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Wednesday, 19 November 2008

Thank you, sweet Jesus!

"Thank You, Jesus! Thank you, sweet Jesus! Thank you, oh, Thank you!"

On the phone with me, she was having a good, old fashioned praise fest. I could almost see the tears streaming down her cheeks as she half sang, half cried, half mumbled her thanks and adulation of her Savior.

"Oh, I've been praying! I've been praying for so long! I would get down, sometimes," she said, "But I always knew He would come through for me. Thank you, thank you sweet Jesus!"

I'm just a puny little employee of the Federal Government. I just try to help Veterans any way I can. Often I get frustrated with their sob stories or outlandish tales or grumbling or yelling or whining. Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting an uphill battle and I get calloused and don't want to believe anybody and want all the problems to go away. Yes, my attitude is wrong. Yes, I all too often give in to the cynicism.

But today, in the case of this sweet old lady, I saw victory and I felt victory and I tasted victory. Take that, you big bad Beaurocracy!

While Mrs. F celebrated, thanking me and thanking the VA and thanking Jesus (not in that order, mind you!), I started crying, too. Yes, I'd gotten frustrated with her continued phone calls. Yes, I had been impatient at the number of times I had to give the same instructions over and over again. Yes, I'd gotten mad at the VA for losing her paperwork and mad at her for not telling me the whole story the first time and mad at myself for not knowing which questions to ask.

Seven months after originally contacting our office, I was finally able to tell Ms. F that her debt to the VA had been forgiven in full.

No longer will this elderly lady living on Social Security be expected to repay the VA her debt of $45,569.00.

"Thank you, sweet Jesus, thank you!"

Why do I work for the Federal Government? Why do I struggle with bureaucracy all day every day? What's wrong with me that I put up with the crazy constituents and full moon lunacy and random rants from nasty people? Day in and day out I question my own sanity.

But then I have moments like this and I know why I put up with all of it: I can help little old widow ladies and cry with them when they realize that they no longer have a $45,000.00 debt looming over their heads. Her husband served our country in the Air Force, and here I am to serve his widow.

"Thank you, sweet Jesus, thank you!"

Monday, 17 November 2008

I wanna take your picture...

Its been three years since I spent a month in Kenya, four years since I was in Nairobi for three months. Since those days abroad, I have finished college, moved home, started working in the real world, paid off my school loans, and purchased a real camera. Now, I'm headed back to the Dark Continent; this time going to Kasana, Uganda to spend time with my cousin and her husband at New Hope Uganda and helping out any which way I can.
Amazing as it seems, I finally have the airplane itinerary prepped and will be leaving for five weeks at New Hope on February 1, 2009.
Who woulda thunk it?
Of course, now I have only to reckon with the amazingly annoying details regarding finances.
Don't worry, I'm not here to ask for money. In fact, I'm offering my services! My photography is my joy and fun and I want to take your picture.
I want to come with you to the location of your choice and spend time with you, your family, your fiance, your husband, your wife, your friends, your children and, while laughing and having fun and playing around, I want to take your picture; lots and lots of pictures of you, in fact. After editing the pictures, I'll give you a CD of your images and - in exchange - you'll consider making a donation to my trip to Africa.
Asking for money is not my cup of tea, so I'm not. Instead, I ask you for the opportunity to photograph you. Granted, if you're absolutely dying to send me some pennies and dimes, I won't refuse you the privilege!
Please email me (jen.pinkerton at gmail.com) to set up a time.

Wednesday, 12 November 2008

Beach Trip 2008

Sibling time!

Fishing time!
\
Tour time!

Sunday, 12 October 2008

Even when I don't realize it, even when I don't try, even when I don't want to: God can use even me.

God can use even me.

When I think of being an instrument for God's purpose and following Him and serving Him and others, its easy to think of the "big" things like moving to Africa to be a missionary or being a pastor's wife or teaching a Sunday School class or witnessing on the job.

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God is in control.

He owns the cattle on a thousand hills and numbers the hairs on my head. He keeps me safe as I drive down the road. He has a plan for my future. His will is best.

How many times have I heard those lines? How many times I have said those things? It becomes cliched. The words become merely words and not heartfelt. I slip into stress over the near-miss accident on the road or the unknown element of the future. I start taking things into my own control.

