Yesterday, while the news was full of the tragic murders of 2 NON-WHITE policemen in protest by a madman, I was enjoying myself thoroughly, talking to several black women working in the stores where I was making purchases. We laughed and talked like old friends. There was no racial tension between us. Our skin color may have been different, but our hearts were in tune. If politicians and the PC police would shut up and go away, I think that's the way it would be in general everywhere.
One of the things my mother taught me about motherhood was to avoid getting involved in my children's spats with neighborhood friends. The kids patch things up quickly and forget what they were fighting about while moms are still bickering about whose precious angel did what naughty. The principle applies with politics. There are those who deliberately stir up trouble for their own benefit where people, if left alone, would figure it out themselves. In fact, until the blowhards started, there may not have been a problem in the first place.
I'm sick about the police officers who lost their lives and I sincerely hope their deaths were not in vain. Since I watched the shootings during the riots at Kent State so many years ago, I often wonder who has to die in order to restore sanity when violence again rears it's ugly head.
Every year, some of the boys I tutor read the story of the 5 missionaries who died in the jungles of Ecuador at the hands of the very Indians they were trying to reach with the love of Jesus Christ. It had a tremendous impact me when I was 12 years old. Each year, as I read the story and guide the boys in the essay they must write, the story takes new meaning. This year, I realized, perhaps for the first time, that their deaths served a purpose that their living could never have done.
Because they died so tragically, the world was changed. Men and women all over the world heard and responded to the Gospel they would have continued to ignore had the men continued to live quietly and unknown among the Waodoni tribe of Ecuador. Yes, the Waodoni are now Christians. It's a beautiful story. Perhaps if they had not murdered those missionaries, they would have in time come to Christ, but the rest of the world would have gone on it's merry way in ignorance.
I pray those policemen's deaths will have much the same impact. And a pox on politicians who martyred the truth, costing the lives of those two policemen. God will hold them accountable for the vitriolic invective they've spewed to infect the country for their own political gain. I believe in imprecatory prayer and I am praying God will bring them to such disgrace they'll lose all influence they've maliciously gained over the years. I pray they slink back into the slough of despondence they came from before other innocent people have to die from them shooting off their mouths.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Relevant
With my 71st birthday barreling down on me like a runaway freight train, I have to stop and take stock on occasion in regard to being relevant in this day and age. I looked the word up in the dictionary, just to make sure I'm using it correctly. As an aside, I do that a lot these days as a tutor. Anyway, the word means "pertinent" or "having to do with the matter at hand."
Our life has revolved around "The Color of Roses" for almost a year, now. So, is what I wrote relevant? I think so and I'll explain that in a minute. What got me thinking about relevancy in the first place was a conversation I was having with my first Florida friend, Marianne.
I was explaining to her that one of the people who are very big in the co-op where I have my book for sale (doing poorly) took it personally when she decided to have a party after the mall closed and only 4 of the 57 vendors showed an interest. Some of us in the co-op are disappointed in our sales and will be glad to call an end to the relationship. I think trying to sell in the mall may be a bit obsolete and out of touch. No longer relevant.
In the first place, the "company" party may be relevant where people have worked together for years and know each other well. It deepens the bond between workers and establishes an anticipated tradition. The co-op opened October 1. Hardly enough time to bond with 56 other people. Then, too, in the months I've been there, I've met maybe a dozen and only a few times at that. We all come and go on our own time, so there's really no opportunity to get acquainted, let alone make friends enough to want to attend a party. With the metaphoric rise of social media and its convenience, many such social gatherings are becoming going by the wayside. Losing relevancy.
Second, that particular mall isn't doing very well. Some of the places are vacant. Several stores have come and gone in the less than 20 years the mall has been open. Therefore, are we relevant in expecting to sell our product in a mall, particularly that one? Are malls becoming passe? So many people are ordering on line and having purchases delivered to the house. Quick, and convenient. (Except for this great grandmother's recent foray into cyber shopping.) Very irrelevant there.
Finally, is my book relevant? It's placed in the 1980's. Does that make it obsolete? I don't think so. It's been said that those who don't know history are bound to repeat its mistakes. Worse, if we don't know what God's way is, how can we enjoy following it? If we've not followed God's way, do we know how forgiving He is? Those are the two things I intend to focus on in every book I write. God's way is best and if you've strayed, He's waiting for our return.
