Do You have a Heart Murmur?

I am so honored to be with you each day sharing hope. The outreach has grown at a tremendous pace. There are over 50 new subscribers a day. The site just past 106,000 in followers. That’s because people are searching for hope and we provide it.

+ WE HAVE A WINNER IN OUR PROMOTION.  THE PERSON WHO HAS THE 105,00O REGISTRATION WILL WIN SOME NICE PRIZES. 

We are starting a new promotion tonight. The person who is our 110,000 followers will win some great prizes. As you can see it goes fast. Don‘t miss out. 

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Doug Bolton, the founder of Signs of Hope, is writing a new book, “Signs of Hope for the Military: In and Out of the Trenches of Life.” It reaches out the military and veterans who may be battling anxiety, fear, depression, addictions, rejections, PTSD, and many other usual suspects. There are 22 military connected suicides every day. That is almost one every hour. We need to help stop those statistics. Be looking for more updates about the new book.

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I am very excited to announce we have a new guest blogger. Michael Thorin is joining us each month on the third Sunday of each month. He has some inspiring thoughts and ideas to share. His first post is about PTSD, and how he found his way out of the fog of this world. 

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Heart murmurs…

 

* are extra heart sounds caused by turbulent blood flow, sufficient enough to produce an audible noise, ranging from very faint to very loud.

* are due to functions and activities of life or of living matter (physiologic conditions) outside the heart.

* are a treatable and preventable condition. If not serious, medication will improve the condition. If more serious, surgery may be in order.

 

But what if it is spiritual rather than physical? Are those heart sounds, from faint to loud, due to conditions outside the heart?

 

Israel had this heart problem. What was it? Murmuring and complaining. And God was grieved and disgusted with this whiny bunch.

 

God once said to Moses and Aaron, “How long will this evil congregation murmur against Me? I have heard the complaints the Israelites murmur against Me.” (Num. 14:27 Amp)

 

What were the outside conditions that caused their murmuring? They deplored their situation. Israel “grew impatient along the way, and they began to murmur against God and Moses. ‘Why have you brought us out of Egypt to die here in the wilderness?’ they complained. ‘There is nothing to eat here and nothing to drink. And we hate this wretched manna!’” (Num. 21:4-5 NLT)

 

David said that “they despised the pleasant land, having no faith in His promise. They murmured in their tents, and did not obey the voice of the LORD.” (Ps. 106:24-25 ESV)

 

The results of too much whine? The book of Numbers should be a red-flag warning to all of us. Because of their murmuring and complaining, God implemented numerous forms of punishment, among them…

 

1) fire

2) plagues

3) fiery serpents

4) death for the entire congregation except for Joshua, Caleb, and those under the age of twenty.

 

God chastised Israel, saying to them, “Because you did not serve the Lord your God with joyfulness of [mind and] heart [in gratitude] for the abundance of all [with which He had blessed you], therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the Lord shall send against you, in hunger and thirst, in nakedness and in want of all things.” (Deut. 28:47-48a Amp)

 

That was the Old Testament, you say. But has God changed?

 

The English translation of The Received Greek Text says in 1 Corinthians 10:9-11a, as Paul exhorts, “Neither overtempt Christ, as some of them tempted, and perished by serpents. Neither should you murmur, as also some of them murmured, and perished by the destroyer. And all these things happened to those as examples, and it was written for our warning.”

 

All these things happened as object lessons for us – to warn us against whining, complaining, and not being grateful because of life’s adverse circumstances – that we might not receive God’s discipline. He may use different methods today, but His righteous anger has not changed.

 

Is a murmuring heart a treatable and preventable condition? Yes! To maintain spiritual health, we replace the whining that destroys the proper functioning of the heart with the remedy of praise and thanksgiving. However, if we do not work on our heart condition, God certainly will, using His own special type of surgery.

 

If Proverbs tells us, “Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life” (Prov. 4:23 NLT), and Jesus said, “Whatever is in the heart overflows into speech” (Luke 6:45 TLB), then we need to heed those words, for “He who watches over his mouth guards his life.” (Prov. 13:3 Lynn’s Version)

 

All Israel had to do was step through the portal of thanksgiving, but their murmuring, disobedience, and impatience slammed the gate shut, barricading the entrance to God’s promise. For forty years, they lived next door to that land of milk and honey, but almost all of them never lived to set foot on it.

