I grew up in Alaska and Montana. When I was 12, we moved to small-town southern Oklahoma. My father worked for the Park Service, and this move got us closer to my mother’s home territory. Her parents lived in Oklahoma City and for six years, we finally lived just 90 minutes from them, instead of four time zones away.
We arrived in Sulphur, Oklahoma, in July of 1979, and I started 7th grade that fall at the middle school. The whole thing was a bit of a shock. I had never even heard of, much less eaten, chicken fried steak or fried okra before I hit that school cafeteria. I had never heard the incessant buzz of cicadas all summer long. I had never heard kids holler, “Y’all quit that!” at annoying classmates. In addition, I was underwhelmed with Chickasaw National Recreation Area. I came from big mountains, pine trees and deep snow in one state and arid plans with canyons carved from stone in the other. Quietly bubbling springs of sulphur water and summer swimming at Little Niagara amongst the chiggers were a bit anticlimactic.
However, I can never forget the people.
We visited both Methodist churches and the people were friendly. I attended youth group through high school with other kids who became my closest friends. In 8th grade, I asked my Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Howe, if we could meet. This kind woman who ran a ranch with her husband said yes. She picked me up after school I don’t know how many times, often buying us Cokes from Sonic. We spent a couple hours sitting in her car in a shady spot in the park, just talking.
My teachers in middle school seemed to actually enjoy putting up with our shenanigans. Mrs. Dilbeck was our 8th grade creative writing teacher, and we had so much fun in her class. We wrote a play for Christmas called “Who Shot Santa Claus?” because “Who shot JR” was the TV question of the year. The characters ranged from the Ayatollah Khomeini to Johnny Cash. I was Chrissie from “Three’s Company.” You put together your own comedy and you will make friends.
My classmates were good people. For the most part, they were kind to a fashion-challenged geek with poor social skills who had never listened to popular music before arriving in town. I had a couple good friends by 8th grade who gave me a buffer from bullying and an entree with the other kids. Heading to high school was an adjustment because somehow my classes weren’t populated with any of my closest friends. My new Oklahoma history teacher, Mr. Frazier, noticed me crying in class about the disappointment. He helped change my schedule so I had one class with friends.
High school was like high school for a lot of other folks in small town America, I’m sure. Friday night football games (in the band), people passing notes in class, boys getting paddled for sundry infractions (imagine!), Nikes versus Keds, crushes, spring fever—all the rest. I had many great teachers, especially Mr. Walsh, the most wonderful art teacher in any state. The staff there were kind also, from the lunch room ladies to the school counselor, Murph.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm at first, I found that Green Country does grow on you. I moved to Mississippi in 1991. When I went back to Sulphur for a visit, how beautiful the low green hills of southern Oklahoma were. Then I knew how much I loved the place: the park in the summer evenings as dusk was coming on with fireflies winking and the creek water chattering.
Unexpected sledding on the hill by the middle school in February when we got a crazy ice and snow storm.
Teachers and families from church all showing up for my graduation open house.
I can’t deny that a town with a population of just under 5,000 has small town problems—primarily gossip. There were more times than one where someone started a rumor which spread quickly and caused painful damage. In high school, one of my friends turned on another friend and started talking bad about her. We always thought it was because she was jealous. But I don’t know. So this small town was no perfect place.
Yet in Sulphur I saw people helping other people when there was a need. Someone’s son had cancer. A fundraiser brought in what they needed. Adults looked out for kids who weren’t their own. Everyone showed up for a funeral. And as with every place within Oklahoma where I’ve lived or visited, people are the most friendly and kind in the US. I’ve lived many other places, and it’s true—Oklahomans help where help is needed.
Now, if you’re willing, it’s your turn to give to the people of Sulphur. I know they will thank you with all their hearts.
Thank you for reading, for donating, and for sharing this article as many places as possible. Even if you cannot donate, please don’t let that stop you from sharing.
What is it that you really want? And what does this Sunday have to do with the answer to that question?
Success, money, fame, family happiness, career enjoyment, good health and fitness into your 80s, three different vacation houses or maybe just one, or even spending time with friends and seeing your grandchildren, which is it?
There are many good gifts in the world that I really want. Many of the desires I listed are good things that most people want.
And no wonder; why would we not want those blessings and benefits in this life?