Our life has revolved around "The Color of Roses" for almost a year, now. So, is what I wrote relevant? I think so and I'll explain that in a minute. What got me thinking about relevancy in the first place was a conversation I was having with my first Florida friend, Marianne.
I was explaining to her that one of the people who are very big in the co-op where I have my book for sale (doing poorly) took it personally when she decided to have a party after the mall closed and only 4 of the 57 vendors showed an interest. Some of us in the co-op are disappointed in our sales and will be glad to call an end to the relationship. I think trying to sell in the mall may be a bit obsolete and out of touch. No longer relevant.
In the first place, the "company" party may be relevant where people have worked together for years and know each other well. It deepens the bond between workers and establishes an anticipated tradition. The co-op opened October 1. Hardly enough time to bond with 56 other people. Then, too, in the months I've been there, I've met maybe a dozen and only a few times at that. We all come and go on our own time, so there's really no opportunity to get acquainted, let alone make friends enough to want to attend a party. With the metaphoric rise of social media and its convenience, many such social gatherings are becoming going by the wayside. Losing relevancy.
Second, that particular mall isn't doing very well. Some of the places are vacant. Several stores have come and gone in the less than 20 years the mall has been open. Therefore, are we relevant in expecting to sell our product in a mall, particularly that one? Are malls becoming passe? So many people are ordering on line and having purchases delivered to the house. Quick, and convenient. (Except for this great grandmother's recent foray into cyber shopping.) Very irrelevant there.
Finally, is my book relevant? It's placed in the 1980's. Does that make it obsolete? I don't think so. It's been said that those who don't know history are bound to repeat its mistakes. Worse, if we don't know what God's way is, how can we enjoy following it? If we've not followed God's way, do we know how forgiving He is? Those are the two things I intend to focus on in every book I write. God's way is best and if you've strayed, He's waiting for our return.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Making friends
Today was my day to walk around the co-op where I have a station, attempting to sell my book. It's been an expensive lesson. I need to sell 20 books a month just to break even. So far, I've sold about 12, with 3 weeks left in the 12 week cycle. Needless to say, it's been a royal pain, physically and financially.
However, there are good things that happen that make it all worth while. Today, I literally had my purse on my arm, preparing to walk out the door when I noticed a very attractive woman checking out my table. I asked her if she were interested in books. Her answer was yes.
I asked what kind of books and she mentioned politics. I agreed with her but my book isn't really about politics. Then she mentioned she also was interested in learning anything about American culture. (She's from Germany) We began to bond over her German heritage because I lived in Germany for more than 2 years. She was such a sweet lady, but she's faced some hardships here in our country. I apologized for the rudeness of the Americans she's met. I know what it's like to face rudeness from people who disagree with me. Or accuse me of something I haven't done. I cannot be accountable for something done in America 150 years ago. I'm old, but not that old.
Long story short, she bought the book, I autographed it, and as she left, she said, "I've made a friend!" Then, she hugged me and kissed me before departing. Her lips to Your ears, Lord. I love making friends.
However, there are good things that happen that make it all worth while. Today, I literally had my purse on my arm, preparing to walk out the door when I noticed a very attractive woman checking out my table. I asked her if she were interested in books. Her answer was yes.
I asked what kind of books and she mentioned politics. I agreed with her but my book isn't really about politics. Then she mentioned she also was interested in learning anything about American culture. (She's from Germany) We began to bond over her German heritage because I lived in Germany for more than 2 years. She was such a sweet lady, but she's faced some hardships here in our country. I apologized for the rudeness of the Americans she's met. I know what it's like to face rudeness from people who disagree with me. Or accuse me of something I haven't done. I cannot be accountable for something done in America 150 years ago. I'm old, but not that old.
Long story short, she bought the book, I autographed it, and as she left, she said, "I've made a friend!" Then, she hugged me and kissed me before departing. Her lips to Your ears, Lord. I love making friends.
