An Announcement

This may stun many of you and for that I apologize.
But for the past year something has been weighing heavy on me.
This past winter I finally figured it out after many sleepless nights with great abdominal discomfort.
Here goes...
I've become lactose intolerant ((sigh)).
This isn't easy and for those that cry, "Tolerance, Tolerance!", let me just say this wasn't of my choosing!!!
I'm a milk lover...and let's not forget about cheese, the other food group of which I'm a huge fan.
And may I add that paying high prices for lactose free milk stinks!
The kids are told not to touch it! We have something semi-precious in the fridge and sadly it ain't chocolate ((sigh)).
So other than her jowls, I've also inherited something else from my Grandma.


                          I love this old photograph! I was only around seven or eight years old.
I can remember her telling me in her precious southwest Oklahoma accent, "I just can't drink milk anymore, I blow up!" I understand now, Grandma.
As I'm growing older there is so much more that I understand and relate to...but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
Middle-aged and lactose intolerant,
Julie

The Father of the Fatherless

Today is my dad's birthday.
I don't know how old he is...I just remember that it's the third of July.



I really don't remember him, though.
He never really cared about me or my sister and brother.
People have tried to convince me that he did, but the plain and simple truth is that he didn't.



He remarried when I was five and didn't even tell his new wife that he had been married before or that we, his children, even existed.
She found out through an insurance claim.
Child support was never paid, we lived in poverty due also to my mother being mentally ill.



After my dad's wife found out his secret, they agreed not to tell their children about us.
The secret was kept for many years.



But my dad started feeling guilty after his mother died...our Granny (we actually called her that).
You see, no one contacted us and we found out through a friend seeing my grandmother's obituary in their local newspaper.



I don't blame the family for not letting us know, as my dad's wife can be volitale and they were hoping to avoid any confrontations.
Still, I believe that it was this event that triggered my dad to get in touch with me when I was in my late twenties.
We corresponded by letters than phone for several months.
In the beginning he kept our communicating from his wife, but she found out.
At first she was angered, "betrayed" she said, but then decided that it was okay and they would have to figure out a way to tell their sons about us and our dad's past.
One son was already grown, the other a child,...both were curious about us.
A trip was planned, teary hellos and hugs were expressed in the airport upon my arrival, it was all so touching...Oprah-worthy even.



But all was not resolved, more lies were created and what was supposed to be a process of healing became confusing and deceptive.
I believe that there can come a point in our lives where it is okay to step out of another's life.
My dad and I have not talked for nearly fourteen years.
It's okay...and...I have forgiven him.
Julie

Sing to God, sing praise to his name,
extol him who rides on the clouds-
his name is the LORD-
and rejoice before him.

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in his holy dwelling.
Psalm 68:4-5

Remembering

My oldest child is currently at church camp. It's her first time to attend. We are going to visit her this evening and I've been looking forward to it all day.
But along with looking forward to seeing her and missing her, memories of long ago have taken me back to my early church camp days.

The first time I went to church camp was at a Nazarene church camp somewhere near Anadarko, Oklahoma. The cabins were crude with wooden bunks that creaked and swayed when you got in and out. The windows had screens, no glass. And the days and nights were filled with the sound of cicadas. It was hot and there were many fans set up strategically around the cabin to catch what little breeze may waft in during the midsummer evenings. Strange, I don't remember the worship services or Bible classes. I think that I was only eight or nine years old.

The times that I went after that were to a large church camp in south central Oklahoma near Davis.
Falls Creek is a popular camp for Southern Baptist churches and is highly attended throughout the summer. Since I've been, they have built a new tabernacle, an indoor one at that. Can it be a tabernacle and be indoor?
Falls Creek was a different experience everytime I went.


I first went when I was in the fifth grade. I can remember watching all the girls and boys pair up. Also the hills were quite memorable...thinking back it seemed every destination was uphill. The tabernacle was open to the elements and the heat was oppressive. Spiritually speaking, I don't remember being convicted of my need for a saviour.
Then I went again when I was eighteen. I had a boyfriend at the time and he was there. Sadly, my sole focus was on him not Him.
Again, I went the next summer without a boyfriend, but with friends. I listened to the Word preached and felt the need to surrender, I was convicted deeply, and knew I needed Jesus to be Lord of my life but wasn't ready to give up the lifestyle I was involved in. Looking back, I realize that had I made the right decision in trusting Jesus, my life would have changed dramatically for the better. Hindsight is 20/20.

The next time I attended camp I was in my late twenties and it was at Siloam Springs, Arkansas. I was a sponsor and a Believer. I remember nights of giggling girls and one girl in particular that had to sleep with me because she was terribly homesick. I remember walking to the tabernacle and smiling at all the adolescent goings ons. I remember great worship services and learning a hilariously funny song called The Gorilla Song.

I remember being young and enjoying the youth around me.
I'm praying my oldest will have only fond memories of her camp experience, no regrets.
Remembering days gone by, Julie