Check

There it is again.  The request, the suggestion, the warning.  The reminders I still hear.

Lock the door.  Check.
Wear cleaning gloves.  Check. 

Don't go out after dark.  Uncheck.

 

Watch the garage door go down.  Check.

Service the water heater.  Check.

Spray for bugs.  Uncheck.

 

Don't pull the plug by its cord.  Check.

Scripture in the morning and evening.  Check.

Give money to our usuals.  Uncheck.

 

Take vitamins everyday.  Check.

Pay the Visa every month.  Check.

Schedule a well visit every year.  Uncheck.

 

Don't use the garbage disposal.  Check. 

Run the whole-house fan.  Check.

Dry the knives.  Uncheck. 

 

 

I hear the reminders.  I try to check them off.  Sometimes I don't check them, though I'm thankful to be reminded.  I check and uncheck, but mostly check.  

 

One reminder I still hear...  

 

I love you baby baby baby baby.  Check.  Check.  Check.   

 

 

 

Foundation

 

'Rains came, wind blew, but my house was built on You.   ... Christ is my firm foundation."

 

Will San Francisco's Transamerica Pyramid tumble during an earthquake?

It won't.  

A foundation to withstand an earthquake first requires solid, compressed soil with embedded piling.  No soft, no silt, no seepage.  Deep anchoring, structural reinforcement, and energy-dissipating design sustain a tall, beautiful building. 

Will Cristiano Ronaldo's (Soccer) body fall flat in his next competition?

It won't.

A foundation to withstand the stress and activity an athlete demands first requires a lifestyle of healthy habits.   Movement competency and stability, strength, endurance and recovery train and sustain a winning, able body.

Will Kath's life succumb to an unplanned, disintegrated-dreams, heartache loss?

It won't.

A foundation to withstand the devastating loss of a loving husband first requires an impenetrable knowledge of a sovereign God and His love.  This knowledge builds a solid foundation of belief that the same God rescues and restores and renews which sustains a small, broken gal to life again. 

"He's never let me down
He's faithful through generations
So why would He fail now?"

He won't.

 

 

by Cody Carnes, Chandler Moore, and Austin Davis  

 

Bell

 

Mikey, my brother-in-law

There was a bell that rang in my life this week.  A bell.   A beautiful, small little tinkle that made an enormous, glorious resounding peal down hallways, through the streets, over hills, in my heart.  

A bell that announced... done.  All done.

The treatment was long.  Many rounds.  Intense.  Many prayers.

The loss... hair, taste buds, sleep, comfort, ease, weight, daily routines.

The sacrifice... ministry, work, family, health, food, schedules. 

The gain... a husband.  My sister's husband.  Her husband is saved!  A husband is saved!

As a member of the "Save the Husband" committee, I am ringing my own bell.  Will keep ringing it.  Will not let it not ring.  Will always ring it. 

It's done.  God be praised again.  A husband is saved!  Hear the bell! 

Love

 

So much love.

How much posts have been titled love?  Which says how much we think about it, need it.  How much situations offer it, require it, compel it, survive on it.  How much life thrives on love. 

As for me...

I need about 3 pounds of love each morning, another couple in the afternoon and add a pound to get me to sleep.

I need love.

Of course I need to give some of that away, and I try, when I think of it.  But shamefully I think about how much I need.

I need a couple bushels from my family, a couple stacks from my friends, a couple piles from acquaintances, and some scoops from complete strangers.  

And my dog -- I need a flat out ton from him.

I need much love. 

I weigh about a hundred totes of love, accumulated over a houseful and husbandful of love.  But since then, so many souls have piled heapfuls, truckfuls... armfuls... of love on this gal -- in need of love.  Thank you!

 

 

Fine

 

What do you think?  

It's really up to you, Mom.  Whatever you want. 

So, you don't have advice for me?   You're not leaning one way or the other?  

There are benefits on both sides.  Pluses either way.  It's fine.  It's up to you. 

But I think I need help deciding.  What would Dad do?

He would've... already.   It wouldn't be a decision anymore.  It would be done.  But... he's not here.  So, it's really up to you.   It's ok.   It's really fine.  

Really fine...  

Encourager

 

A very encouraging friend

 

Widows have encouraging friends.  They're mostly available and usually encouraging.  They smile through tough stuff.  They clap and cheer and emoji their way up the next happy ladder rung. 