Friday, December 5, 2014
Prayer answered
This morning, I received a letter from a missionary in Kenya. This dear man, his dear wife and his church have placed me on their prayer list. He often writes they're praying for me-at the exact time I need it and without any contact from me. It's so humbling and gratifying to know God sends a messenger of grace and comfort when my world is falling apart.
Twice now, he's sent me a letter requesting prayer for the people of Kenya he serves. One of his ministries is a orphanage. The first time he had a specific request, it was for a 23 year old woman who could not afford care and she was in excruciating pain. In Kenya, hospitals are only for those who can afford it and as a daughter of a pastor who died, she couldn't afford it. Apparently, in Kenya, they still have a patriarchal society. (Wish we did). Anyway, sometime later, he wrote to say prayer had been answered and her pain had subsided. She was able to resume her daily activities.
This morning's message was again, an urgent prayer request. In some parts of the country Christians are being persecuted. Last week, 26 were taken from a bus, their arms broken, shot, and killed. Tuesday morning, people working in a quarry were attacked. They were forced to read a Koran. If they couldn't, the threat of impending death was issued.
In a mosque, the announcement was made that Christians must leave immediately. There are no funds for flights and no public transportation is working. We are so clueless. If you're one who believes in prayer, please do so.
On a much lighter note, God answers little prayer as well as great ones. When our grandson was here last year to celebrate our 50th anniversary, he said he would not be participating in the senior trip this year. It was too expensive. Israel was too dangerous. Has he ever changed his tune since someone stepped up anonymously and paid 75% of the bill! His other grandparents will pay 20%. He'll have the remaining 5% by time needed, I'm sure. God is so good.
Now, why has God privileged a privileged 18 year old boy with a trip to Israel and allows Christians in Kenya to suffer the way they have? His thoughts and ways are not ours, that's for sure. I only know I must be grateful for what He does that we see as good and trust Him when things aren't good from a human perspective. He loves the Kenyans and yet, He's allowing them to suffer. This has happened down through history. Only 1 apostle died a natural death. Many Christians lived in the catacombs under Rome, were fed to lions, used as target practice for warriors, etc. Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. The list goes on. Right now, 2 of the boys are reading about modern day martyrs whose story affects me to this day. "Through Gates of Splendor," "The End of the Spear" tells their story. Why god chooses them to suffer and not me is beyond me. I only know He's worthy of trust, obedience and worship.
I'm pretty sure I'll be too humble to speak when I meet those martyrs in heaven. Just keep me faithful, Lord, no matter what.
Twice now, he's sent me a letter requesting prayer for the people of Kenya he serves. One of his ministries is a orphanage. The first time he had a specific request, it was for a 23 year old woman who could not afford care and she was in excruciating pain. In Kenya, hospitals are only for those who can afford it and as a daughter of a pastor who died, she couldn't afford it. Apparently, in Kenya, they still have a patriarchal society. (Wish we did). Anyway, sometime later, he wrote to say prayer had been answered and her pain had subsided. She was able to resume her daily activities.
This morning's message was again, an urgent prayer request. In some parts of the country Christians are being persecuted. Last week, 26 were taken from a bus, their arms broken, shot, and killed. Tuesday morning, people working in a quarry were attacked. They were forced to read a Koran. If they couldn't, the threat of impending death was issued.
In a mosque, the announcement was made that Christians must leave immediately. There are no funds for flights and no public transportation is working. We are so clueless. If you're one who believes in prayer, please do so.
On a much lighter note, God answers little prayer as well as great ones. When our grandson was here last year to celebrate our 50th anniversary, he said he would not be participating in the senior trip this year. It was too expensive. Israel was too dangerous. Has he ever changed his tune since someone stepped up anonymously and paid 75% of the bill! His other grandparents will pay 20%. He'll have the remaining 5% by time needed, I'm sure. God is so good.
Now, why has God privileged a privileged 18 year old boy with a trip to Israel and allows Christians in Kenya to suffer the way they have? His thoughts and ways are not ours, that's for sure. I only know I must be grateful for what He does that we see as good and trust Him when things aren't good from a human perspective. He loves the Kenyans and yet, He's allowing them to suffer. This has happened down through history. Only 1 apostle died a natural death. Many Christians lived in the catacombs under Rome, were fed to lions, used as target practice for warriors, etc. Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. The list goes on. Right now, 2 of the boys are reading about modern day martyrs whose story affects me to this day. "Through Gates of Splendor," "The End of the Spear" tells their story. Why god chooses them to suffer and not me is beyond me. I only know He's worthy of trust, obedience and worship.
