Buckets of Sand

Last week was my 40th class reunion. I've never gone to a class reunion before for a few choice reasons.

A. I quit school in eleventh grade, got pregnant and married, then went and got my GED. Maybe not the most well-planned scheme I ever hatched; but in the end it worked out. I had a beautiful son and later, two more children and went on to college later in life.

B. I transferred to a new school in seventh grade where I didn't know anyone. I was shy and nerdy so it was hard to make friends. There were some 'popular' girls who made my life hell for a year. By high school I had my own circle of friends but I still hated those girls for the humiliation they put me through. And though I had a handful of friends, I really didn't know most of my graduating class.

So when hubby pointed out to me that this was the big '40' and urged me to go...I was pretty ambivalent about it all. (He, on the other hand, was one year behind me in high school and was friends with EVERYBODY...so he was looking forward to it.)

Finally, I decided to go. I've been taking some personal risks these days; working to get out of my comfort zone; so this event would push my boundaries. Boy, would it ever! Would they even let me in, having left in my junior year? Would those mean girls be there...and would they be mean women now? What if absolutely nobody knew me?

So we went. They did let me in. A few people knew me. Everybody knew hubby. The mean girls didn't come. (A few days earlier I googled them and read--with some unrighteous satisfaction--that one of them has been bankrupt, lost everything and convicted of shoplifting twice just this year. Don't feel too sorry for her. She was shoplifting all through high school; along with her siblings AND parents!) Anyway, it went fine. Everybody was all grown up now; turning grey and bald and flabby...and nice!

But all this ugly emotional 'stuff' surfaced as I went through this process. I thought I'd forgiven all of my enemies and even myself for the dumb things I did back then...but oh my, what angst I was feeling about it all.

So this morning I sat down with my Bible and purposed to do some serious forgiving. The mean girls...myself...my parents for making me move to a new school when it was so hard...just everybody; you know?

As I began praying and naming the offenders and forgiving them...in my mind's eye I could see myself on a wet sandy beach with several buckets hooked over my arm. They were full of heavy, wet, mucky sand. I could barely walk they were so heavy. So I decided to dump one of them out onto the beach. The waves came and whisked the pile of sand away. My walk became a little easier. So I dumped another. And another. By now I'm sure you've guessed that the buckets of sand were offenses that I've been packing around.

You know, there are so many imperfect people walking around on this planet (me included) that offenses and hurts are going to be as numerous as the grains of sand by the ocean. But if we insist on lugging those buckets-full of  hurts all our life; our walk on the beach, which could be wonderful and peaceful and serene and lovely; well, it'll just be drudgery.

Better to walk without heavy buckets of sludge. Put your toes in the surf. Maybe skip over the waves. Fly a kite and look at the sky.

So for now I've abandoned my buckets and am walking free. Knowing myself as I do, I know I'll be tempted to get out my shovel and dig up some emotional sand before this journey is over. But even if I do; I hope I remember this lesson I learned today. Life's just too short and the walk too lovely to be weighed down like that.

Will I go to my 50th reunion? Not likely. But not because I'm scared of mean girls. I just have other beaches to explore.

***

Looking back: a peek into my journal 7/25/05

An excerpt from my journal dated July 25, 2005. I've come a long way in my journey; having resolved most of this 'stuff'. But it's good now and then to look down from the mountain at some of the terrain you've covered. Maybe this will speak to other women facing the same thoughts...


"I've been contemplating the verse that says 'let your light so shine among men...'. The passages starts by saying that YOU are the light of the world. Then it counsels us not to hide our light. And I realize that I have been hiding my light. Because it's different. How do I hide it? Under social norms, false humility, and compromise.

So I'm trying to dig my light out of the closet, dust it off, plug it in, and see what we have.

Here, I think, are some facets of my light...

• Sensitivity to Spirit
• Intelligence
• Reflection
• Appreciation for aesthetics
• A soft heart for children
• Feminine strength
• Resolve and resourcefulness

Some of these things I've hidden so well that I don't fully understand them. I've tried so hard to fit the norm of "Christian" femininity that I have lost my sense of true femininity. (Not to mention trying to fit commercial standards.) What I mean is that I've been taught to think that a woman should be sweet and small (both externally and in my heart), unassuming, pretty, sexually attractive and yet not overt.

 But what does this have to do with ME? Could I not be kind--but not sweet? Large of heart, mind, and body? Dramatic--not pretty? Aware of my own sexual needs and desires rather than focusing on how to be attractive to another? Truly smart--not just a know-it-all?

Perhaps this is part of MY light. Not selfish or self-serving; but self-possessed and aware. Maybe it's time to stop apologizing for being too smart, too sensitive, too sensual, too ME...and begin to explore what this all means... "

***

 

My One True Thing

I was challenged by an article I recently read to find and write about one true thing about myself.
Here you have it...

I didn't grow up in church. The story of my childhood is too long to share in one little blog post, but I will tell with you that looking back on the little girl-who-was-me is painful. We were poor. I was born 'late in life' and felt like the person who arrived at the party when it was just winding down. The fun was over; the cake was all gone and the guests had gone home.  My dad, whom I loved with all of my heart was an alcoholic. He died of emphysema when I was only 14. I was a timid child with monsters under my bed--and even now, some of them still try to scare me.

But I digress. The story is about church...well actually, church ladies. But first I will tell you how I wound up in church.

You see, in the midst of all of the sadness, the fear, and the dysfunction...I had a wonderful, miraculous, mystic, life-altering experience.  It's difficult to describe, but I'll try. Picture a 19-year-old teenage mother, married to a teen-father. She was a high-school drop out who kept making bad decisions and trying to fix them by making even worse decisions. Well, one night, in a raging argument with her young husband, this girl-mother says (because she can't think of anything meaner to say)..."you are a horrible, terrible person! What do you think God thinks of you?" The boy-husband stops, thinks, and answers quietly, "I dunno. What does He think of you?"