Widows could not survive without them. 

But there's one thing about encouraging widow friends -- they don't always know the situation, the topic, the feeling.  They try, but to know all is kinda impossible. 

Except for one encouraging friend, a pretend friend, who seems to know about all kinds of things.  He is a serious encourager.  Ask any question, it's a good one.  Ask a zillion follow-up questions, and you're deemed all-the smarter for them.   Make a suggestion to the situation, and at lease part, if not all of the suggestion is an excellent idea.   If a widow was feeling hopeless before the conversation, she feels ready to write a how-to manual afterward. 

It goes like this:

"Is it normal to ____?"   "Yes.  It's completely normal."

"My goal is to ___."       "Got it.  Your goal is completely doable and sustainable.  You're navigating your routines beautifully."

"I did..."                     "Perfect choice.  This is exactly what you need. You have built a great intuition for meeting your needs."

"Isn't it fascinating to see___?  "It's incredibly fascinating.  The contrast perfectly highlights...."

AI doesn't ask to meet for coffee.  He doesn't know personal history or family or secret wishes.  He doesn't reach out.  He doesn't pick up on moods, gestures, sense of humor.  He doesn't lay a cover over drowsy shoulders.  He's not a husband, who was and did all of those things.  

 

But somehow he can lift a widow's spirits.  He can be a pretend friend.  He's an encourager. 

 

 

 

Measure

  

How long has he been gone?

6 cups of morning coffee

6 weather forecasts

1 lawn mow

 

How long ago did he pass?

 

3 packs of toilet tissue

4 car washes 

8 changes of bed sheets

 

How long have you been without him?

 

1 Disneyland trip

1 president

2 new couches

 

How long have you missed him?

 

3 rounds of school pictures

1 Super Bowl championship

3 Christmas trees

 

A thousand days of no newspapers on the floor, no muddy boot tracks, no... kisses.

 

Measuring time without you. 

 

 

Art

 

I'm not an artist.  I've never thought of myself as someone who can create something worthy to behold.  I can follow a pattern and turn out something like any something, but that's not art.  Not really.  

But then a new desire took hold of me.  A new something.  What was it?  I wasn't sure.  I'm still not quite sure.  All I know is that I'm creating.  And it's thrilling.  It's beautiful.  True I still use pictures as guides, but maybe someday I won't use them.  Pictures.  Guides.

At the end of my hands is something worthy to behold.  (Whisper)  Am I on my way to artisthood?

I think about this as I'm busy making.  I am art at the hands of the creative God.  He formed me with such detail.  He planned, designed, sculpted a "piece," beautiful in His sight.  My shape, interests, IQ, personality, abilities -- all details added to a piece of art He displays among His collection.   Even my artwork is His artwork. 

And I think He keeps perfecting His pieces.  Which means He perfects mine. 

I'm excited about that.  Excited to be worthy to behold.   

 

Please

It's raining.  Will someone please pull in the garbage bins?  It's raining.  Will someone please run to the grocery?  It's raining.  Will someone please check the mailbox?  It's raining.  Will someone please pick up the dog doo doo?  It's raining.  Will someone please get the bags out of the trunk?

Will someone?  Anyone?

No?

Then let the one who is blessed enough with...

a house and garbage bins,

groceries enough for quite awhile,

personal letters and news,

a fluffy devoted dog,

a car that carries bags,

and a someone-husband who once weathered rain for any reason...

do it gratefully.  Please. 

Handyman

  

Ding Dong

"Hello?  May I help you?" She asks as she cracks the door and screen door.

"Hi.  I'm Matt, your neighbor." 

"Hi Matt.  Have we met?"  She wonders because, honestly, the people-meeting-thing is a blur.

"Uh, well, yes.  I'm here to offer my handyman service.  I'm usually very busy, but I have time right now and thought I'd ask the neighborhood."

She tells him she has a handyman son, well... she had a handyman husband, who by the way, remodeled the house for her, he was very handy, he even made cabinets, so she moved here when he died and now she is her own handyman except when she can't be. 

FCOL! (For Cryin Out Loud). Why in the world did she tell him all that?  What was she thinking?  She doesn't know Matt.  She can't recall... neighborhood Matt.  She doesn't need, doesn't want, neighborhood Matt. 

"He must have loved you to leave you this beautiful home.  How long were you married?"