I'm pretty sure I'll be too humble to speak when I meet those martyrs in heaven. Just keep me faithful, Lord, no matter what.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Just the facts, Ma'am
This morning, I had tests done at the hospital's diagnostic center. Check in for this stuff has become brutal. Takes longer to check in than to have the blood drawn. When the clerk saw my birthdate, she commented that I would soon have a birthday. I said, "Yes, I'm old."
She responded with "No, you're not." Then she looked at the date again and said, "Oh, yes, you are."
Of course, she back pedaled. "I meant to say your face looks so young." It's so much funnier if you leave the back pedaling off. No, I'm not going to alter my birth certificate. God knows the truth, I know the truth, so lying won't change anything.
Reminds me of the time a woman made a point to tell me what a beautiful alto voice I had. "Well, thank you, but I was the soprano."
Again, the back pedaling. "Oh, well, um, um, you were good, too."
Get real. It is what it is, as the youngsters of today are so fond of saying. I don't mind telling my age and I would really rather listen to a good soprano than be a poor one who has to strain to hit high notes and can throw more than a few clinkers into the mix.
It's nice to to know I'm loved and respected in spite of my faults. That's really all that counts. Hubby showed his love this morning. He had breakfast waiting on my when I got back from having a fasting blood test. What a guy!
She responded with "No, you're not." Then she looked at the date again and said, "Oh, yes, you are."
Of course, she back pedaled. "I meant to say your face looks so young." It's so much funnier if you leave the back pedaling off. No, I'm not going to alter my birth certificate. God knows the truth, I know the truth, so lying won't change anything.
Reminds me of the time a woman made a point to tell me what a beautiful alto voice I had. "Well, thank you, but I was the soprano."
Again, the back pedaling. "Oh, well, um, um, you were good, too."
Get real. It is what it is, as the youngsters of today are so fond of saying. I don't mind telling my age and I would really rather listen to a good soprano than be a poor one who has to strain to hit high notes and can throw more than a few clinkers into the mix.
It's nice to to know I'm loved and respected in spite of my faults. That's really all that counts. Hubby showed his love this morning. He had breakfast waiting on my when I got back from having a fasting blood test. What a guy!
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Attitude of Gratitude
Thanksgiving Day. So many have said so much, anything I can add may seem trite, but give thanks I must. My mother taught me well, and I'm grateful. My best friend lived in the same town where we attended church. She would often invite me to Sunday dinner. I'd stay with her and go home again with my parents after the evening service. Even though the visits were so frequent, I called her parents my second parents, I never neglected to say thanks for their hospitality. Connie's mother would get this smirk on her face when I got ready to leave the house. She knew what was coming. I would say thanks and she would nod and smile.
Looking back makes me grateful for all my parents taught me. Most important, they taught me about Jesus. I was a freshman in college before I realized I didn't know the Christ I intended to proclaim to the world. But, all that attendance in Sunday School, church, youth group, Youth for Christ meetings, summer camps, memorizing thousands of Bible verses, and participating in Christmas plays finally bore fruit when the knowledge I had in my head went to my heart.
A lot of the things they taught me were just quick little comments to events occurring around us. I was terrified of my sixth grade teacher. It was his second year of teaching after he left the Marines. Anyone who has any experience in teaching knows you are stricter in discipline when first starting out, so we bore the brunt of his military training. Daddy told me I couldn't expect to get through life without someone looking down their nose at me. That's saved me a lot of grief over the years.
When one (or more) of the neighbors had their midnight screaming fights because he came home drunk and she lit into him, Mother would tell you, "You might trap a man, but you won't keep him if you do." Everyone of those couples had shotgun weddings. It's one of the reasons I wrote the book I did. I hope to continue to get her message out.