But as time went by, I began to see that these things were unattainable. Or I got them, but only for a while. Or I got them, and they were way more complicated and much more work than I thought they would be. Or I got them, but they didn’t do for me what I thought they would. Or I got them, I got to the place of emotional and physical and mental wellness I was working toward…but then another thing went haywire and I felt like I was back to square one. Where was the satisfaction of getting things done and completing my to-do list? I never finished it, ever.
These goals and dreams never gave me what they promised. Ever.
Jesus, however, does.
He promised life more abundantly, this in the midst of the loss of the world, and in the midst of your mess. He gives life more abundantly. He cares about your heart; what you care about is what he cares about. He is the man of sorrows; what crushes you crushes him.
Yes, there is one obstacle to his abundant life. Just one, but it is a mountain to most people, like it was to me.
You must acknowledge that you aren’t right. You aren’t what you intended to be when you started out all those years ago. You aren’t what you were meant to be! You have done cruel and thoughtless things, or perhaps you have been the good one. You haven’t done anything wrong, but wrong things have been done to you. You want justice, and you want it on your own terms. You may not want to admit that God is the one to whom vengeance belongs. And he’s the one who made and knows the ends of the earth, and the ends of the universe. And you. You were never meant to fight through all this alone! You were made for him. So…look at him and admit it.
Now, when you have been blown to the winds, are dust and know that nothing will ever be right again, he is still the faithful one, and he promises to make all things new.
It might take you almost 40 years to experience the fullness of life and joy he offers, but he will take you there, and then you’ll see. You’ll see that what you needed all the time was exactly what he gives. You’ll be free of death, free of fear and free of bondage. You’ll be free of all the lies which held you captive, and free of the endless longing for something that you can’t get.
If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. You will have him, and you will have all things.
This is the truth of Resurrection Day, my friends, and it is for you.
Of all the things I wanted to be in life, a Jesus freak was not one of them.
Like most other upper-middle class, academically successful young people, I was rushing onward towards the college/career/marriage dream, buoyed by the wave of congratulations and well wishes on graduation. After eighteen years of being the teacher’s pet (for good reason, of course), I headed off to college, and then into teaching, with confidence in my vision of what life was supposed to be like.
As you’ve probably guessed, the teachers’ encouragement, test scores and graduation felicitations didn’t tell me how difficult life really is.
I suppose adults don’t want to scare young people who are first going into the world. But I think a bit more mental and emotional strengthening during one’s education would be beneficial, more practical direction on living from teachers. I had some background in faith since I was brought up in church, but not much internalizing of what that meant, nor a practical and real interaction with the man of sorrows, Jesus of Nazareth.
I lived through my 20s, 30s and 40s in what I now realize was variable but persistent moderate depression. I was a writer and a stay-at-home mother, which is what I wanted. That was what I wanted—but it was quite short of praise or fame or success as success is presented in society. I had thought that somehow, I would be able to get more done. And once I had given birth to the three children I very much longed for, I discovered what every parent does—that answers to prayer don’t end the discussion with God. There are more challenges, other hard roads.
My point here is not to write my autobiography. Rather I have mentioned just one of the phases of my life that poured me toward Jesus. You who have lived life know the struggles, heartaches, illnesses, broken relationships, losses great and small. If you are like most people, you want more from life. You want things to be better. You keep looking to the future, seeking the fulfillment you desire.
Now as I continue to emerge from the dark valley, I have experienced a revolution in the way I interact with Jesus. If you read my earlier articles here and here, you will get some specifics. Today, I can review my past and see the girl who was destined for fame, success and admiration. I see the person who worked extremely hard to please everyone else so they would like her. I see the woman constantly seeking, but never finding, what she was looking for.
I see the person who didn’t understand what other Christians were talking about when they described deep contentment in Jesus. I thought that was for little old ladies worshipping in a country church, not for highly educated, intelligent women like me. Sure, I’m a believer. But right now, I’m working on fixing my health problems. Or, I’m feeling hurt because a friend is not giving me the attention I feel I deserve. Or, at the moment, I’m planning my work week so I’ll be more productive.
Those goals did not satisfy; they didn’t even happen. My achievements did not satisfy. They did not bring joy. They did not bring peace. They did not bring freedom. They did not bring the feeling of having gotten where I wanted to go—of arriving at home. Why would I want to make a choice that doesn’t provide me any of the things I wanted? A choice that kind of makes me look silly, like one of those little old ladies? Returning Jesus’ love for me, as I now do, was not in my plan.