 

The wilderness takes its victims while they are yet wandering in their complaints. To live in the Land of Promise, you must step out of the wilderness of murmuring.

 

Does your heart pour out too much whine or pulsate with praise and thanksgiving?

 

~Lord, my prayer is this, “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” (Ps. 19:14 NLT)~

 

Blessings, Lynn

 

lynnmosher.com

 

Heart murmurs come in many forms. What kind do you have?  

Remember:

You are never alone.

You are never forsaken.

You are never unloved.

And above all…never, ever, give up!

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So Tired of my Pain

We are so  honored to be with you each day sharing hope. Our outreach has grown at a tremendous pace. We just past 94,325 in followers. That’s because people are searching for hope and we provide it. We have a new promotion going with prizes. The person who is our 95,000 follower will receive two nice prizes, which we will not name. (This is called a hook in writing.) The number of followers rises fast. We are averaging close to 30 new subscribers each day. We only have 675 more followers to go, so don’t hesitate! Click on the icon right after the title of this post to subscribe to be eligible for the prizes. 

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Doug Bolton, the founder of Signs of Hope, is writing  a new book, “Signs of Hope for the Military: In and Out of the Trenches of Life.” It will be reaching out the many military and veterans who may be battling anxiety, fear, depression, addictions, rejections, PTSD, and the many other usual suspects. There are 22 military connected suicides every day. That is almost one every hour. Doug wants to help stop those statistics. Be looking for more details about the new book. Doug Is also seeking military who would be willing to do an interview. It will be part of the book. Sharing by actual soldiers will help many others. Look for updates here.

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My last post I was whining to you about having a hip problem. I was all set to have hip surgery. NOT! The ex-rays came back and it shows that there isn’t a bone on bone problem in the hip. I have minor arthritis, and a pulled muscle in my groin area near the hip area.

Believe me, I am very relieved that I won’t be needing another surgery, I have had six major ones in my lifetime. However, the pain from the pulled muscle is pretty intense. I can hardly move, I am on a Tylenol regiment, and I will be seeing an orthopedic surgeon just to make sure.

Woe is me! That is an approach that I do not try to use in my life, but the constant barrage of ailments tends to lead you in that direction. I have had a series of ailments since August of last year. It is almost like I am commissioned to have this in my life.

I have been spending a long time trying to figure out why I am so fragile. I am coming to the conclusion that God wants to use me to help others. Sound far fetched? 

God is in charge my friends. My ailments are not an accident. My woes, are allowed so that I can use my faith to share with others about how God is my fortress, and heavenly Father.

People are always amazing when I talk to them about my problems and yet, I still seem happy and have a positive attitude.

It is hard, at best, to go through all my trials and storms, but let these afflictions be a plus for you. Let them be a way to help others. Use them to show that you have enduring strength through God, and accept His wisdom.

Remember:

You are never alone.

You are never forsaken.

You are never unloved.

And above all….never, ever, give up!

 

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Is There Hope at the End of the Day?

We are so  honored to be with you each day sharing hope. Our outreach has grown at a tremendous pace. We just past 93,775 in followers. That’s because people are searching for hope and we provide it. We have a new promotion going with prizes. The person who is our 95,000 follower will receive two nice prizes, which we will not name. (This is called a hook in writing.) The number of followers raises fast. We are averaging close to 30 new subscribers each day. So don’t hesitate! Click on the icon right after the title of this post to subscribe to be eligible for the prizes. 

______________________________________________________________________

Doug Bolton, the founder of Signs of Hope, is writing  a new book, “Signs of Hope for the Military: In and Out of the Trenches of Life.” It will be reaching out the many military and veterans who may be battling anxiety, fear, depression, addictions, rejections, PTSD, and the many other usual suspects. There are 22 military connected suicides every day. That is almost one every hour. Doug wants to help stop those statistics. Be looking for more details about the new book. Doug Is also seeking military who would be willing to do an interview. It will be part of the book. Sharing by actual soldiers will help many others. Look for updates here.

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Something exciting happening soon.

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This post for this Christmas season is powerful. Linda Clare has been through the gauntlet of despair the last few years. Her determination to not be overcome is amazing. Read her story about an addicted family and their struggles. 

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Hope Resurrected

 

That Christmas was going to be the year: The year my fractured family had a happy Christmas, full of laughter, giving and hope. The year we stopped lobbing snarky remarks at each other and started hugging instead. The year I hoped to celebrate Christmas rather than plan another intervention.