Who in America is not grateful to live in this wonderful country? I've been privileged to visit or live in 29 of the 50 states and have friends or family in the rest of them. Yes, we have our troubles, but Tony Blair had it right when he said it's the only country other people are trying to escape to instead of from. I've lived in other countries and while each had their unique stamp on things, I was glad to get home. I have to admit, though, I'm NOT grateful when someone escapes the cruelty of their own country, only to propagate it here.
I'm grateful I grew up in a day and time when education was teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic instead of political correctness indoctrination. I'm grateful beyond words that we're working hard in our school to teach our boys in a way that will make them productive citizens in our world. Most of the boys come to our school because they just couldn't adjust or make it in a public school-we're kind of a last ditch effort on their behalf. At some point in their lives all of them will call the pastor to express their gratitude for Shiloh. Even those who didn't learn the lesson or couldn't stay will say they're grateful for what they learned and sorry for what they chose not to learn.
Bob and I are nearing 51 years of marriage. We have two fantastic sons, two daughters-in-law that we love enough to call daughters, five wonderful grandchildren, including our granddaughter-in-law, and a precious great grandson. God has blessed us so very richly with every one of them. We reared our sons to do even better than their parents and they've done it, making us proud as well as grateful. At times, their astuteness and intelligence amazes us. When Mark got his first big promotion, Bob asked, "How'd you get so smart?" He was joking-maybe. When Dan's family visited, I was amazed at how beautifully he conversed with his 18 year old son.
After the boys left home, our empty nest continued to be filled with love and laughter, just enjoying each other. Something that was often interrupted with two rowdy boys, a variety of pets, and a myriad of moves to contend with. The moves continued, but that gave us just each other to cling to in a new environment. Until we got Sheila 6 1/2 years ago. I can't say I'm sorry we went 23 years without a pet, but our "caustie" (an expensive cross between Cocker Spaniel and Australian Shepherd) has brought so much laughter to us. At the moment, she's scratching my arm, telling me it's time to pay attention to her, so suffice it to say, words fail in expressing my gratitude for all the blessings I've received the past 71 years.
Blessings to you, too.
Looking back makes me grateful for all my parents taught me. Most important, they taught me about Jesus. I was a freshman in college before I realized I didn't know the Christ I intended to proclaim to the world. But, all that attendance in Sunday School, church, youth group, Youth for Christ meetings, summer camps, memorizing thousands of Bible verses, and participating in Christmas plays finally bore fruit when the knowledge I had in my head went to my heart.
A lot of the things they taught me were just quick little comments to events occurring around us. I was terrified of my sixth grade teacher. It was his second year of teaching after he left the Marines. Anyone who has any experience in teaching knows you are stricter in discipline when first starting out, so we bore the brunt of his military training. Daddy told me I couldn't expect to get through life without someone looking down their nose at me. That's saved me a lot of grief over the years.
When one (or more) of the neighbors had their midnight screaming fights because he came home drunk and she lit into him, Mother would tell you, "You might trap a man, but you won't keep him if you do." Everyone of those couples had shotgun weddings. It's one of the reasons I wrote the book I did. I hope to continue to get her message out.
Who in America is not grateful to live in this wonderful country? I've been privileged to visit or live in 29 of the 50 states and have friends or family in the rest of them. Yes, we have our troubles, but Tony Blair had it right when he said it's the only country other people are trying to escape to instead of from. I've lived in other countries and while each had their unique stamp on things, I was glad to get home. I have to admit, though, I'm NOT grateful when someone escapes the cruelty of their own country, only to propagate it here.
I'm grateful I grew up in a day and time when education was teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic instead of political correctness indoctrination. I'm grateful beyond words that we're working hard in our school to teach our boys in a way that will make them productive citizens in our world. Most of the boys come to our school because they just couldn't adjust or make it in a public school-we're kind of a last ditch effort on their behalf. At some point in their lives all of them will call the pastor to express their gratitude for Shiloh. Even those who didn't learn the lesson or couldn't stay will say they're grateful for what they learned and sorry for what they chose not to learn.