But there is nothing else that satisfies like He does. There is no one who loves me like he does. There is nothing and no one else who gives me joy and freedom.
I am one of those people…who can’t help but be a Jesus freak.
Many people have heard the word “gospel” but not seen it in action. Christians often don’t live the way the Christ they follow did. Often, Christians aren’t experiencing the abundant life and joy that Jesus said he came to pour out on those who follow him, so they can’t pour it out on others. They may not have moved beyond confession and following rules.
Sin is a real barrier and yes, it has to be dealt with by repentance. That means turning from pride to acknowledgment that the God of the universe is the one with the power.
There is the glory he said he would share with his disciples. Even before Jesus said it, David talked about it when he said that God crowned us with glory and honor.
We are so much more than most of us now are.
If we are here on earth and want significance and want to know that what we do counts, the good news is that we are treasured by God. We have worth, power and dignity because that’s the way he made us. That was the plan. We still have that dignity. We still are made in the image of God, created to be creative, wise, intelligent, playful and full of joy. That gift is still ours to receive amidst all that is damaged, in all the difficult or awful paths we walk.
All is not lost.
All will be remade, and is being remade, in us each day we walk with God. He made us to shepherd the earth and our personal world, to bring order out of chaos. We do that every day, and in that our work has significance. When I tried over and over to write my own story, I could not do it. I could not get to where I wanted to go. But I don’t have to figure out who I am; I don’t have to make myself. He knows me at the deepest possible level. Now no matter what I do, he has given me this gift to be who I am, to live into the fullness he has for me, a life he had in view at the beginning.
I am wonderfully made. And the glory and honor I have been given pour through me to return beauty to the world and to the people in it.
The fumes of jet exhaust gave way to the pure, cool air, the air I’d left behind sixteen years earlier—fresh, moist, living: the air of Alaska. Outside the automatic doors at the Juneau airport, the sky was part blue, part cloud, part evergreen, and part the ridged mountains I remembered. A door to joy opened in my heart. I was home.
~~~~~~~~~~~
My father took a job with the Coast Guard when I was almost five, and he, my mother, and I moved to Juneau that fall after school had already started. My mother, who hadn’t thought he’d really get the job when he applied for it, hung up on him in our home in Denver when he called to tell her the news. After marrying in Kansas City, she had followed him around the country to a succession of government work, all in fascinating or beautiful places. But still, a move to Alaska was not what she had had in mind. I didn’t have an opinion, and I left my new kindergarten teacher behind me; we drove to Canada and departed for Juneau by ferry from Prince Rupert.
After living in a motel for a time, we moved into the house at 156 Behrends Avenue, my home for five years. I looked down at the row of unique houses across the street, out to the channel and Douglas Island, to a world of shade, fog, and mystery. I looked up at the back yard, in terraces, with colorful stones, batches of chives and Shasta daisies infested with spittle bugs and a green glass float that was now a gazing globe—then upward again to a few other roofs, to deep green, to rock interspersed with rivulets of snow. Then up to the wisps of white cloud which sailed quietly across the face of Mount Juneau, shifting gradually into ether, the song of float planes above my head.
There was a playground in the nest of Mts. Juneau and Roberts. We’d go there sometimes after walking the sluice above the city. Golden brown boards thudded under Dad’s waffle stompers. Fallen needles scattered across the wood, an exciting drop off the edge of the sluice that could take us into Devil’s club, moss, and fern.
Out the road, Mendenhall supplied us with blocks of blue-white ice to fill our ice cream churn. Dad always wanted to use glacier ice, said it made the treat turn out better. I can still see him poling a smallish berg in toward the beach, looking back at the camera with that pleased grin because another do-it-yourself solution had worked.
There were blueberries in the clear cut for the airport runways. We’d spend a couple hours there on a summer day, retreat from the bear who came wandering through despite the sound of our plastic dishes filled with rocks to shake, and haul our buckets of miniscule, blue treasures home to soak in salt water. Soon the tiny, bitter worms would rise to the surface to be skimmed away.
We went sledding in the cemetery across the street from my elementary school. There was still plenty of room there in the 70s and we didn’t have any trouble avoiding gravestones. Of course, the snow was usually deep enough there were no snags on the rush down the gradual hill. Snowplows churned the crystals on the roads to brown sugar all winter. I marched through them on my way to and from school, marveling at the beautiful patterns left by tires. In the depth of winter, dawn was beginning to break when I left my house in the morning with my spare key around my neck. That key once got lost outside, not to be found until spring.