At that precise moment, and on the wings of that question; a light came into the room. (Here's where words tend to elude me.) The light was alive. It was warm and permeated our shabby little apartment. And it was radiating--pulsating throughout my body. It felt like a warm ointment being applied from somewhere deep inside of me. It had intelligence. I sensed that it knew everything about me; the good and the bad...but there was only acceptance. I didn't know what to do or how to respond.  I went to bed that night and slept fitfully. I dreamed. There was a hallway with a coat-rack and a red carpet. That's all. The next morning, the light was gone and my world seemed as hopeless as ever.

The following Sunday my husband's friend Bill, invited us to his church. I thought maybe I'd find the answer to 'the Light' there, so agreed to go. We walked through the double doors into this little country church. The foyer was a hallway...with a coat-rack. The carpet was red.

As I entered the sanctuary and settled into a pew I felt it again...The Light. The service was strange to me. The people were singing loudly and raising their hands. Some were speaking in foreign languages. The preacher spoke about Elijah. I understood nothing of what he said and was sure that they were all quite mad and  I seriously considered running away. But I could not move. I sat frozen in place, utterly captivated by this invisible force...this Light. After the benediction, the preacher approached me. I was terrified, but he was a kindly looking older man. He asked if he could pray with me. I nodded, unable to speak. He softly placed his hand on my shoulder. The Light ran through my body like a wave of electricity. Then tears. Grief. Hurt. Fear. Shame. Hopelessness. It all came tumbling out. And after the final tear was shed...Peace. And I knew that this Light was not a thing, but a person with a name. Jesus.

So began my relationship with Jesus, and with the church.

As a new convert, I loved going to church. I just loved everything about it. Almost everything. It was just that I couldn't relate so well to the ladies. They were just.too.perfect. And I was just.too.flawed.

I remember sitting up in the front row and carefully studying the pianist/youth pastor's wife. Her face was like plastic. Smile painted firmly onto her face. Eyes expressionless. Playing every note perfectly. When it came time for testimonies she would carefully stand, straightening her perfectly-pressed A-line skirt, ever-smiling; and express her profound thanks to God for her perfect husband and 2 perfect children (one boy, one girl...of course), and for all of the perfect blessings in her perfect life.  Well, maybe she didn't say it exactly like that...but the message was clear to me.

As a child I used to visit Grandma Cline's house. It was boring because Grandma kept everything spotless and I was expected to sit quietly...don't mess anything up. So while Dad visited with Grandma, I would curl up on the sofa with a National Geographic. When I tired of reading I would sit and stare at the doll. Sometimes for hours. She was an exquisite geisha doll; given to grandma by her soldier-grandson after he returned from duty in Korea. I couldn't actually play with the doll because she was locked safely inside of a glass case which sat next to the sofa in the sitting room.  She wore an ornate black kimono embroidered in red and gold. Her almond eyes looked demurely down at me over a prettily painted fan. Her lips turned up just slightly at the corner...just the suggestion of a smile. But one could never tell. I longed to hold that doll. To run my hands over that silk kimono. To remove the fan from her hands so that I could look deeply into her eyes. But it was never to be. As Grandma always said, "That doll is just 'for looks."

I hope you won't think me mean when I say that sometimes I feel that we church ladies and geisha dolls are alike. Just for looks. Perfect but untouchable.

But the truth about me is this. I'm so not perfect. After that marvelous encounter with 'the Light' I've had many wonderful days, but believe me, I've had my low points. I got divorced. Nearly sacrificed my family for a career. Had children that went through really difficult times and I could should have done a better job of helping them. I'm often overly-sensitive and hold grudges more often than I'd like to admit. I could go on.

One might ask, "If you're not perfect, what is so different about your life since that mystic experience?"

 Many things. But the main thing is this...I am not in this world alone. That Light, Jesus, is with me every moment. And that makes all the difference.

So, the one true thing about me is that I am very imperfect, I don't live in a glass box...but I do have this amazing Light...

 





***

 

Wile E. Coyote, Seeds, and Solomon

 

"Your lettuce is going to seed," she accused me ever-so-haughtily. "It  really bothers me that people don't harvest their vegetables and at least give them to the food bank."

I sighed. It was true. Some of my lettuce had gone to seed. And the spinach. The basil too. Not all, mind you. Hubby and I have been eating fresh lettuce and basil and spinach until the cows come home. I wouldn't qualify her accusation with a defense;  but in my mind, I mulled over how much of it went to friends, neighbors, and passersby.

 "Hey, do you want some lettuce?" I  hollered one day to a pretty young Mexican woman walking along the sidewalk with a baby in the stroller and a beautiful little boy in hand. The child was around 5, with huge brown eyes that seemed to fill his tiny face, and his jet black hair was long and wavy. "Too pretty to be a boy," I thought, thinking that he reminded me of my 'pretty boy' Sammy, when he was about that age.  She spoke little English, but we figured out how to communicate a bit. She seemed happy to have the lettuce-- and the boy was thrilled to play for a moment with Baron, my big lab; who always accompanies me when I go over to the community plot to weed and water. "Lucinda...my name..." she said, placing her hands on her heart. "I am Debora," I replied in kind, "and this is Baron." The little boy repeated his name over and over. "Baron, Baron, Baron. I like Baron."
We smiled at one another and they took the lettuce and walked home. I went back to my weeding. No big deal. No magnanimous gesture--it was just lettuce.

Today I went over to water my plot. The garden's getting pretty ratty-looking and more plants have gone to seed. I groaned. Wonder what "Miss Persnickity" will have to say about this? I decide to pick some poppy pods. I'll take them home and sow them in a sunny spot in my yard next spring. Poppies and cosmos grow wild in our community garden. They come up wherever the wind and birds drop them. I just let them grow randomly among the radishes and spinach. It's always such a welcome surprise to see what pretty thing nature is going to drop on my doorstep!

I've been thinking much about seeds. Seedtime and harvest.

"To everything there is a season," pens the sage author of Ecclesiastes. "...and a time to every purpose under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted..."