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God is in control. God can use even me.

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On Friday night, I was visiting my grandparents in Virginia. It had been several months and a heart attack since I had visited them, so the visit was long overdue and was either going to be this weekend or next weekend. After a delightful supper (Grandma made mashed potatoes just for me! She knows how much I love them...and hers are the best ever.) we cleaned the kitchen while Grandpa went to read the newspaper in the living room.

After we heard a few strange sneeze-like sounds, Grandma went into make sure he was okay. I followed a few minutes later when I realized that he was not responding at all. Sparing you the details, he was suffering a stroke and I had to call 911 to come get him and ultimately transport him to the hospital in my hometown (it is the closes stroke specialty center).

It was the longest hour of my life. Two ambulances showed up (I couldn't help think of all my volunteer rescue squad friends and be so thankful for them!), they loaded him on the stretcher, we got Grandma a night bag packed, then they were gone. I was left with a few errands, people to tell and things to do. And then it was over.

In an instant the idyllic evening ended and suddenly I was left with an empty house and only the memories of watching a stroke attack my grandfather's brain and helplessly watching it happen.

But it was in those moments that I realized again that God has a very tangible day-to-day plan and that I can be used even in the most trivial of ways. For example, He had me be there this weekend and not next weekend. He gave me a two very special hours with my grandparents. He orchestrated it that even though Grandma would have been alone through this, I was there to try to help her and do what I could to help the situation. He kept my voice from shaking when I was on the phone with 911. He got the EMS folks there very quickly. He got Grandpa to the hospital within the window of opportunity to try the brand new procedure that has him sitting up, talking, and moving his previously paralyzed right side a mere two days after the attack.

God has a plan. He is in control. And He can use even me.

Saturday, 27 September 2008

It is the dedicated who are at the gym at 8am on a Saturday morning.

If you were to walk into a cardio room at a gym at 8:30am, though, you are not automatically lumped into the category of dedicated exercisers. In fact, walking into the cardio room at 8:30am in your hiking boots, jeans, and flannel shirt would automatically exclude you from the exclusive clique known as the gym regulars.

Let me explain. Every morning at 5:30am, my alarm goes off. A few lazy mornings notwithstanding, I hit snooze twice and then begin my morning and make it to the gym by 6:15am. Once there, I smile at the female bodybuilder and exchange pleasantries with the yet-unnamed-elliptical-user and joke with a couple of the teachers-on-Weight-Watchers and wave at the janitor. Then its sweat, sweat, sweat until I leave and begin my day in earnest.

Saturday mornings differ, but this morning I did make it over there for a hard run and enjoyed an almost empty cardio room, occupied only by the female bodybuilder (aka dedicated runner) and myself. The fan was turned on high. The TVs were blaring opinions on last night's presidential debate. My endorphins were making me happy.

Then in walks this old man. He was literally wearing hiking boots. His jeans looks exceptionally heavy. Granted, his flannel shirt was rolled up to mid arm, but it was still a flannel shirt!

Without acknowledging the two drenched runners or smiling a greeting, this intruder walked straight to the fan and turned it off. No, I exaggerate: he turned it down. From the "high" setting to the "low."

Female Body Builder and I exchanged a glance. (We never talk. She is intimidating.) Her grimace echoed mine.

I decided to take the plunge.

"What'cha doing, sir?"

"I don't like fans."

"But it's pretty hot in here."

"I don't like it being on high."

Without another glance, this man turned away from the fan and climbed on his treadmill and set it at 2.3 mph and trodded along. After maybe a minute and a half, he climbed off his treadmill and walked to another one. Set it on 2.3mph. Walked 45 seconds. Went back to the original treadmill. 2.3mph. A minute and a half. Got off. Left.

So Female Body Builder and I were sweating up a storm in this poorly ventilated cardio room plugging away at 7mph or faster (she's hardcore and I was on the elliptical) and hunting boot snail turned off the fan and then left after four minutes without turning the fan back on!

And why? Because "I don't like it being on high"!

I turned the fan back on high and kept on running.

Very not cool, Mr. Flannel Shirt.