camper at Camp Buckeye Retreat Center in Dundee, Ohio. It was during cabin devotional time. The time where all of us campers would sit in a circle on the floor of our cabin, and listen to our counselors as they taught us the directions and the truth that was found in the Bible. Eleven years later, at (almost) 22 years of age, I still think back to that one night when those verses were read aloud. Those words...those verses, impacted my life in more ways than I can describe. That was the night that "taming the tongue" was humanly impossible.

I was around five years old when the lying began. That one word to me, is so bitter. Its as bitter as the taste of salt on my tongue. Grainy...disgusting. As I think and ponder on that bitterness, my mouth has turned dry and my tongue is rough as sandpaper. Truth of the mater is...

  I was a liar.

 Growing up, I would lie about anything and everything. Small things, big things, medical "conditions"...everything. My parents, mainly my dad, would repeatedly tell me that I was a "wolf in sheep's clothing". My mom would always bring up the story of "the boy who cried wolf too many times". Growing up, my parents would also say "Mal, you won't be in as much trouble if you tell us the truth and not lie about it." But no matter how many times they would repeat themselves, and ask me why I would lie, I still continued to do what I, deep down, didn't want to do.

Along with my parents and brother, a lot of people would ask me over and over again why I lied. I mean I lied about stupid crap! I always said the same thing every time, "I don't know." Honestly, I knew the reason why I did what I did. I just didn't want them to know. I didn't want anyone to know. Throughout the years, my parents would spend thousands of dollars taking me to see psychiatrists, counselors, and psychologists. I had multiple personality tests that were given to me. I remember there were a lot of times where I would sit in a room all by myself at a desk, with a pencil and a multiple choice answer test. The doctors would tell me that I had to "fill in the bubbles". I sat there. Quietly. I take my time up until I got to question thirty and then I would quickly fill in the rest of the bubbles because I just simply didn't care. More importantly-I didn't understand why I was having to do such a "silly" thing. In my mind, I didn't understand why I would have to go and see them week in and week out. I missed countless hours of school. Mom would come and pick me up for a psychiatric appointment during school...and I just couldn't understand. What was wrong with me?

I lied for protection. I wanted to be protected from everything in the world...mainly people and pain. I wanted to have control of some part of my life. Looking back, I now realize that I just wanted to be protected from sadness. I wanted to be accepted by my family. I wanted attention. I wanted someone to notice me. 

When I was in the sixth grade, I lied about having asthma. My parents, once again, spent thousands of dollars, to take me to doctors and appointments, to have me checked for numerous things. I had to take a pulminary function test, and I remember my mom asking the doctor if there was anyway that I could "fake" a positive result. The doctor told her no. I was bound and determined to make it true. I believed that I had asthma. So therefore...it was true. Well, let me just say that it was a lie, and seven years later, when I was eighteen years, I was truthfully and honestly diagnosed with asthma. Turns out my mom was right.

What goes around comes around. 

I could go on and on about the lies that I told. I could go on about how I lied about the time my mom simply asked who got the mustard out (it was me) and left it out on the counter. I could tell you how I lied about that and how I told her that it wasn't me. All she wanted was a direct answer. I lied about it. I could go on and on and on...but what good will that do? It won't change my past. It won't fix the bridges that have been burned between my parents and I. I used to believe that my past would change....that was a lie. The truth is, is that my past will always be my past. I can not look back at the things that I have done wrong ten years ago.

But what I can do is look forward. What I CAN do is tell you that Christ has redeemed me. I am no longer a liar. I am no longer a person with a salty tongue. I may mess up and do wrong. But I am human. We all are. And let me tell you this, before I leave...no matter what you have done yesterday, it doesn't matter today. You can't go back and rewind time. I know, I know-I wish we could do that too, but we can't. My life changed when I began seeking Christ. My life changed when Christ SAVED me and raised me from the dead.

That much I know is

TRUTH.