Bob and I are nearing 51 years of marriage. We have two fantastic sons, two daughters-in-law that we love enough to call daughters, five wonderful grandchildren, including our granddaughter-in-law, and a precious great grandson. God has blessed us so very richly with every one of them. We reared our sons to do even better than their parents and they've done it, making us proud as well as grateful. At times, their astuteness and intelligence amazes us. When Mark got his first big promotion, Bob asked, "How'd you get so smart?" He was joking-maybe. When Dan's family visited, I was amazed at how beautifully he conversed with his 18 year old son.
After the boys left home, our empty nest continued to be filled with love and laughter, just enjoying each other. Something that was often interrupted with two rowdy boys, a variety of pets, and a myriad of moves to contend with. The moves continued, but that gave us just each other to cling to in a new environment. Until we got Sheila 6 1/2 years ago. I can't say I'm sorry we went 23 years without a pet, but our "caustie" (an expensive cross between Cocker Spaniel and Australian Shepherd) has brought so much laughter to us. At the moment, she's scratching my arm, telling me it's time to pay attention to her, so suffice it to say, words fail in expressing my gratitude for all the blessings I've received the past 71 years.
Blessings to you, too.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
OOPS-again
Yesterday, as I read I Peter 2, somehow I got it in my mind that God was calling us precious in verses, but on a more careful examination of those verses this morning, I realized my error. In both cases, God the Father is calling Jesus the living Stone as precious.
I'm not disappointed, just embarrassed. Taking a verse out of context, such as was recently done by our President is one thing, but misunderstanding can be just as bad. And, so, to my one follower, I apologize.
I'm not disappointed because my search of the Scriptures over a one year period gave me 43 double columned pages that told me God loves us, cares for us, and is worthy of our love, obedience, and worship. It was during that time of study that I came across Zephaniah 3:17. I'd seen part of that verse quoted on many occasions-the part that says He rejoices over us with singing. It was the fact that He quiets me with His love that grabbed my heart and has held it fast for the past 18 months. That verse is quoted in every book I autograph. It's often been said that the best way to tell others about Jesus is to tell what He's done for me. I want others to know He wants to do the same for them.
I'm not disappointed, just embarrassed. Taking a verse out of context, such as was recently done by our President is one thing, but misunderstanding can be just as bad. And, so, to my one follower, I apologize.
I'm not disappointed because my search of the Scriptures over a one year period gave me 43 double columned pages that told me God loves us, cares for us, and is worthy of our love, obedience, and worship. It was during that time of study that I came across Zephaniah 3:17. I'd seen part of that verse quoted on many occasions-the part that says He rejoices over us with singing. It was the fact that He quiets me with His love that grabbed my heart and has held it fast for the past 18 months. That verse is quoted in every book I autograph. It's often been said that the best way to tell others about Jesus is to tell what He's done for me. I want others to know He wants to do the same for them.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Amazing
It never ceases to amaze me at how great God is. He is perfect and yet, He sees us, with all our faults and foibles as "precious." (I Peter 1:4) That blows me away. Zephaniah 3:17 has become very precious to me over the past 18 months. I still find it hard to believe He "takes great delight in me," quiets me with His love," and "rejoices over me with singing."
So often, I'm bound up by all my faults and foibles, I forget to focus on Him. When I do that, I play right into the enemy's hands. And then, God, in His amazing tender goodness, gives me a verse of Scripture to remind me that He still loves me. What a relief! What a joy! To know that I am loved in spite of myself is just too wonderful for words.
I was just reminded in Luke 5:5 that Peter said, "because You say so." Jesus told him to let down his nets. They'd fished all night and caught nothing, but because Jesus said so, Peter let down his nets and caught so many fish, he was overwhelmed and humbled to be in Jesus' Presence. It's kid of like that for me. Because Jesus says so, God loves me, considers me precious, quiets me with His love, and rejoices over me with singing. He said it, I believe it. Thank You, Lord.
So often, I'm bound up by all my faults and foibles, I forget to focus on Him. When I do that, I play right into the enemy's hands. And then, God, in His amazing tender goodness, gives me a verse of Scripture to remind me that He still loves me. What a relief! What a joy! To know that I am loved in spite of myself is just too wonderful for words.