Out the road at Eagle Beach or the Shrine of St. Therese, easily toppled mazes of rocks held tide pools with anemones, sea stars, and red sea urchins like stars exploding. My fourth-grade class took our field trip to Glacier Bay, selling Current calendars in advance to raise the money. Sleeping bags tossed across the floor of the LeConte, the diesel voice of the ferry grumbling below us, laughter and shrieks as we pulled up as close as the pilot would take us to the terminus of the glacier. A massive blast on the horn crumbled some of the blue beauty away.
For years after we moved away, some nights after dinner, our family would take turns reading aloud from our Collected Poems of Robert Service, often “The Spell of the Yukon.” This is true. Even though in Alaska it’s usually rainy, cloudy or foggy, in my memory it’s always sunny.
~~~~~~~~~~
We left by ferry to the lower 48 in 1977 for a different civil service job. My last memory is discussing with my best friend Salina how to prepare scrambled eggs. We were nine and ten years old. In honor of my departure, we were allowed to spend the night together in my empty house, camping and making breakfast. I don’t remember whose conclusion prevailed: stir often, stir rarely. Sunlight streamed up my street, the boats in the harbor below a graveyard of masts, most boats at rest in a maritime forest I had become intimately familiar with. The bridge lights blinked, blinked, exuding calm in the same way incense inhabited Saint Nicholas Orthodox church.
Months later, 2,500 miles away in Minnesota, a song on the radio left me sobbing for my lost cat, the friend I’d had to leave behind, and every other loss I couldn’t then put into words.
~~~~~~
This memoir was first published in Alaska Women Speak, Spring 2023 issue.
I haven’t blogged much recently in order to focus on in-depth articles for my Substack newsletter.
Now, however, I write to let you know that all is well. So very well that I am taking a long-needed vacation. My youngest son graduated from Bluegrass Acres Academy last year, the establishment in which I homeschooled all three of my children. So, in a sense, I have retired from my primary career.
In addition, I’ve been a mother for 28 years on August 24th. So, when I took two weeks off immediately after returning from a marathon trip to California, I realized that it would be a very good idea to take some more time off. In fact, I calculated that if I had collected three weeks of vacation each year I was working as a full-time mother, I would now have approximately a year and a half of saved vacation time. With the exception of some girlfriend getaways and anniversary trips, I haven’t had an off-duty vacation for 28 years.
This sabbatical will be fluid. In other words, I will return to regular writing and posting as I am ready to do so. I am quite thrilled to take this time for my mind, body and soul to just–chill.
The Spirit said, Come away and rest, and I said, Absolutely!
I shall return with new ideas and adventures to share here. Thank you so much for faithfully reading!
It’s my birthday 3 days ago and this year I am not going to ask you to donate to a cause that I hold dear. Instead I would ask you to just read this. I would like to offer you the hope of freedom and eternal life, something both within and beyond what the world has to give. Because Jesus Christ saved my life.
I’ve been a Christian since 16 years old, but there has been cynicism and doubt in me. I had faith, but not a whole lot, and a load of intellectual knowledge that helped somewhat but didn’t live up to what salvation and life with Jesus Christ was supposed to offer.
Over the past forty plus years I have lived through episodes of depression and anxiety that would come and go. They were worse at big life transitions like after our oldest son was born, I had a major breakdown and was suicidal, and it happened again five years ago at a challenging time, suicidal and in the hospital. I’ve been through a cesarean section that was unnecessarily forced on me, through ongoing infertility, through other chronic health problems that eat away at your energy and time. And I can tell you all the times I thought God had completely rejected me, I was completely wrong. He was right there with me in all those miserable things. Now I see that without these hard things that happened to me, I would still be insufferably proud and arrogant. If I hadn’t hurt, I wouldn’t have any grace to give to other people. And I wouldn’t be the person I am now, and I would never have been transformed into someone who actually wanted Jesus. I’d still be doing things my own way.
Not only has God practically been in the business of humbling me and changing me so that gradually I am becoming a gentler, loving, strong person, I’ve been freed over the last couple years from the blank in my experience. A relationship with Jesus: Sounds good but what the heck is that? I never knew. He was always out there, over there somewhere. Not speaking with me, not inside of me. That has changed. Now, I am beginning to not only *know* he is always with me but *experience this truth*. And I can tell you, Jesus is at work in my life in my circumstances, in events, in my character and he is actually living inside me—a friend, a companion, a supernatural lover and redeemer. It’s not another accomplishment or a skill to check off. No, this is new life where I am living in peace and joy. I’m not afraid. I’m not hung up in chains any more. Although I know my problems aren’t magically going away, God has had compassion on me by beginning to transform me and live with me every day.