It Took Alaska: Just a Piece of It

Chapter One

   I was born and raised in a small town in Ohio that was located smack-dab in the center of Amish Country. It was a small town indeed. Granted, it was nothing to brag about. I mean we had a bank, two gas stations, an ice cream shop, a butcher shop that was known to all of us “small town folks” as “Suzie's, a restaruant that was best known for its “Amish style” mashed potatoes and gravy, a decent sized park with two baseball fields, and one caution light in the square that would blink red every second, just to remind you to stop at the only intersection in town. Then of course, there was the train that would screech on by in all hours of the night, but never seemed to bother most people. That was my town, and for the longest time, that was my home. Good old Baltic, Ohio.

 

 Now there wasn't a single person or family who lived in Baltic that was known as “rich”. My family was far from that, but my parents managed. As a town, we all seemed to have “gotten by” with what we had. My family did just that. My dad was well known around the town. It was a town where everybody knew everybody, and let me just say; everyone knew who Shane Renfrew was. My dad was strong and built like a successful working man. He owned and still owns a contracting company called “Shane's Renovations.” When he first started out, his business was “Ceilings and More Drywall” . My dad has always been a hard working man, who would work long hours just to provide for his family. Looking back, some of the most memorable moments that I have of my dad from when I was a little girl was seeing him come home covered in drywall dust. He would walk over to the stairs and unlace his dust covered boots and aftwerwards, he would then empty out his jean pockets. First came his chewing Tobacco-good old Copenhagen... with the silver lid. Next would come his brown leather wallet that seemed to have been attached to him since I was born. Dad would count all of his money that was left over from that day at work. Then there would come the miscellanious things from his pocket: paper shreds, receipts, pennies, and sometimes even a small tool. (My dad was a tool man-nothing surprised me about his pockets.) My mom would usually be in the kitchen when dad came home. I remember seeing my dad, quite a few times, walk over to the sink, washed his calloused hands, and when he was done, I would see him give my mom a kiss. My dad was quite the “Nicholas Sparks”-very romantic when it came to my mom and him. That was and still is my dad.

  Then there's my mom. Words just can't describe her , and I mean that with all sincere truth and love. Let me just say that my mom..well, she's who I want to be like when I become a mother to my own children. My mom's name is Gina. She is a person and a woman of pure elegant beauty. When she smiles, she can light up any room that she enters, and when I hear her laugh, my heart is full of joy. She is built with the body of a true mother to two children. Strong. Brave. She has the heart of compassion and has always protected her family, especially my brother and I, just like a mama bear and her cubs. My mom is the type of woman that I want to be simply because she is full of life. When I was little, my mom worked as a waitress at the same restaurant that was known for the mashed potatoes and gravy. When I was around six or seven, (I believe) mom stopped working and took on the job as a stay-at-home mom. I loved that about her...she simply quit her job to be able to spend more time with my brother and I. My mom was the one person that was always there after long, treacherous, agonizing, hours at school and would, every single day, ask the same question when we got in her view, “How was school?”. I always replied with the same answer day in and day out, until the day I graduated, “Fine.” Today, as I write this, I wish I would have told her about my days at school. I just wish I would have told her.

  I have a brother who is three and a half years younger than me. His name is Dakota and he will be eighteen in March and will graduate high school in the spring. My brother is extremely smart and intelligent. Great with finances and budgeting, and if you were to ask me-I know for a fact that he will do amazing things when he gets older! Growing up, aside from all of the normal brother-sister fights, him and I got along “mildly well”. Dakota and I were your typical, somewhat well-rounded, children. We did everything kids do! From sliding down the stairs in our mom's laundry basket, climbing up walls like Spiderman, throwing water by the five gallons onto my brothers (upstairs) bedroom floor and pretending to “ice skate” (we got our butt's beat for that one), to having dodgeball wars with egg yolks. I was the one who took it up a notch and would dump all of the expired (and when I say expired, I'm talking expired by a day or so) milk down the kitchen sink. That was our childhood, and to me, that's the best thing about life!

With all of the being said, that is my family. That is my background of where I come from. 

Let me just say that the story has yet to begin.