In spite of what my dour friend thinks, going to seed is not necessarily a bad thing. It's a necessity for the continuation of the species, be it poppies, lettuce...or human beings. We are born, we bloom, we bear fruit, and we return to the earth. I think about all of the seeds that have been planted in my life. The seed of life from my parents. Seeds of knowledge from teachers, seeds of friendship and kindness, and sometimes sadly, seeds of hatred, despair, and hurt. We all sow them; don't we? Our words, our deeds, our thoughts, our prayers, our smiles, our gestures...all seeds. Sometimes we sow them purposefully and with intention, in neat little rows. Other times we scatter them carelessly.

I meet so many people who wonder what their purpose in life is. Always looking for the 'big sign' that will show them where to go, what to do, and prove to them once and for all that their life has meaning. I've felt that way too. I used to joke that God needs to drop an anvil on my head with a note attached to get my attention and tell me what He wants me to do. Like the Roadrunner does to Wile E. Coyote....beep, beep!










Somewhere along the way I figured something out. It's pretty simple. Sow seeds. Sow love. Sow kindness. Sow relief to someone in pain. Sow a smile. Sow a potted geranium. Sow a bowl of soup. Sow a "you look beautiful." Sow $10 for gas. Sow a phone call to your mom. Sow a note to somebody who's down. Talk to the homeless guy who's living by the pond where you exercise your dog. Help him remember that he is worthy of being heard. Give somebody a head of lettuce...That's it.
There it is...your anvil with a note scribbled on it from me.







While I was picking poppy pods, I accidentally crushed one of them. Hundreds of little poppy seeds spilled to the ground. Hundreds. From just one flower.

You're like that. Just full of seeds waiting to be sown. From just you, little ol' you! Imagine that!

So as for me, well I've stopped looking for the 'big sign.' I'm just tossing seeds. Sometimes I plant them carefully. Other times, I just throw them into the breeze and let it take them where it may.    

The Poppy Blumenfeld by Claude Monet

***
 

Listen to Your Heart

Many years ago I had a scary bout with my heart.  I had just worked up the courage to leave a career  that was beating me up physically and emotionally, and enrolled in college as a 40-something freshman.

During the years that I was working before this change, I used to envy women who worked part time or stayed home full time. On lunch hours I'd drive past the mall and marvel that there were people who could actually take the afternoon to go shopping or to the gym. What a luxury! But once settled in school, between classes and homework, I actually found a little bit of time for recreation. I decided to see what it was like to spend a sunny afternoon by the pool at our fitness facility. After swimming a few laps I got out and tried sitting in lounge chair and reading.  But I was still so keyed up and feeling guilty for being unproductive that I couldn't enjoy myself, so I gathered up my towel and sunscreen and headed for the showers; thinking I'd go home and work in the yard. You know--do something worthwhile.

All of a sudden my heart started to do funny things. After a few normal beats it would pause for what seemed like an eternity, and then beat madly to catch up. Terrified, I pulled my shorts and shirt over my still-wet swimsuit and drove like Jehu to to the doctor's office. He did all of the right tests, the halter monitor, the echo cardiogram, the treadmill stress test, and I'm sure other things that I've forgotten about. He said I was okay, in spite of the fact that my heart continued to flip and flop. If I wanted to, he advised, I could go on anxiety medicine to calm my frayed nerves and regulate my heart at the same time. I declined.

 Instead I called a minister friend to pray for me. She felt strongly that all of my problems stemmed from years of stress, and counseled me to take some time to rest. So I did. Gradually, the heart began beating normally and all of the nervous energy I was carrying about in my body dissipated. Since that time, I'm not afraid for my heart anymore; but I do tend to keep and eye on it.

I've learned a little bit about my body since then. My heart doesn't appreciate caffeine or super hot showers. And it lets me know when I'm not getting proper rest. Occasionally it will do a  warning thumpety-thump if I break those 3 little rules. When that happens, I usually pause, put my finger on a pulse point, and monitor the beats for a couple of minutes.

So the other night in bed, when I felt that quirky little thumpety-thump, I just lay there quietly and felt my pulse. One little hiccup. then it was normal again. It was so quiet I could actually hear it beating.

 A quiet realization came over me. I thought..."How wonderous is my heart! Listen to it; thumpthump...thumpthump...thumpthump. So dutiful and faithful to it's purpose; responding to electrical impulses that I have absolutely no control over. None. The One who set the axis of the earth and calls the stars by name...He's keeping track of my heartbeats. He knows the exact number of times that my heart will beat...and He knows the day and hour that it will stop."

And the understanding that my heart, the blood circulating through my veins, each breath I draw; all happening because of divine intention...flooded me with gratitude and peace. And I slept.

And as I slept, my heart went thumpthump...thumpthump...thumpthump...thumpthump...thumpthump...

Friends, I know you are talented and capable and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. But sometimes it's good to know that we don't have be in control of everything. Tonight before you go to sleep, feel your pulse and listen to your heart beating. You are here because of divine intention. Listen to God's intention for you...thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump.  Rest in that knowledge. Be at peace.

***

My Thoughts on Facebook and Friends

Imagine with me for a moment...

I invite a friend we'll call Rita over for coffee. We haven't seen one another for awhile so I am looking forward to hearing from her. My friend, by the way, doesn't share my political views, but we are old school chums and our history predates our politics. Besides, we like the same movies, clothing styles, and our kids are friends in school.

Rita arrives at my house and we greet one another warmly. I can't wait to hear about her trip to Florida, and how her husband is doing on his new job. And I want to tell her all about the new consignment shop I found last week. We sit down at my kitchen table and I see Rita fumbling through her purse. She pulls a newspaper clipping...a cartoon from her wallet and hands it to me.

"I just wanted to share this with you; it's so hysterically funny," she giggles.

I look at the picture. It's a grotesque caracature drawing of a well-known political figure (one whom I happen to admire) doing something really stupid. The caption reads, "Idiots...all ______ are stupid morons!" Huh! I wonder why she thinks I would find this even remotely funny! I say nothing. My silence takes her back a minute and she says..."Oh, well I didn't mean YOU were stupid!" I just really hate this OTHER politician.

