Author: Jana Horton

I write to soothe my soul. I empty my words onto napkins, scraps of paper, receipts... anything really. When I was very young my mom told me to stop writing on my hand. I never did. I write on it to this day. I’ve lost so many scraps of Self on soggy napkins; I’ve yet to lose my hand. The words I scribble there may wash off, but since they are inscribed in my soul, once they are released, from heart to hand, I am allowed to let them go.

What Happened on 01/28/2025

We are burying my mom today. It is 01/28/2025. Why is it so hard to comprehend? Each of us live and each of us die. It is a gracious fact of life. 

It feels however, like a horrible punch in the gut. My little mom placed in that big blue box and dropped into a hole in the ground.

It doesn’t feel like a gracious gift. 

It is a gift, however. Her mind and her body were broken. 

As she slipped out of this life and into the next, the King of all Kings was waiting, was watching. He knew everything about her. 

He knew more about her than she knew about herself. 

Did He have to remind her? Did He have to introduce Himself? 

No. 

She knew. 

She knew as she was known. 

My beautiful little mother became who she was created to be. 

This day is a day to celebrate Helen’s life which just started on the other side of Glory. 

Death looks different on the other side. It is the release from the hostilities of our Broken World.

This gift is given by God because He did not want us to live forever in this Hostile Broken Place. 

It is difficult for those of us left here. How do we accept, or comprehend it? How do we go on without the light she provided?

We will go on in a darker place, asking, and desperately seeking; Light.

(Genesis 3:22)

Unprepared

I was unprepared for the emotions that slapped me yesterday. 

My family was celebrating Easter Sunday. It should have been a day of awe at the incredible gift of the resurrection of Jesus… but, instead, my unresolved grief had me in a rotten mood. 

It has been three months since my mother’s death. I assumed that the rolling grief that cycles through my bitty-brain had temporarily run its course. 

I had so much to do, after all. 

Preparing for a holiday is a bit daunting for an unorganized introvert. I was not graced with the natural ability to host that my mother had. She made everything look so easy. Most likely, it was easy for her. 

Slapped, shocked and unprepared, that was me; on my first holiday dinner without her. 

My mom had not hosted a family celebration for almost seven years, but she was always there. 

I made sure we had family recipes and a few of her favorite dishes to make her happy. It was important to me that she was there. She was still with us, as we celebrated. 

There was one thing I never made. The daunting thing I never even attempted to make: ‘Mimi’s Rolls.’

The recipe, written in her beautiful cursive writing, is in the family binder that she gave us all for Christmas one year. I have an older copy of the recipe written on an index card. It looks so easy. 

It is not. 

I grew up eating these rolls at every holiday. In fact, a holiday wasn’t complete without what she called ‘Good Rolls.’

~~~~~~~~~

Rolling grief.  

Unprepared. 

~~~~~~~~~

I was also unprepared for the strangest and most beautiful surprise at our Easter gathering. A family member secretly and perfectly made my mom’s rolls. 

When she walked in with ‘Mimi’s Good Rolls’ I was shocked. I can’t think of one thing that could have made me happier. 

This sounds silly, but it was like having a piece of my mom with me on that stressful, emotional day. 

It was a beautiful gift. 

I was unprepared. I was unprepared for exactly what I needed. 

Thank you, my Dear Tiffany for bringing my mom’s hug to me on my very difficult day. 

When in Rome

It cannot be stolen- that which was freely given—

Why then is there madness— why then so driven?

Roman ruins— or ruined Rome?

Earthly havens— Heavenly homes?

See the monuments to great men?

Crumble. Crumble. Crumble again!

The shrines to gods— who eventually die.

Beautiful, though the Earth: eternal though, the sky.

Stone gods guarding temples of men—

hearts that will never beat again.

Concrete. Marble. Stone… foregone past?

Does rock, does dirt, do fossils last?

When in Rome.

jth- 06/2009

Rest for My Soul

Written April 1, 2024

Your yoke is easy, your load is light. This implies that as with oxen, there is still work to be done. Finding rest for my soul is more than vacation time, or Sabbath rest .
Rest for my soul?