I was just reminded in Luke 5:5 that Peter said, "because You say so." Jesus told him to let down his nets. They'd fished all night and caught nothing, but because Jesus said so, Peter let down his nets and caught so many fish, he was overwhelmed and humbled to be in Jesus' Presence. It's kid of like that for me. Because Jesus says so, God loves me, considers me precious, quiets me with His love, and rejoices over me with singing. He said it, I believe it. Thank You, Lord.
Monday, November 24, 2014
My 2 cents worth.
Every year at this time, I hear moans, groans, and complaints about Christmas coming earlier each year. To be honest, the earlier the celebrating starts, the less the holiday feels special. However, just because people shop for Christmas long before December doesn't mean they "feeling it" or celebrating it.
Personally, Christmas is my favorite time of year. I cannot hear Christmas carols often enough. They fill me with joy and peace. I've often said that when stores no longer decorate or play Christmas carols they're shooting themselves in the foot. It's their one chance to make their year profitable, if they have not already done so. But, I've come to the conclusion that carols do more than just give me the desire to shop. They make me feel like all's well in the world. The lift my spirit in a way no other song can. Celebrating the birth of the King of kings, the Prince of Peace, how can it do anything else?
I do agree that carols before Thanksgiving are a bit much and can make the actual day anti-climatic. Stores decorating and playing carols began the day after Thanksgiving when I was growing up. It's a tradition I love to this day. In church, carols began with one the Sunday after Thanksgiving, two the following Sunday, three the Sunday after that, and all carols the Sunday before Christmas. Floridian churches don't do that and I miss it.
But, getting back to the shopping. I begin that early for good reason (s). First, it makes it possible to spend more on each person I buy for without breaking the December budget. It also makes for a calmer holiday. The packages are purchased and wrapped, allowing me to get other things done without feeling like I'm going to collapse on Christmas morning. Giving to others is a part of me that I refuse to squelch. I believe it's a spiritual gift that needs to be enhanced. Of course, I could also do more than the Lord wants-and probably do, but somehow it all works out.
In conclusion, I agree that decorations and carols in the store before Thanksgiving are unnecessary, but I'll be out there, purchasing treasures for those I love and ignoring the naysayers. I'd wish you a Merry Christmas, but it's before Thanksgiving.
Personally, Christmas is my favorite time of year. I cannot hear Christmas carols often enough. They fill me with joy and peace. I've often said that when stores no longer decorate or play Christmas carols they're shooting themselves in the foot. It's their one chance to make their year profitable, if they have not already done so. But, I've come to the conclusion that carols do more than just give me the desire to shop. They make me feel like all's well in the world. The lift my spirit in a way no other song can. Celebrating the birth of the King of kings, the Prince of Peace, how can it do anything else?
I do agree that carols before Thanksgiving are a bit much and can make the actual day anti-climatic. Stores decorating and playing carols began the day after Thanksgiving when I was growing up. It's a tradition I love to this day. In church, carols began with one the Sunday after Thanksgiving, two the following Sunday, three the Sunday after that, and all carols the Sunday before Christmas. Floridian churches don't do that and I miss it.
But, getting back to the shopping. I begin that early for good reason (s). First, it makes it possible to spend more on each person I buy for without breaking the December budget. It also makes for a calmer holiday. The packages are purchased and wrapped, allowing me to get other things done without feeling like I'm going to collapse on Christmas morning. Giving to others is a part of me that I refuse to squelch. I believe it's a spiritual gift that needs to be enhanced. Of course, I could also do more than the Lord wants-and probably do, but somehow it all works out.
In conclusion, I agree that decorations and carols in the store before Thanksgiving are unnecessary, but I'll be out there, purchasing treasures for those I love and ignoring the naysayers. I'd wish you a Merry Christmas, but it's before Thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Now that's funny
For some strange reason, I began to think about some of our moves over the past 51 years. 33 to be exact. Sometimes funny things happened, sometimes annoying, sometimes downright disgusting. The time that came to mind this morning is funny now, well, I guess I was laughing then, too.
Bob's company moved us to Smithville, Tennessee from Dalton, Georgia, and then put him on the road. Come to think of it, they did that a lot. The house we'd purchased was out a country road, ten miles from town and over 100 yards from the nearest neighbor. We didn't know a soul, except for the Realtor who sold us the place and the people we bought it from.