We change the subject but I can't really get this incident out of my mind. I thought we were FRIENDS.

Isn't that the button we chose when we agreed to be FRIENDS on Facebook? Yet I see this scenario played out on Facebook every day.

So what is a Facebook friend? To many, I fear, it is just a name added to a list. One of those faceless heads that gets added to your account when you don't upload your photo.

Herein lies the problem with social media. It's not social at all. It's people hiding behind a keyboard... saying things they don't mean to people they don't really care about. It's taking cheap shots at people of differing opinions, ethnicity, sexual orientation, religion, or political persuasion without even once having to look into their eyes and see the hurt from their callous remarks.

 My goodness how we 'adults' shake our heads at the cyber-bullying that is so prevalent among today's teenagers. We shed a dry little tear when we read of another young person who committed suicide because of the mean-ness of her peers. Then we look for a great joke to post on F/B...one that'll get everybody's attention you know...because it really IS all about the number of 'likes' and comments you get, right? I mean, who really cares about how my readers, my FRIENDS feel when I post it? It's all about ME...this is my bully-pulpit, dammit! Perhaps we're not so different from our teenagers.

Not so many years ago, at least in my parent's household, discriminatory jokes were pretty common. As a child I remember hearing  my folks tell stories about Jews, Native Americans, African Americans, Polish people, Asians, Mexicans, gays and lesbians, and let's not forget, women. Truly, they meant no harm. But unintended harm is still harmful. The civil rights movement taught us that these are REAL PEOPLE with names and faces and ears that hear and hearts that hurt from our words. So we stopped. Well, I stopped.

So what's left? What is left for us to belittle and demean...there must be SOMETHING that we can criticize and say hurtful things about... well how about Republicans, or Democrats, or Libertarians, or Tea Partiers...THEY DON'T COUNT DO THEY?

Yes...they do.

So do we just do as our grandparents did and forbid the subjects of religion and politics at the dinner table?

No. We forbid attacking other people for the beliefs that they hold. We encourage open and honest and RESPECTFUL discussions and debates that center around issues; always remembering that the person on the other side of the table is our FRIEND. Instead of resorting to posting mean-spirited jokes on Facebook, we man-up (or woman-up) and educate ourselves about real issues so that we can communicate intelligently and sincerely rather than hiding behind sarcasm. That's what we do.

And in regards to Facebook friendships, I'd like to add that Facebook has done us all a dis-service by using the term FRIENDING. They have cheapened the meaning of friends. I wonder, does anyone really have 600+ friends? I can count my true friends on both hands. I've become a little wary about accepting Facebook 'friendships.' Am I really this person's friend...really? Am I genuinely interested in them and they in me? Or am I just another name to be added to their growing list?

Some final thoughts about FRIENDS...

• A friend to all is a friend to none.    Aristotle

• Be true to your work, your word, and your friend.  Thoreau

• Let there be no purpose in friendship other than the deepening of the spirit.   Khalil Gibran

• Never contract friendship with a man that is not better than thyself.   Confucious

***

A is for Angels

This idea came to me in the wee hours this morning. I was stewing about a problem (a really small problem in the grand scheme of things). It was like a noisy crow, sitting atop a branch in my brain, cawing, taunting, swooping in and snatching my peace and sleep. I decided to try distracting myself with gratitude.

"Let's see, what am I grateful for that begins with the letter A?"

The exercise worked. My problem took wings and flew away! So begins my alphabetical list of things for which I am grateful...



  is for Angels.

My first conscious encounter with angels happened when I was about 20 years old. I say 'conscious' because I have learned that angels work quietly among us everyday--and in ways that we often miss. They are everywhere. And for every bad thing that comes our way, for every horrible, misfortunate, tragic event that happens in this world; angels have prevented 10,000 more.

I was about 20 years old at the time. Johnny, my oldest child was a toddler, and Sammy was just a baby. We only had one car back in those days, and my husband needed it for work; so I was pretty much stuck at home every day. Mr. Hinton, a kindly old gentleman from the church offered to drive me to and from Tuesday morning Bible studies. I accepted, grateful for a chance to get out, in spite of the fact that the old fellow was an awful driver.

Seating arrangements in cars were a lot different in those days. Mothers commonly drove with their babies lying in little cheaply molded 'infant carriers' next to them on the front seat. Older cars often didn't even have seatbelts, and if you did have them, you usually didn't use them. I tell you this so you won't think me horrible when I say that when we pulled into the driveway after Bible study tht day I was in the front seat holding baby Sam, and Johnny was in the back seat behind Mr. Hinton.

I had just slid out of the front seat of the car and was headed toward the back to get Johnny when I saw that he had somehow gotten out by himself and was standing directly behind the car...and Mr. Hinton must have forgotten all about Johnny, because he was backing up! My sweet little boy was about to be crushed. I had absolutely no chance of getting to him in time! I started to yell. Then, at that same instant, that exact same instant...without a millisecond of time passage...Johnny was standing on the front porch--some twenty feet from the driveway!

Mr. Hinton stopped suddenly, rolled down his window and hollered, "An angel just put Johnny on the porch!"
Then he drove away. (I think that was our last ride with Mr. H.!)

Angels are not limited by time, space, or distance. Johnny was behind the car, then he was on the porch. No time passed between these two 'events.'

Many years later I was going through a rocky time with my teenage daughter. Her dad and I had divorced, and she decided to go and live with him. I was heartsick and worried. Her dad was at the time, living in a travel trailer at a beach resort nearby. I knew he loved her and would take good care of her, but it was painful to let go. And I was concerned about the trailer. Was it safe?

A few nights before she moved out I had a dream. There was a travel trailer in a mobile park with two men walking around it. The men were very tall...over 7 feet, I'd say. One was Asian looking. The other was very fair and blonde. Their faces were glowing. They seemed to be inspecting the trailer. They were opening all of the compartments...looking at hoses, pilot lights, the roof, etc. Around and around it they walked. It was clear to me that these were not men, but angels. My daughter's angels. And they were making sure she'd be safe. (When I later visited the place, it was exactly as I'd seen in the dream.)