How does my soul rest, while still yoked to a plow, while still attending to the work load I am daily given?


Ponder, wonder, and research this!


My definition of rest for my soul is time spent at the lake on a beautiful day, watching my Fisher, while I wander the beautiful path with a camera, pen, and paper in my hand.

THIS is rest for my soul. This is time that I BREATHE. I refocus, shake off the busy, sometimes wearisome work load and focus only on creation, love and solitude.


But. Looking at this passage of scripture, while my soul needs this treasured time; it seems that more than that, I need something for all of the other three hundred days a year.
Ponder, wonder.

Research this! What exactly is rest for my soul?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Written February 1, 2025

It has been about 300 days since I wrote that. Ten or eleven days ago my mom died. Three or four weeks before that we knew she was dying. In December, we knew that the remainder of her life was going to be fairly short.

In this span of time; these approximate 300 days since I wrote a challenge to myself; did I research the topic of REST for MY SOUL?

I did not.

In this span of time, did I come to understand more fully how rest is mandated?
It is an important part of health for my soul.

I did not.

I am a list person.
This research of soul-rest never made it onto my list.

Now, I find my heart and mind consumed. All I want in my grief, is rest. I want rest for my soul.

In fewer than eleven days, my soul has become so remarkably consumed with weariness that I am unable to combat it.
I never learned about rest.

Now the most important area of research; the #1. on my LIST is learning what rest for my soul is, and how I get it. 

It is my #1.

It is the 52nd Day of December 2024

It is 2025, however, I am stuck in 2024 as my 90 year old mom is in a skilled nursing unit in excruciating pain.

There are those few hours when her pain meds kick in and give her sweet pain relief.
2024 hasn’t ended for me. The call to meet the ambulance at the hospital on one of the last few days of the year, is still one big blur. It is the longest day of my life thus far. Every moment since that moment: the longest day in the history of me. A long day has turned into a long month. It is still December, isn’t it? My Christmas tree is still up, unwrapped gifts are still on corner shelves.

  1. When will you end? Will there be a minute, when I breathe again.
  2. I am not looking forward to you.
    If you bring pain relief and resolve all the unresolved issues of this terribly long year: I will acknowledge you.
    I am so weary of 2024.

2025? Is it possible that you will enable me to fathom you; to enter into the march and cadence of your journey home?

Tomorrow. Perhaps.

2025. You announced yourself so rudely. The 5:30 a.m. phone call which came NOT on December 52, 2024, but on January 21st, 2025.

It was that call which startled me into reality. The reality I had seen coming. The reality that my heart would not accept, and my mind could not grasp. December 29th of 2024 was just a glimpse into the reality I knew was quickly approaching; the fate of my beloved mother.

What happened to New Year’s Day? Did I miss someone’s birthday? I worked on MLK Day which IS definitely in January; January, the first month of 2025.

How did 2025 slide into my life mostly undetected?

I was holding my breath for a really long time.

I was there. I was at work. I spent time congratulating myself for writing the date correctly. I never had to scratch out 2024. I KNEW it was 2025.

How? Why?

What was going on, here?

It was me. I was unable to accept the inevitable. I wanted to be sitting at my mother’s bedside, every minute of every last day, watching her breath; talking to her; singing the Doxology to her, or having my granddaughter sing the ABCs to her.

I know my mom heard. I saw her strain to hear Ellie’s sweet voice.

On the day she died, 1/21/25, the grief that I was holding back was unharnessed. The hope, the dread, the separation was a reality.

I am ready for you now 2025.

It is possible for me to fathom you.

I will enter into the march and cadence of my mom’s journey home.

She is there. I am here.

I look forward to seeing her again and hearing her beautiful side of the story. She can tell me what really happened on the day she left me.

The Kingdom of God opened and the LORD Himself welcomed her home.

Culture Who…

Culture Who?

Stop letting Culture dictate the meaning of Beauty. 

Who is Culture anyway? 

Culture says, 

“Thin is commendable”

“Youthful, admirable”

“Old is irrelevant”

“Arrogance is confidence” 

“Humility, idiocy.”