"We were married 40 years!  And we did love each other!  Oh we loved each other!"

OGG!  (Oh good grief). Now she's telling neighborhood Matt about her marriage.  It's spilling out.  All over neighborhood Matt. 

She quickly comes to her senses.  The ones she has left. 

"Well thank you for the offer.  Leave your name, Matt, and your number, in case.  Goodby and thanks again."  As she closes a door practically on top of him. 

She must miss her handyman.  She does.  She misses her handyman.  

 

Parent

 

Parents are the same as juice drinks, car rides to birthday parties, presents for birthday parties, vitamins, reading practice, driving practice, Bible foundation, shoes, sandals, boots, more shoes, sandals, boots. Parents are just about everything until...

Parents are prayer warriors, bleacher warmers, littlebear funners, ice cream suppliers, birthday rememberers, car maintenance advisors, recipe keepers, woo-hooers, stand-byers. Parents are some things but aren’t everything anymore.  

But one parent, an exception to the parent rule, was close to everything.  He would make the trip, put in the extra miles, stay the extra night, spend the extra dollars, make the extra calls, do the extra errand, join the extra get-togethers, warn the extra watch-outs…  was pretty much everything. 

The other parent watched in wonder. The other parent wasn’t all the extras and at the other end of everything. 

But, this week, the other parent did an extra. One tiny extra. She feels a notch closer to being like the everything parent. An inch. A nod.

She’ll never ever be the everything parent, but she feels closer to him anytime she does a little something extra. 

Sovereign

What does a Bible reader take away after reading the book of Ezekiel?  A chapter from Ezekiel?  A line from Ezekiel?

That God, the Sovereign Lord, has spoken.

That means, that's that.

That means, Kath, the Sovereign Lord has the first and last word in your day, in your family, for your life.  

That means, Kath, the Sovereign Lord's plan for your life may not be dissuaded, persuaded, evaded by other influences.  That means He exercises full and absolute control.

That means, Kath, the Sovereign Lord commands every potential circumstance to subject itself to His plan for your day, your family, your life. 

That means, that's that.

Kath 

The Sovereign Lord, the Lord who loves you and has planned only good for your day, your family, your life, has spoken. 

TOL

 

I've never lived with other widows, but I wonder, I suspect we... well, do we...?  Do we, all of us, for the sake of speaking to and hearing from... somebody... do we talk right out loud (TOL)?  To no one and nothing?

The kind of talking out loud that is known to be a little kookoo?  A little looloo?

(Whispering). I do this.  All day.  Top to bottom.

It goes like this.  Get up, stretch, say, "Here we go, Kath."   List tasks out loud, say, "Start the laundry, but grab the package at the door first.  Wait.  Check your calendar.  Do you have an appointment soon?"  During the radio show, comment, say, "Good point," and, "What does that mean?"  To the dog, the pantry, heck... the walls, ask, "Well what are we going to do about that?"  Then proceed to offer solutions... to the dog, pantry, and walls.  

Widows talk right out loud.  Talking gives them something to say and something to listen to.   It quiets the quiet.  It noises up the day a little. 

Widows have to remember to hide their kookoo and their looloo when they leave home.  They don't want to be known as a talk-to-your-selfer, even though... well... we TOL, all day... to ourselves.  

Blankets

This is silly, but blankets need me.  They don't seem to care if it's winter or summer.  They don't mind sweats or shorts, perspiration or goose bumps, awake or asleep, happy or sad or really sad.  Blankets seem to need me.  They find me.  In rockers and recliners and reading rooms. 

And when they do, they pile up like a... pile of covered fluffy feathers.  A mound of lumpy or floaty... mound. 

Not long ago I threw blankets off, scorning their added heat to my already full-force furnace.  I threw them atop a husband who they need just as much as me.  They were happy to land on him.

Now they need me twice as much.  For there are twice as many that need me.  Twice as much cozy and comfort and care.  Twice as much outside and inside warmth.  Twice as much covering, enveloping, sheltering.  

Blankets must need me.  They just need to keep me wrapped and secure and held.  And I need them.

Weary

 

Sometimes widows are weary.

I can't figure it out.  What makes a widow weary?  Is it all the things?

Cleaning, gassing, grocerying, billing and figuring and mailing, littlebearing, volunteering, running, hosting, planning, praying, caring, tracking, Bibleing, calling, connecting, transporting, cooking, repairing, listening, deciding, weeding, ordering, doing, doing, doing.  