Later that week I was standing in my living room when I heard something on the stairway. I turned, and there they were! The same two angels were standing on the stairs. Their faces were radiating light. They were tall, strong, and athletically built, and they were dressed in white. No wings that I could see. Then they were gone. (And for those of you struggling with teenager problems, take heart; I am happy to report that my daughter and I safely negotiated our troubled waters and are now the very best of friends! She is absolutely amazing!) 

Another time I was wakened in the middle of the night by a swooshing sound coming from the upstairs of our split-level home.

"Lord, what is it?" I asked in alarm.

Instantly I was standing in the middle of my living room. It was filled with angels. Large, small, winged, non-winged. Some had swords. They seemed oblivious to me and they were all moving about with great agitation. (The sound I'd heard was the flapping of wings.)

"What are they doing?" I asked.

"Battling."

"What are they battling?" 

"Everything you are battling." 

Then I was back in bed.

So... experientially speaking, here's what I know about angels. Everybody has some assigned to them. (I say 'some' because I know my daughter has at least two.) They are actively participating in our behalf but on a spiritual plane. Sometimes however, they do manifest in our natural, time-restricted realm. (Personally, I don't think there is anything magical or airy-fairy about this. From a physics perspective, I believe that they are simply operating beyond the speed of light. This would explain why we usually cannot see them.) Some look like people; beautiful, beautiful people. Some are winged. Some do not appear to be. They can be as small as a toddler, or very, very large. 

Biblically speaking, we learn that angels are created beings...not human. They are highly powerful have many functions; including helping people, delivering messages, carrying out God's decrees, worshipping, and doing spiritual battle. They are not supposed to be objects of worship and adoration. It was not at all uncommon for people in Bible times to see angels, and we are told that often people entertain angels 'unawares.' 

I am ever-so-grateful for these very real, very wonderful, very powerful,  and somewhat mysterious beings called angels, and the work they do here on earth. 

So tell me...what are YOU grateful for that begins with the letter "A"? (And I'd love to hear your 'angel story'!)

***

My Daily Choice

My Daily Choice

by Debora Rorvig

(I wrote this piece in 1995. I still believe it and try to make this choice daily.)

I must make a daily choice to believe that there is an uncommon beauty and an extraordinary purpose for my existence at this very moment and place.

For if I do, I will understand my connection to everything and everyone around me who also have purpose and beauty; and this will lead me to Kindness and Respect.

If I do not, I will view myself and the world about me with indifference and become careless and callous.

And if I know that I am a person of extraordinary purpose, I will believe that I influence the world about me, and that all of my actions have significant consequence. I will therefore act with Responsibility.

If I do not, I will attribute my failures to fate and blame others for my problems. Perhaps even worse, I will believe that my successes are luck; which is impossible to replicate and out of my control.

If I truly believe that there is a reason for my existence at this particular time and place, I will scan my horizons for every prospect available to me, and seize upon it, no matter how small or remote it may seem. I will have Hope.

If not, I will feel despair when others succeed, and jealously believe that they are more fortunate or blessed than I.

When troubles come, as they often do, or calamity suddenly strikes; if I am resolute in my belief that there is a reason for my life, I will bend with the winds, but will not break. Through the hard times I will look to friends and family for added strength, and in turn I will be a friend. ‘A three-fold cord is not easily broken’. I will be a part of a Community.

If not, I am doomed to suffer alone.

If I can see that there is uncommon beauty in my life, I will have an appreciation for all of nature. The fragrant earth after a summer shower, a robin singing at my window, waves breaking upon the shore, and the wonder in a child’s eyes; all of these things and countless more will give pause for reflection and rejoicing in my heart. I'll be filled with gratitude just to find myself included in such a wonderful universe. These things will bring me Joy and Humility.

If I cannot see beauty in my own life, I will miss the beauty of nature too. Like a tourist on a speeding train, the sights and sounds, the faces and smiles, days and nights, will all rush past me-as a blur. And at the end of my life, there will be no distinction…and no joy.

Some days it is hard to believe; hard to believe in one's self, in others, and in the universe. But in the end…

it’s much harder not to believe.

Kindful; My New Favorite Word

This week I spent some time working with an adorable little 9-year-old. This little girl's life has been very tumultuous. We're talking CPS visits, being removed from her home for very good reasons, being returned to her home for very stupid reasons, and all the while she thinks her family problems are her fault. Every time I see this little one she runs to me and gives me a great big hug. Her sweetness in the midst of all of her problems just melts my heart.

I was assessing her to see if she qualified for special educational services. One of the things I asked her to do was to draw me a picture, then write a few sentences to describe it. 

Little Sweetie carefully drew a picture of a lady wearing a pretty dress with a great big smile.

I said, "Can you tell me about your picture?"

She pointed across the room to my boss and said, "It's Mrs. Brown."

"Well, can you tell me more about the picture?"

"Yes. That's Mrs. Brown. I love her. She is sooooo kindful!"

"Kindful?"

"Yes, kindful," she smiled up at me.

Kindful. Yes, she is right. Some people are just soooo kindful. You know...thoughtful+kind, or beautiful+kind, or maybe just plain full of kindness. Kindful. It's my new favorite word.

I think the world needs more kindful people. I want to be one of them. Don't you?

***

Encouraging Thoughts for the New Year

My meditation for this last day of 2012 was from Psalm 68:19. It popped into my head during my quiet time this morning. In the King James version (the version I'd memorized) it says...

Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with benefits, even the God of our salvation. Selah.

I've always loved this verse; it brought pictures to my mind of God loading my life with good things--much in the same way that I load the back of my Jeep up with groceries at the market. So I decided to research further and see what these 'benefits' might be. I checked my parallel Bible to see how the verse reads in other translations. I must admit, at first I was a little disappointed. (For you scholars out there...when the KJV Bible italicizes words, you know that the italicized words were added by the translators for clarification and were not a part of the original Hebrew or Greek text. This is why its good to study scripture in many translations.) The Amplified translation more correctly reads...