That year, my family, like many families, gathered around a seven-foot artificial tree shimmering with lights and ornaments. The fake fir looked noble sitting next to a sickly, withered African violet on the window sill. We were at Mom’s place, set to do the whole Christmas Dinner thing. My mother was trying out a “new” Christmas menu taken from some gourmet magazine. You could say that’s when the trouble started.

Everyone crowded into Mom’s apartment, marveling at her tastefully appointed formal table set with silver and charger plates. One of the grandkids asked, “What’s that terrible smell?” Mom answered, “Brussels sprouts with shallots and salt pork!” The rest of us grumbled that we’d prefer instant mashed potatoes, jellied cranberry sauce and green bean casserole. Mom took this personally and poured herself another glass of wine.

Yet while we all wore holiday outfits, displayed wide smiles and politely raved over Mom’s “interesting” cooking, inside every one of us simmering resentments, personal grudges and high anxiety brewed. My adult sons and nephews busied themselves with making sure the beer and wines were never lonely, while I cast nervous glances to gauge just how blitzed they were becoming. One family member, who always tries to convert my hedonist boys, was preaching his yearly sermon from his spot at Mom’s grand piano, not realizing his own son was already six fingers into her liquor stash. I looked from face to face, reading the expressions: if I was even half-right, everybody in Mom’s living room appeared to be contemplating a jump off a bridge. With the brussel sprouts.

Whatever hope I had for a Norman Rockwell Christmas wilted like the African violet in the window. And I know my family isn’t alone.

December, perhaps more than any month, is where hope flickers and threatens to die. Even if you’re not particularly religious, the month of giving is known for overindulging, stress and expectations. While everybody seems to slouch toward excess, for those with addiction problems, temptation lies in wait everywhere. For those with mental illness, the demands of December’s holiday cheer can mean a cruel and isolated season. And for those of us who love addicts and/or the mentally ill, December marks the season of holding one’s breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. That night, I was sure that shoe would crash down in the form of embarrassing and loud behavior from any number of inebriated fools and judgmental teetotalers. In other words, my relatives and me.

Measuring Advent in terms of catastrophes had become a habit for me. I’d become a kind of grinchy let’s-just-get-through-this kind of person, and I thought I had a good reason. I’d spent my tenth Christmas two states away from my family in a Shriner’s hospital ward, recovering from orthopedic surgery. Back then inpatients were only allowed two books and stationery from home. We couldn’t even wear our own clothes. Most of us stayed for at least three months—since October, I’d had two major surgeries on my paralyzed left arm and hand. At times, all of us felt more like inmates than inpatients.

Christmas Day, the hospital staff tried to make our day festive, feeding us a turkey dinner, bringing in a fake Santa and holding a street parade that we on the third-floor couldn’t really see. Most of the other girls on my ward were encased in plaster from their chins to their toes, and I was the only patient who could walk unassisted. That Christmas, I remember that nobody cared much about the parade, the dinner or even the phony Santa Claus. What we really wanted—no, needed—were our families.

But our moms and dads hadn’t even been allowed to send us gifts—to help keep patients from low-income homes from feeling bad. Instead, each patient, sitting on her hospital bed, got a visit from that fake Santa and two small wrapped gifts marked, “For a Girl.” I opened mine and stared at a cartoonish, stuffed Rudolph and a cheap plastic doll. I scolded myself. Be grateful, don’t cry. I felt under my pillow for my little white Bible—one of my two books (the other was a Nancy Drew) from home.

At that moment, more than anything, I wanted someone to hold my hand and tell me I was loveable, if not loved. That even though I wasn’t home for Christmas, they hoped I’d be released soon. The ward nurses scurried from patient to patient, handing out bed pans, taking temperatures and admonishing girls to stay on their beds.  I kept my feelings to myself.

I kept smiling, but my prayer for a Christmas Miracle, in the form of being somehow transported home to Yuma, Arizona, faded away like the Santa’s ho-ho-hos. I buried a boatload of hope that day, not understanding how God had overlooked such a heartfelt request.

Three weeks later, I finally made it home, where my family had kept the Christmas tree up until I arrived. That tree was brown and dead now, but it resurrected my hope for better days ahead. I don’t remember what gifts I received, only that I was so happy—happy to have Christmas with my loved ones, happy to be home. Even then I wondered whether I would have known such happiness if I hadn’t lived through the Fake Santa Christmas first.