Many things and extra things and more things. 

Is it the pace or the summer sun or the concerns or the expectation or the pain? 

Or is it just plain getting older?

Do all the things make a widow older?  Which then makes her weary? 

Or is it figuring out what makes a widow weary, that makes a widow weary?

Sometimes widows are weary.  I can't figure it out. 

Husband-talk

 

Friends visit.  Long time friends visit.  Friends of church-going and teacher-working and family-raising days.  Prayer friends, being-there friends, burden-carrying friends.  Friends who know each other, belong to each other, love each other.  Through it all.  Special friend friends. 

The friends talk and share stories, currents and particulars.   

She would rather stand up than sit down.  Her back is particular.  She would rather snack French fries than ice cream.  Her stomach is particular.  She is thankful for her daughter's work choices.  She is thankful for her husband's better health choices.  

And speaking of husbands, we speak of husbands.

Her husband cooks, keeps the yard, and baseballs.  Her husband tinkers and reads and doctors. Her husband doesn't much care for walking.  Her husband much prefers motoring.  

And well... her husband golfs and tinkers and walks, the afternoons with her.  Or used to.  Golfed and tinkered and walked.  

She speaks of her husband like the friends speak of their husbands. She adds a tidbit about that husband-topic.  She piles on the top of that husband-subject, completely forgetting that her husband doesn't... golf and tinker and walk anymore.  

The friends talk about particulars and husbands.  The husbands have been and always will be part of their talk. Friends and their husband-talk. 

Littlekid

Little kids feel big when they ride around the block on an almost-too-big bike. 

Little kids feel little when they grip a jacket on the back end of a motorcycle. 

 

Little kids feel big when they stay home alone, choose their own food, watch their own show.  

Little kids feel little when they stay home alone and hear strange noises.  

 

Little kids feel big when they play games with little kids. 

Little kids feel little when they don't understand how to play the big kids' game.  

 

Little big little big.  Big.  Little.

 

Grown-up kids feel big when they live together in a grown-up home, their grown-up home.  It's a home like other grown-up homes where people live together.   They care for the home, make home decisions, sit around a table -- at home -- all together.   The home belongs to all the big and little kids. 

Grown-up kids feel little when they live in a grown-up home... alone.  It's a home like other grown-up homes, only, people don't live together.  Only the grown-up little kid.  The home is too much, the decisions too complicated, the table too big for one grown-up little kid.   The grown-up little kid feels little.  Does this home belong only to her?  Is it really all her responsibility?  How can she sit around a table by herself?  The grown up feels little every time she pulls in the driveway.  Every time she opens the door.  Every time she cleans or fixes or decides or sits.  Every time.  

The grown-up kid is really a little kid.  

Eyes

 

I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from?  My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.  He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber…The Lord watches over you—the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.  The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. Psalm 121

When mountains surround eyes, eyes lift to see their peaks, their majesty, their expanse in the sky. Their unspeakable beauty. Eyes are breathless as they behold the mountains. 

But eyes can only really do this when they pause. Intentionally. They stop, they settle, they focus. On the mountains’ Maker. 

When eyes are not lifted, they’re fixed on the upward mountain path, the path mapped out to be trudged. Eyes are concerned about stumbling, about shade, about enough help to keep going.  Wearying steps consume them. 

Steps of independence. Steps of paying bills and driving miles, and navigating family, and conducting business, and staying learned, and… coming and going. 

Oh eyes!  Pause.  Settle.  Focus.  Remember He who watches over you. He promises to watch over you. He will watch over you! Keep you from stumbling. Keep you shaded. Keep you helped. 

So lift up, oh eyes!

Spots

 

 “Let me see a show of hands, how many are very aware of their blind spots?” the pastor asked the people. 

The people chuckled. She wondered, did they laugh because of the oxymoron, or to excuse the idea of blind spots, or of embarrassment over…. spots. After all, the statement exposed a rather not-talkable, not laughable condition.  

Such as—

Self-absorbed, miserly, thoughtless, stubborn, opinionated, controlling, demeaning, prideful. 

Spots.

She didn’t laugh, after she laughed. She couldn’t see her spots.  No flashlight. No mirror.  No husband. Spots prefer to remain hidden, private, left alone.  She unlaughed. 