Culture splashes ads across platforms and glamorizes impossible and unhealthy ideals. 

Skeletal models parade platforms pretending normality, 

casting hateful glances at society. 

Thin, young, relevant, arrogant, prideful people lead Culture into sorrow, shame, and despair. 

Culture, who?

Why are you intent on destroying honor? 

Stop defining us. 

Beauty exists outside the cruel dictates of Your limited knowledge. Stop. 

We must stop listening:

stop believing:

stop perpetuating, You.

Defy Cultural concepts, spewed out on sensuous seeking hearts.

Seek instead.

Seek True Beauty.

Find it:

treasure it:

share it.

Stop Culture’s false doctrine of Beauty.

We must redefine and realign.

Culture Who?

My Twin

There is an evil twin

that lives within

the eyes I see in the mirror.

Her strength, it grew

and before I knew

I had come to fear her.

She lives inside

and has not died

although I thought she had.

I hear her voice.

I have no choice.

It nearly drives me mad.

Lust and pride

subtly hide

beneath her sly façade

and all the while

she seems to smile

lovingly at God.

From deep within I hear a cry:

the me-I-want-to-be screams, “crucify!”

Dying to yourself,

the ultimate war,

denying the things

the world strives for.

DIE! Die evil twin

I want no more!

No more of you and your evil lies!

No more of the things that I despise.

I humble myself in the sight of Him

who gave me His strength

and forgave my sin.

I fear no more that dreadful twin,

but each day I must die

to the lie within.

jth- 1/23/92

Flipping the Bird*

Some guy on a random street at a stop light ‘flipped the bird’ at two old ladies who were in his way. He squelched his tires and sped around their car.

One of these ladies was the passenger in the vehicle. She is 89 years old. When she saw his outrageous and uncalled for behavior, she said, so kindly, “I hope he gets home safely.”

The other old lady was me. As he honked at me and sped passed, I honked right back, saying, “Dude, what is your problem?”

My eighty-nine year old mother said, “Well, he’s in a hurry.”

I judged him by his intentionally rude, hateful gesture, and his hostile, aggressive driving. My kind mother offered grace.

I took it personally while she prayed for his safety.

When will I be as gentle and kind as she?

I was reading through my Bible App just that morning and next to the passage that says I should exhibit love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control, I had added a note that said, “WORK on kindness.”

This ‘bird-flipping man’ has led me to believe that I need to work also on self-control, gentleness, and patience.

I am thankful for the beautiful role model who was in the car with me on our way to eat ice cream. She showed me the correct response to the situation.

I am also thankful to see that there is more of my Character that needs to be yielded to God.

I do hope you made it home safely, Bird-Flipping, Lesson-Teaching man.

I do. ~~~~~

If you don’t know:

‘flipping the bird’ is a rude gesture associated with the worst of all vulgar words to old people. It was the un-sayable word.

A New Wind

I met a new Wind.

I asked him, “From where did you come, and where are you going?”

He answered, “I came from where I was. I am going to where I will be.”

It struck me; our commonality.

“Are you blown by force or do you choose your path? Do you meander through the glade and whisper through the trees, or are you compelled along by nature’s cruelty?

“I ask you the same,” said the wind in a lofty breeze. “Why are you here to question me?

Do you chose your path? I must boldly ask.

We met in the the moment you saw my force. I would not have stopped but you questioned my course.

Be on your way now, to tell your tale of when you spoke with the wind.

Go where you are going, but remember where you have been.”

I met a new Wind.

The Unplanned Path

Unexpected Grief comes upon you without your permission. Without you allowing it to enter your life, it pushes in with maximum force causing your heart to crumble and your soul to tremble.

There is a Shadow in a cliff that offers quiet refuge. It is difficult to find in the shock of your situation. Who is able to look for refuge when the soul is outraged by unexpected injustice or the cruel reality of Death?

Blindness comes with Grief. Numbing heart-wrenching darkness swirling around clarity. Nothing is solid. Life is flux. There is a devastating tremor; terror stops reality and a dimensional sense of time and space invades thoughts and actions and emotions.