This is fantastic. I can’t not tell you this. On my own, doing things my way it was chains. Now I live in something better– it’s freedom. It’s what you’ve been looking for. Nothing can stop God’s power and his love. Nothing can stop him from taking what was meant for evil here on earth and turning it for good. And because he has promised to make all things new, the best is yet to come.
I was thirsty
But like a desert turning into a field of green
Started breathing
When Heaven’s favor took a hold of me
How could it be I’m living with an infinite worth
And the one I thought I chose had really chosen me first
And every time I think about every time I thought was the end
Oh, I’m caught up in wonder again
Where would I be?
Where would I be if it wasn’t for the love of God?
Blessed be the Lord, the God of our salvation! All glory to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit!
Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.
Give thanks to the greatest of all gods, for his steadfast love endures forever.
Give thanks to the mightiest of all lords, for his steadfast love endures forever.
When I was in trouble, He saved me. Many times the water was over my head. I clawed the walls of the pit, in darkness with no way to go forward. His steadfast love endures forever.
He traveled in the the darkness with me, although I did not know it. He opened a way where there was no way. His steadfast love endures forever.
He surrounds me with goodness; he gave me a husband whose heart is gold, and children to love. His steadfast love endures forever.
I see our children, tall and lovely and grown, around us like thriving trees. I have lived to see their glory and God’s goodness. His steadfast love endures forever.
I walk in his presence in the land of the living. His steadfast love endures forever.
When I knew the misery of my children, he walked beside me; he made a way through the storm for them. His steadfast love endures forever.
I live now in his overwhelming love, trusting His goodness, and walking with him in peace. His steadfast love endures forever.
I know his goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life as I await the day he has prepared a banquet table for me. His steadfast love endures forever.
All glory to the risen Lamb of God; All honor to the risen Lamb of God; All power to the risen Lamb of God, for his steadfast love endures forever.
Many of you have followed me here on WordPress for years, and I thank you.
If you did not already know, I started a Substack newsletter last year, and I am doing more of my writing there. In general, the articles are longer, researched and intended to be thought provoking. My blog here will be more personal and more focused on parenting, life, food, and other fun topics.
If you prefer to just stay here on WordPress, that’s fine, but if you would like more analysis and more unique topics, please join me at https://jennifergriebenow.substack.com/.
Thank you so very much! As always, if you like an article and think a friend would as well, please share on Substack and here.
Arriving home yesterday afternoon from a couple hours spent grocery shopping, I got out of my car and reaching back in to retrieve my purse, suddenly saw a bug on the driver’s seat.
Its appearance didn’t occasion distress or disgust, rather wonder. How did this insect get into my car? And more specifically, how could I have avoided accidentally smashing it?
Then, can I catch it and let it go outside? (Next obvious question for insect lovers, right?)
This was a frightening question to answer, as 1. I have only seen tiger beetles from 6 feet away before because 2. they are impossible to catch without a collecting net with a good long handle. My entomologist son has told me they are impossible to catch.
I knew this but I had to try because I didn’t want the fellow to be stuck in the garage and die.
I swooped in and the bug was inside my hand. Miracle one.
I quickly went to the garage door, stepped outside and opened my hand. Nothing happened. The tiger beetle, glimmering green in the sun, stood on my hand and took in the view. Miracle two.
As it turned slowly so I could admire it, I had a closeup view, perhaps only 10 inches away from my eyes. I gently moved my finger to its back end, assuming this would cause it to fly away. It did–but only about five inches–to my other hand!
Given that it seemed to wish to stay, I just watched. Beautiful. Six finely detailed legs and two antennae almost as long as its abdomen. It gently swept them to take in information and I realized the antennae as well as the body of the beetle were iridescent living green. How could parts so small be this notable color? The beetle then carefully cleaned its face and eyes with the antennae.
It stayed with me for a total of a minute, finally to lift off and disappear when my son brought me my phone so I could capture the gratuitous wonder standing on my hand and have the evidence that I actually had caught an elusive tiger beetle.
Of course I could not have that evidence. But it is true.
Joy in the Journey 