And that fateful Christmas at Mom’s, it occurred to me that we continually walk this path of death and resurrection.

The death of hope when a child’s wish isn’t fulfilled or when a codependent mother secretly tracks her sons’ drinking shadows the thorny path from the Cross to Easter’s resurrection. Death is necessary to create new life.  It’s a circle of Good Friday to Sunday, played out on a small scale, again and again.

While I don’t wish suffering or calamity on anyone, it does seem as if our best times come in contrast to our worst times. We savor warmth if we’ve been cold, food if we’ve been hungry. We appreciate shelter if we’ve been homeless and kindness if we’ve seen discrimination or indifference. I doubt I could ever entertain unconditional love if I hadn’t also experienced the pain of rejection. Even so, I struggle to understand the addiction and mental illness in my family and my own role in it. But hope allows me to keep on learning.

Hope is about failing and daring to hope again. It’s about hurting someone’s feelings with a careless remark but sincerely atoning for it and vowing to do better. It’s about extending love to all those who are different, disabled or even those whom we wish would get their doggone acts together. Hope rises from the ashes of our mistakes and helps us keep lurching forward, even if we’re bound for another valley of trial.

Christmas time is tough for so many. For those who suffer from loneliness, addiction, mental illness or just a crazy family like mine, December can be the cruelest month.  Yet I’ve found that the best cure for times when hope withers and threatens to croak is to look outside myself. The One Who is Hope guides me to those who need a little cheer. Hope is born again in me as I embrace others just as they are. Even when you’re broken and hurting and secretly wish those with the glowing annual Christmas letters would stuff it, just keep walking toward the Star, and hope floods in.

That year at Mom’s, I watched as one of my sons withdrew more with each bottle of stout beer he drank. I went to him, huddled in the corner, booze on his breath, desperation in his eyes. There was nothing I could do or not do to convince him to lay aside alcohol. Just as nobody could talk Mom out of her horrid gourmet menu, I was helpless to fix my son’s substance abuse problem. So I did the only thing I could: I took his hand and said, “I love you to the moon and back—and by the way, we could go out for a little fresh air if you need some.”

“Mom.” He smiled. “I love you too.”

 

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Pain is a Four Letter Word

We have a new winner in our promotion adventure. The person will be notified, and receive the prizes. We move on to yet another promotion where there will be prizes. The next winner will be the person who is our 95,000th subscriber. As you found out here, it goes very fast. We average over 30 new subscribers a day. We will get there pretty fast. We just passed 90,260.  If you haven’t already subscribed please do by clicking on the icon right after the title of this post.

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Doug Bolton, the founder of Signs of Hope, has written a new book, “Signs of Hope for the Military: In and Out of the Trenches of Life.” It will be reaching out the many military and veterans who may be battling anxiety, fear, depression, addictions, rejections, PTSD, and the many other usual suspects. There are 22 military connected suicides ever day. That is almost one every hour. Doug wants to help stop those statistics. Be looking for more details about the new book.

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It was a very good day yesterday. I was told by my doctor that I don’t need to have daily doses of antibiotics put in me through and IV. I have switched to oral pills.

I have a serious infection in my spin that put me in the hospital for six days, and three months of incredible pain. It is slowly subsiding, and I am able to get around a little more. I hope to be able to go walking later this week.

This storm wasn’t fun at all. I have endured many storms before, and made it through them. This time there was much more pain than I have even had before. It was tearing me down physically and mentally.

I had quadruple-by-pass surgery in 2004, but I seemed to handle it much better. It is taking as long as the surgery to recuperate from this ailment. (Four months so far.)

How did I keep going? Why didn’t I fold them like in cards, and exit? Shouldn’t I be angry with God for all the pain He allowed me to have?

  • I kept going because I knew that my perseverance will let others know to never give up.
  • Checking out of this hotel called earth was a choice, but God has more plans for me.
  • I am not angry with God. I thank Him for the suffering. Every time I think of my pain, I think of the terrible pain that Jesus had to go through when he was crucified.

I am thinking that there may be more storms I will have to face. I know that life isn’t perfect. There will be trials. There will failures and disappointments.

But, if I cling to the promises of God, I will be just fine. He is my fortress. He is my strength.

If you have been, or are going through a storm, turn to God, and let Him calm it for you. He sometimes allows them to help us grow, but He will also be there to give you strength.

Remember:

You are never alone.

You are never forsaken.

You are never unloved.

And above all…never, ever, give up!

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