Blessed be the Lord, Who bears our burdens and carries us day by day, even the God Who is our salvation. Pause and calmly think about that!

What!!! No backing my Jeep  up to Heaven's back door and loading it up with blessings???  I was a crestfallen.

The Still Small Voice said, "No, something infinitely better. I have committed to be in your life each and every day. To carry you through whatever circumstance you are in, and to shoulder the burden of your human limitations for you."

Wow! I decided to take the Psalmist's advice and pause to calmly think about that! (That's what 'selah' means.) It means that on the brink of a brand New Year, I (and you) can expect God's abiding presence in all 365 days of 2013. It means that when I'm troubled or worried or distressed, He promises to carry the load for me. It means quite simply that-- He's got my back! Your's too, if you'll accept it.

And that, my dear ones, is why I can say to you "Happy, Happy New Year!"

Go forward confidently friends...You are so very blessed!

***

From my journal; I am justified

A post from my journal dated 6/21/06...

Romans 8:33   Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect. It is God that justifieth.

In the light of this New Covenant promise; could an Old Testament Job-type incident occur again? (One where Satan comes before God and accuses Job of only serving God for his favor.) I don't believe that Satan will ever again be permitted to come before the presence of God and accuse the brethren...for according to Romans 8; God himself justifies us. How could such a nefarious scoundrel ever be allowed to stand before Jesus Christ...He who has nail-scars in his hands and feet that were suffered for us?Never for a moment think that your experience is anything at all comparable to Job's. You have a way-better covenant.

***

Are you being nice or being kind?

"Always be kind. But think twice before you're "nice." Nice, is often a mask of pleasantness we put over negative feelings. Nice is often a form of self-rejection. Real kindness feels good. It's when we give because we want to give and we give in ways that respect everyone, including us."

Tama J. Kieves


Wow! I read this quote on Tama Kieves' website and it really made me think. We're told to be nice so often; but really we need to be kind, don't we? You can link to her site here:
http://www.awakeningartistry.com/index.php

Things Hoped For



Hubby's Bible was lying open on the table this morning. I was running late but took a moment to read his devotional for the day. 

It said, "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Hebrews 11:1.

I've had this passage memorized for years in the King James version...Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

While driving to work I meditated on the meaning of this verse. The words 'hoped for' rolled over and over in my mind. As a child I was taught not to hope for much.  We didn't have a lot, so it was considered selfish to ask for, or hope to get too much for one's self. "Don't get your hopes up," was almost a mantra in our home. The folks didn't want us to be disappointed if we couldn't afford things.

The problem with not getting one's hopes up is that you come to expect the opposite. You expect to be disappointed. To fail. To be overlooked. To lose. And this my friend, is faith in reverse. Faith in bad things. It's name is fear.

Fear says, "Don't write a book, it won't be published anyway." 
Fear says, "Don't apply for that job, you aren't qualified enough."
Fear says, "You can't go to college, you're not smart enough. You don't have the time, or the money, etc."
Fear tells you not to get your hopes up. Settling for second best becomes a way of life.

But faith says, "You go girl; dream big."
Faith says, "You can do anything."
Faith says, "Keep going...you're almost there!"
Faith says that the things you hope for have substance. They are real.

It's taken me years to learn that my hopes are legitimate and valid. Hoping doesn't make me selfish...hope is the energy that fuels creativity and optimism and faith.

So hope for much, friends. Get your hopes up...way up! Don't listen to fear.  Dream great dreams. And let faith turn your hopes into substance.


When you say a situation or a person is hopeless, you are slamming the door in the face of God.
                                                                                                                                 - Charles L. Allen


Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.
                                                                                                                                 - Emily Dickinson


The human body experiences a powerful gravitational pull in the direction of hope. That is why the patient's hopes are the physician's secret weapon. They are the hidden ingredients in any prescription.
                                                                                                                                 - Norman Cousins

***

For Broken Lamps and Burned-Out Souls

This is my lamp.

I have it for two reasons.

Light...Beauty.

I only turn it on at night, when it's dark.

The rest of the time it sits idly in my living room. 

 I don't mind that it's idle.

I enjoy looking at it.

We inherited this pair of oriental lamps from Uncle Myles when he passed away.

There was just one thing about them,

one tiny little problem...

They were broken.

All in pieces.

So we gathered up the pieces and painstakingly glued them back together...piece by piece.

I don't mind the fact that my lamps have cracks running all through them;

that just makes them more precious to me.

Jesus said, "You are the light of the world."

Weren't we broken in pieces when He found us?

I know I was smashed to smithereens.

He glued us back together. Piece by piece.

Our flaws are beautiful to Him.

Do you really think that you must be 'on' 24/7 to please Him?

Must you have impossibly long 'to do' lists and be all things to all people?

Busy, busy busy,

Night and day.

You're burning out, my friend.

Maybe He wants you to sit.

Just be there for Him to look at.

Trusting that, when it is time, He'll turn on the power

and you will cast His light

upon those who need it.

But for now, could you just take a moment...

 15 minutes or a half an hour

just to 'be'?

Find a quiet little corner

where no one is around

and rest awhile.

Don't talk.

Don't eat.

Turn off the tv

 and the music

and the i-phone

and the nook

and the washing machine

and the computer...

Close your eyes and listen.

Then open your eyes and look around.

The world is still spinning

even though you are still.

It's all in His hands.

And so are you.

And you are beautiful to Him,

just sitting there.

***

Going Back Home

Kelly goes into the convenience store while I wait in the car. I turn off the radio and close my eyes.

Yes, she's still here. I can see her quite clearly in my mind. Slightly chubby, dishwater blonde--pixie haircut...a quiet child with a slightly crooked smile. And there's her puppy, Honey. She's running about the yard with the little blonde cock-a-poo... obviously that child and dog are the very best of friends. In my mind it's a beautiful summer day, and the pasture across the road from where I sit is dotted with dandelions and spotted holstein milk-cows. The child and dog cross the road, slip under the barbed-wire fence, and race to the top of the pasture's big hill. When they reach the top, they throw themselves upon the grass and lie amid the dandelions...content just to lie there watching clouds roll by.