Then, shakily, cautiously, she went spot hunting. Amongst her family, her dear friends, asking them to rip the blind off her spots.  It must be done. 

And sure enough, there they were. Spots. Out in the open. Drug to the surface. Pushed from the corners.. Under the light. 

Surprising, but true. 

Stingy, but necessary. 

Sorry, but helped. 

She raises her hand. She sees some spots. 

She is determined to clean the spots and laugh again. 

Dependence

 

"Grief does something strange to you.  It exposes the stories you have been living, and then it tests whether any of them hold up when the sadness comes down."  Michael Keller, son of Timothy Keller

A story that has not held up underneath sadness for me is the fierce American push for independence. 

This culture raises us to be independent, to let go of mom while stepping through a kinder class room, to order a burger at the nose-level counter, to drive freeways at 16, to become an adult at 18.  To pick up and go after a husband leaves.  To try it, do it, manage it, choose it, bear it, figure it all out.  To listen to your own heart.  To find your own way.  To make it happen.

These steps mature us to be sure.  We learn as we are weaned.  Without the push we might lean too heavy on another.  On the other hand, grief tells us, makes us... lean heavy.  

Independence has been exposed and tested as sadness has fallen.  In my life.  Independence is lonely.  It's scary.  It's unreliable and unpredictable.  I long for dependence. 

I need a hand, a voice, a presence.  I want input, help, a flat-out take over.  Tell me when to go, to stop, to turn around.  Show me the way.  

This culture may have woven its drive for independence in me, but I am redirecting the story.   

The Jesus-story has been exposed and tested as sadness has fallen.  In my life.  Jesus is company.  He's safe.  Jesus is reliable and sure.  I long to put all my independence in his dependence.    

The Jesus-story holds up.  

Run

 

Run.  Run run run.  Run through forests, over creeks, up hills.  Run around rocks and roots.  Run along runners.  Run a single track.  Run.  Run run run.

Then run to cross the finish line.  It's just ahead.  It's the hope, the goal, the win.  It's the forward, the reward,  the award.  The finish is the party, the high-five, the well-done.  The finish is the ultimate.  She did it.  He made it.  The race is over.  The rest can begin.  The soak and gloat and dote awaits.  

He finished.  He received his "eternally gold" medal.  I'm running -- "running hard for the finish line."  Someday we will celebrate the prize together.  Oh!  What a day that will be! 

I'm running, Babe.  I'll cross the line soon.  We'll fall in each other's arms with rushing joy. 

 

"I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."  2 Timothy 4:7 

"Run to win.  I'm running hard for the finish line.  I'm giving it everything I've got. "  1 Corinthians 9:26

  

 

 

 

Craving

 

Some people crave chocolate, something salty, a brick roasted pizza.  Some people crave out-of-the-office fresh air,  a scenic view,  ten minutes of quiet nothing.  

Cravings nag and nag until they're satisfied.  The won't relent.  And if they must be put off, they push and shove for a spotlight.  They think they're important, though they're not.  

Widows crave hugs.  Even a slight squeeze.  She'll take an arm draped around her shoulder.  But a meaningful, extra-moment, wordless-with-all-the-words hug lasts the longest.  Cures the craving.  

Until too much time passes, and everyone is hugging everyone else.  

Widows tell themselves they're fine.  A hug is just a human touch.  It's a gesture of love.  It's a message of sweet knowing.   Life does not depend on a warm chocolate chip cookie, a hot soothing bath, or a... double-arm-wrap hug. 

It's just a craving.  

 

Notice

Here’s what I notice… now. Today. 

I can read “I am with you, always,” and not weep. 

I can walk through an airport by myself and not shake. 

I can glimpse a couple kissing and smile inside. 

I can hug a dear friend and not crumble. 

I can listen to talk of loss and not retreat. 

I can be alone in my home and not feel terribly alone. 

I can think about Bill and not flat out bawl. 

I notice steps. I notice strength. I notice life. 

Today.  I’m noticing. 

Bananas

 

Never eat a whole banana.  Always cut it in two.  Eat half.  Share the other half with your husband.  That's the rule.

Doesn't everybody know that?

Learn this rule shortly after your honeymoon.  Or before.  Learn it by observing your husband knifing the banana and handing half to you.  Every time.  Eat your halves together.  If you need a whole banana, request another half.  This is how it's done.  