There is a Shadow in a cliff that offers quiet refuge. There is a place where the unending flood of tears is gently collected in eternal vessels. In the Shadow, questions go unanswered and yet the free flowing tears which do not lessen the pain, allow movement and motion to slowly creep to the edge of the mind’s precipice.

Momentum. No. Hope. No. Acceptance? How.

Motion however slightly, returns to the rocky precipice and with the quiet breeze of the Shadow comes the first ability. One beat. One small beat of the breaking heart begins. It moves, feels, sees; a life unplanned. One step forward on a broken journey; unwanted. Now, one step forward on this unplanned path.

Competitive Nature

The Strange Competitive Nature of People…

Why is it when I’m driving on the freeway, the CAR driving in the lane next to me speeds up and slows down to keep me from passing? We are not going to the same place. I am not trying to beat him to some mutual destination. There is a huge honking pickup truck trying to swallow my bumper. I am just wanting to move into the appropriate lane so that Mr. Pickup Truck will pass me.

The CAR in the lane next to me matches my speed. Why? If I slow down; CAR slows down, if I speed up; CAR speeds up. All the while, Mr. Pickup Truck believes that CAR and I are playing a twisted game of don’t-let-HIM-pass.

Where are we going that we must beat the other? We are on the same road. We are going in the same direction.

Where are manners, politeness, courtesy and kindness?

There is a strange competitive nature of people.

If I win; you lose.

If I am first; you are not.

Do I have manners, politeness, courtesy and kindness even when I lose…even when it appears that I am not the first or the best.

Will I be mad at Mr. Truck for so rudely pushing me beyond the speed limit? Will I want to scream at silly CAR for being obliviously in my way?

Yes; and yes.

Too bad. This realization is humbling. I am a strange and competitive person even when there is no race and there are no stakes.

Could I compete in something that truly matters?

Could I work to win at love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, meekness and self control? Could I rein in the hostile nature of my competitiveness and honor another person just because life is more than sharing a road and going in the same direction. Honor another? Will I?

Yes. This is a race with high stakes. This is a place where I want to attempt the win.

With this strange competitive nature of mine and a newly chosen focus, I may lose.

I may lose my attitude, my hidden hatefulness, and thinly veiled hostility.

I may gain.

Christ in me. The HOPE of glory.

Mr. Pickup Truck and CAR; I will try.

I WILL try, on my honor, to honor this new resolve.

Flip

I had a friend named Flip.

Flip owned, and operated a prosperous lawn and garden center.

Flip took a chance on me, one with no experience growing anything, and hired me, as his first seasonal employee.

One day Flip decided to take lunch offsite. He gave me detailed instruction on what he needed me to do while he was gone.

He needed me to ‘deadhead’ the purple petunias by removing the spent blooms down to the next leaf joint. He explained that by removing the faded flowers, the plant would continue producing new flowers, and would stay in bloom longer.

Purple petunias are my favorite with their deep purple color and their faint, mysterious scent.

I was so happy to have a task that was uncomplicated and yet would continue the cycle of glorious petunia purple-ness.

I was happy to have the task completed as I saw him pulling into the parking lot. I had deadheaded the petunias, cleaned up my mess, and displayed the baskets along with the other flowers.

As Flip walked towards me his face showed dismay. It was not the dismay I expected. He was confounded as he asked, “What did you do?!”

I was startled, since I did what he asked me to do.

“No. No. No! I asked you to deadhead them. You have removed all the blooms.”

He then showed me what the new blooms looked like and questioned me. “Don’t you see the difference?”

I hadn’t noticed a difference until he pointed it out to me. The new and old blooms had looked the same with just subtle differences that I will now forever remember.

Flip.

Thank you for not getting hostile or mad. Thank you for using that moment to train me further in my knowledge of plant cycles, growth, and care.

Thank you most of all for teaching me how to rectify a plant-based mistake.

Fertilize it with phosphate, with potash, and give it time. It will bloom again.

I remember your lesson Flip.

I apply it often.

*Learn bloom stages.

*For vigorous growth, remove the dead blooms.

*When I cut away the wrong things, do damage control by adding nutrients.

*Most important: give it time.

And so I will Flip- so I will.