Now the car door opens and Kelly tosses a Butterfingers candy bar into my lap. It startles me. The little girl and her doggy disappear and once again I am sitting the the AM/PM parking lot. But this place wasn't always a parking lot. There was once a cottage in this very spot. A family lived here. A little girl and her mama and daddy...with her puppy Honey and a kitten called Tuffy. There was a garden plot out there in the back, a clothesline and a blackberry patch.

This parking lot was once my home.

Someone once said you can't go home; I disagree. I go there often...and it hasn't changed a bit!

 Blessings to you, little girl with your puppy. Lie there on the hill and dream. Your future is bright. This I know.

Consult not your fears...

My doctor said I had anxiety. Imagine that! Ya think?

Looking back over my life I can say with some authority that I have had reason for anxiety. There was the dysfunctional childhood, the early marriage and subsequent divorce, the remarriage and blending of a family that blended about as well as oil and water, jobs that sapped every bit of energy, going back to college and starting a new career in my forties-I joke about being the only student in my math class who was having hot flashes while sitting in the front row on finals week...I could go on.

But God. The divine conjunction...but God. He has been with me through every season of my life. He's been there when my life has been so glorious that I've felt like racing to the top of a mountain and dancing on it's pinnacle. And He's been there in the darkness of my bedroom when I've been crumpled on my bed like a piece of discarded paper, sobbing until I thought my eyes should swell shut. And yes, I survived and lived to see another sunny, glorious day.

Do you know what this friend, this God, this Jesus is to me? He is my ALWAYS. My constant. He is the land I see on the horizon when my ship is tossing wildly in the storm. He never leaves me, know matter how crazy or stupid or stressed or fabulous my life becomes. And it has surely been all of those things...sometimes all at one time! Yes, he is My ALWAYS.

Today I previewed a lovely book by  Angela Thomas called "When Wallflowers Dance".  There was a quote on one of the first pages that I know was placed there just for me.

"Consult Not Your Fears but your hopes and your dreams. Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what is still possible for you to do." 

Pope John XXIII  

How about you? Are you consulting your fears or looking at what is still possible for you to do. I pray that if you've 'happened' upon this post, you'll know like me that the words were placed there just for you!

***

A Still Life

"Be still, and know that I am God..."
Psalms 46:10

I've been thinking about this verse for a couple of days. It seems so appropriate for my life right now.

Be still.

This phrase could mean a few things. In the old days, it meant to be silent--clam up--shut up. A more contemporary person might understand it to mean-- stop moving-- halt. It could mean both things simultaneously.
But my heart of heart senses that it means so much more. In the depth of my spirit I know that this is an admonishment to still my body, my mouth, my mind and my heart. To live quietly and confidently.

Being still allows us to really "know that He is God." And when we know that He is God, we won't have to act like we are God; which has caused me a few lot of headaches in the past. Managing the universe is just too big of a job, and I'm not really so good at it--though I've certainly tried!

Enough of the frantic, frenetic, frenzy.

 It's time to be still. To rest. To know.      

A still life.
*

Exchanging my 'List' for 'Listen'

I've always been a goal setter. A writer-down of lists of 'things I must accomplish.' It's been a pretty  effective way to live. But lately I've felt a different sort of stirring inside. It bids me, "Be still. Relax. Listen. Meditate. Follow my Voice." So that's what I'm going to do. Not really certain where I am going, but trusting that wherever it is, it will be Good.

December's Simple Woman's Daybook

For Today...

Outside my window it's dusky and chilly and the moon is already out. Hubby and puppy are playing ball in the backyard. I can see their breath as they race across the frosty ground together. Hubby waves at me to watch them...Baron has learned to leap like a deer and catch the ball mid-air. Out front the neighbors Christmas lights are lit and giving the frozen evening a cheery glow.

I am thinking about Nativity Scenes. On my way to work yesterday I drove past a shoddy house with a poorly-painted plywood nativity scene in their front yard. My first thought was, "How crummy looking!" But at the same time I felt happy that this family was celebrating the birth of Jesus on Christmas. Then I started thinking about how almost bizarre it is that we decorate our lawns and mantles with  images of a newly delivered baby in a bed of straw. I mean, what other religion does that? But then, what other religion claims that GOD has visited this earth in the form of a man? The GOD of the universe, naked, lying in itchy hay, crying and wetting and needing someone to feed him. It boggles the mind! The Divine Condescension!

I am thankful that it's real. Christmas. It really did happen.

In the kitchen under the window sits my pink Thanksgiving cactus; still blooming. It's in an old- fashioned planter...a ring of white geese. Somehow they reminds me of Grandma's house.

I am wearing skinny jeans under a wheat colored cable knit sweater-jacket. I have a soft camel, red, and black plaid scarf about my neck. My brown, knee high boots have three buckled straps on them. I fancy that they look like riding boots.

I am creating a more modern and comfortable bedroom. I took out the old Victorian bed and replaced it with a simple boxed spring and mattress on a frame. The old headboard partly covered the window and blocked the light; now I awaken to soft, filtered light streaming into the room. Since getting rid of the old footboard, hubby can sit on the end of the bed in the mornings and chat with me while he drinks his coffee and I struggle to wake up.  I've replaced my brightly colored quilts with a fawn colored quilt and an ivory fake fur throw. The walls are fawn colored and the woodwork is ivory. It's all very monochromatic and restful. The only artwork is a black and white charcoal piece I drew in college-- a picture of an English chap walking his corgi along a country lane. Very appropriate for Kelly and me. Soon I will paint the side tables ivory, replace the dresser with a very simple, modern one, and sew a new bedskirt by taking an old one, ripping the skirt part off of the part that goes under the mattress, and replacing the skirt part with fabric of my choice, perhaps a linen color with a small repeated, diamond-shaped print--like you see on men's pajamas. What do you call that pattern anyway?

I am going to see my friend Michelle's daughter Breton, in a production of "You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown" tomorrow afternoon. Breton is playing Schroeder. He's my favorite Peanuts character, him and Snoopy. Who doesn't love Snoopy?