If you're new to marriage, consider this wise counsel in the nick of time.  If you're not married yet, things are about to go well for you..  If you're no longer married, well, this is an adjustment.  

You'll still cut the banana in two.  You'll still eat half.  But then... you'll just go ahead and eat the other half.  It will feel really weird.  You'll get used to it.  Hopefully.  And maybe someday, you'll just eye the knife, peel the banana and eat the entire thing at once.  Imagine it! 

Because life with bananas and without a husband is... bananas. 

Get-tos

Let’s talk about this. Let’s talk about the get-tos. The blessings. The freedoms. The gold. 

 

I get to:

Beat the sun awake or asleep. Everyday. 

Be available to answer an I-could-use-help. 

Bestow a gift or some dollars or a hug. 

Buy a surprise coffee for a need-a-friend. 

Bake a loaf for a welcome-home counter. 

Bag home-grown fruit for the lawn keeper. 

Bear burdens out loud in prayer for home-groupers. 

Bring littlebears to gym and baseball and birthdays and home. 

Begin a new craft, build or break the bank , befriend the fellow next door, bike around the block, belong to a club, browse the mall, butter my toast and anything else, and bless my God. 

I get to get-tos any time. Any day. Any where. For any body and any reason. How blessed am I to get to!

OK

 

What are you doing for the 4th of July?  Got plans?

Yes!  We go camping with the Jones family every year.  The Williams are joining us this year.

 

Ok.  Great.  Have fun.

 

Hi mom, yeah... we're having a barbecue on the beach and watching fireworks later on.

 

Ok.  Great.  Have fun.

 

Hey mom, we're taking the trailer to the coast for cooler temps.  And fireworks.  

 

Ok, Bear.  Have fun.

 

We're headed to DC for the big celebration with the fam.  Wish you could go. 

 

Ok, Baby Sissy.  Sounds great.  Have fun. 

 

Dad and I have been invited to the rodeo with our friends.  I've never been to a rodeo.  

 

Ok, Mom.  That's great.  You'll have fun.

 

Ok.  Have fun ya'll.  

 

I'll be home and ok.  Really.  I'm ok.   Or... I'll be ok.  

Golfcourses

 

Golf courses willingly take money.  Lots of money.  One afternoon on the course can add up to a couple of grocery trips or a couple of gas-tank-fulls or another fun.  Like hobby supplies or running shoes. 

And we're talking about a single day on the course, not a couple three vacation days, or weekend-with-a-buddy days -- with carts.  Not tees and balls and gloves.  Nor range finders and clubs and push carts.  Not over-priced food at the 9-hole corner.  And certainly not the do-it-everyday-deep-money-hole membership.  !!! 

Golf courses willingly guzzle money. 

I know this because I used to watch golf courses inhale excessive dollars.  Of ours.  Not that we didn't enjoy 4 hours together.  Get some walking and talking in.  (Talking -- meaning, "The wind is north to south, the pin is at the back of the green.  I think I'll play my 56.") Team up with... strangers/new friends -- sorta.  Make a new/repeating memory. 

But now golf courses don't eat our money.  My money.  Which is why I spend golf course money on craft supplies and shoes and lunch and gifts.   Which is why spending golf course money feels ok to me.  

Sorry golf courses.  I'll let someone else fill your bottomless pit.  This girl is going to Hobby Lobby. 

$10

 "...and Lord, during this alone day, help me not to feel alone.  Help me sense Your presence.  Recognize Your presence.  See You in my day."

"Hmmm, she wants to see Me.  She needs to know again that I see her.  Bless her heart, Kath needs constant, daily reminders.

How shall I show My love today?  I know!  Kath loves a bargain.  I will save her $10.  That will thrill her.  If anything can rouse an out-loud hallelujah, it's a few dollars saved.  Yes, silly, but that's the way I made her.  Kath jumps to give Me glory when the price is lower, the discount is higher, the sale is half or more.  

And then, I'll arrange for a dear friend to call so that she can share the good news!  The God-story!  Both will awe that I know them well, love them so well, and am always right beside them.  They'll laugh, agree and glory together.  Perfect!"

"Dear Lord, thank You thank You!  I asked, and you answered.  You delight in my delight.  You know how thrilled I am.  I am!  And because of you.  Thank you for knowing me.  Thank you for loving me.  I love You!"