I am wondering if there are any new episodes of "Parenthood" on our DVR. Kelly and I both love that show. Will Crosby and Jasmine get back together? Kelly says yes, but I have my doubts.

I am reading books I've already read. I like to do that. And I like to read several books at once; so when I become bored with one subject, I just hop over to a new one. This month I'll re-read "Follow Your Passion, Find Your Power",  "A Child's Christmas in Wales", "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Day", "An Altar in the World", "The Heart of Abundance", and I hope to check out "Shepherds Abiding". (Brenda, over at It's a Wonderful Life mentioned this book. I think I've read all of the 'Mitford' books, but I can't remember.) In case you're wondering, this is a lot to read in a few weeks, so I probably won't read these books in their entirety... just my favorite parts. It's OK to do that...really!

I am hoping that my friend Tammy remembers to give me an invitation to Pinterest. Or that somebody does! Pinterest has a waiting list, and the only way to get on right now is to be invited...anyone out there on Pinterest...?

I am looking foward to spending a Christmas with my son Sam and his family in Las Vegas. We haven't had Christmas with Sam for over 15 years. We do see Sam in the summer, but it's been way too long since I've sat across a Christmas meal with my son. Actually, we're celebrating on the 23rd. Sam drives a limousine for a living; and Christmas day through New Years are his busiest work days of the year. I can't wait to take the boys shopping for their presents. I'm sure the malls in Vegas will be decked out to the hilt! I'll take plenty of pictures.

I am hearing the Heismann trophy presentations on ESPN. (Hubby and puppy dog have come in from the backyard and are settled in the family room with me.) Hubby says that the finalists are Andrew Luck, Montee Ball, Trent Richardson, Robert Griffin III, and  Tyrann Mathieu. Do I really care about this? Nope. But hubby does, and he tolerates my ramblings about ivory-painted side tables. So I listen when he tells me about football stuff. The compromises of a happy marriage.

Around the house things are in a pleasant disarray. They've been that way since we got a dog. I think it's an improvement. Things used to be almost too clean around here. Now the little braided rug by the front door has a pair of boots sitting on it; in anticipation of the next walk--and a few leaves and twigs from the last walk. The slipcover on the sofa is rumpled and the Chrismas quilt that I tossed haphazardly over the back of it has been claimed by Posie cat for her evening nap. Adjacent the fireplace is Baron's bed, where he is presently lying...contentedly chewing on a bone.

I am pondering how to be a true servant of Christ, how Christ was a servant-king, and how that would look in my everyday life. I know that serving Him does not mean being a doormat or saying yes to every time someone asks you to do something. It's a poor analogy, but I look at my dog. He knows that I am his master. He should prefer my voice to anyone elses. Do I prefer His voice to my own? Would I rather listen to people than to Him? I have such a long way to go in this area of my life! But I'm not discouraged. I have come long and far from where I started in my walk with Him.

One of my favorite things is writing this blog. It's relaxing and very cathartic. I love mixing words in much the way a painter mixes color. Words are colorful. They are powerful. Soothing. The can be  anything you want them to be.

A few plans for the rest of the week--Oh I hate to think of it! It's the last week of school before winter break. I'll be trying to insert information into the heads of children who's brains have turned to cotton fluff in anticipation of Christmas! There are presents to be purchased and sent to Oregon. Plans must be finalized for the Las Vegas trip--what to wear, boarding the dog, printing the airline tickets, etc. Ah well, I won't worry about it now.

Here's a picture for a thought I am sharing

My charcoal drawing. I copied this off of a photograph from an old calendar. Sadly, I don't recall the photographer's name.

Prompts courtesy of : http://thesimplewomansdaybook.blogspot.com/

If You Have Eaten...You Should Wash Your Bowl

There is a Zen story that goes something like this...
A young monk had just entered the monastery and went to Joshu saying "Please teach me."

The old man asks, "Have you eaten your rice porridge?"

"Yes."

"Then you should wash your bowl."

It is said that at that moment the young monk received enlightenment.


I don't know if I can claim 'enlightenment' from these simple words, but I've been thinking about this story a lot. And it's changing my perspective.

I  must admit, I leave trails; just like those speckled slugs in the back yard that leave that glistening, gooey, slimy path as they crawl along. Now I'm not filthy, mind you... I just get interested in things...then disinterested. Or distracted. Or busy. So there are stacks of books and magazines on the coffee table, right next to the knitting project and the camera and the laptop and my Nook. (Truthfully, the books are EVERYWHERE.)  My dresser collects post-it notes from work, scarves and earrings, last month's bank statement, and photographs I need to put into albums.

But life happens and the photographs gather dust and the post-it notes become meaningless and the checkbook goes unbalanced. The books are half-read and when I pick up the knitting it takes a while to remember what pattern I am doing. And somehow the colors of the yarn aren't as pretty as I thought they were when I started the project last month.





Lately I'm making an effort to 'wash my bowl.' To stay in the moment instead of rushing from one thing to the next. To honor and appreciate what I have and where I am--right this very minute.

I've started to hang up my coat right when I get home; instead of tossing it on a chair. Started being grateful that I have a coat... thinking about the person who made it. I guess it was probably someone in China or maybe India. Who took the time to carefully piece and sew the seams and zipper? How much did they earn? I'd like to thank them for doing a good job; for the soft, plaid flannel lining and the snug hood. Since I can't say thank-you directly, I honor their work by hanging the coat up...carefully.

 Thoughtfully.

When I leave for work these days, I make it a point to fold the afghans on the sofa and chair, instead of leaving them in a heap. It only takes a minute. But it's satisfying.

There are lots of things like that...closing doors and turning out lights. Putting the blow-dryer back under the cabinet. Taking the pennies I found in the laundry and putting them into hubby's coin jar.
Happy I'm not scraping pennies together to pay for gas or groceries. (I once did, you know.)

I used to just clean my house.

Now I am learning that if I have eaten,

 I should wash my bowl.

***