Since Bob was on the road so much and I didn't know anybody, I decided to drive to Pittsburgh one autumn week to see my folks and the son of the friend who'd joined the Pittsburgh Boy Choir. It was a delightful week away from the loneliness, but I had to go home sometime.
The trip back wasn't quite as nice as the trip there. It poured buckets somewhere around Knoxville. It was so hard, the rain splashed off the road and hid the tail lights of the Greyhound bus I was following. If you know anything about Greyhound buses, you know they allow no grass to grow under their tires. I was determined to keep up. I figured he'd let me know if there were any road hazards ahead. 80 MPH in rain so hard I couldn't see the tail lights is not exactly a safe thing to do, but the Lord brought me home safely.
There was a message on the phone when I got back. "You're going to die. Tonight. The both of you." Not exactly the welcome home I was anticipating. I figured it was teens making doing a prank call, but I still called the police and informed them of the situation. Bob wasn't due home for another week.
I slept, but did so lightly. About midnight, the sound of a car going by on the road wakened me. I got up to check the house and discovered in one of the spare bedrooms a blinking red light facing the road! Dan had a lamp that the base could be used as a night light. When the bulb burned out, he replaced it with a red one and the move had loosened it. Can you imagine what the police thought as they drove by to check on my safety, only to find a blinking red light in my bedroom window? Blush.
Bob's company moved us to Smithville, Tennessee from Dalton, Georgia, and then put him on the road. Come to think of it, they did that a lot. The house we'd purchased was out a country road, ten miles from town and over 100 yards from the nearest neighbor. We didn't know a soul, except for the Realtor who sold us the place and the people we bought it from.
Since Bob was on the road so much and I didn't know anybody, I decided to drive to Pittsburgh one autumn week to see my folks and the son of the friend who'd joined the Pittsburgh Boy Choir. It was a delightful week away from the loneliness, but I had to go home sometime.
The trip back wasn't quite as nice as the trip there. It poured buckets somewhere around Knoxville. It was so hard, the rain splashed off the road and hid the tail lights of the Greyhound bus I was following. If you know anything about Greyhound buses, you know they allow no grass to grow under their tires. I was determined to keep up. I figured he'd let me know if there were any road hazards ahead. 80 MPH in rain so hard I couldn't see the tail lights is not exactly a safe thing to do, but the Lord brought me home safely.
There was a message on the phone when I got back. "You're going to die. Tonight. The both of you." Not exactly the welcome home I was anticipating. I figured it was teens making doing a prank call, but I still called the police and informed them of the situation. Bob wasn't due home for another week.
I slept, but did so lightly. About midnight, the sound of a car going by on the road wakened me. I got up to check the house and discovered in one of the spare bedrooms a blinking red light facing the road! Dan had a lamp that the base could be used as a night light. When the bulb burned out, he replaced it with a red one and the move had loosened it. Can you imagine what the police thought as they drove by to check on my safety, only to find a blinking red light in my bedroom window? Blush.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Happy birthday, Brother
A happy (belated) birthday to my brother, Art. Sorry, my bad for not mentioning it yesterday. I'm proud and pleased with all my family tree, from it's earliest roots to the youngest-great grandson, Elijah.
We've been around a long time, Brother, Dear. I'll take pity on you and say you're six years older than me, but I won't mention our ages. Oh, wait. That means I'm taking as much pity on me as I am on you, doesn't it?
I'm not one of those who's ashamed of my age. By the time you get to 7+ decades, what's the point of denying it? We did have one aunt whose son said she'd changed her birth date on her birth certificate so many times, it could no longer be read. I understand an actress did the same thing. Why?
Now, telling my weight is another story entirely. NOT going there. Let's go back to you, Brother, whom (who?) I'm trying to celebrate. I love it when we have long conversations about our past. We have good laughs about different things. And, we have stories that would make younger people awe struck.
How did we get along in early childhood winters without a water heater? Mom boiled water and poured it into the bathtub, adding enough cool water that made the bath pleasant rather than too cold or too hot. Remember those little gas heaters in each room, that never did much for keeping us warm?
One of the earliest memories of you is when you came to the neighbors where I was playing with friends, telling me I needed to come home. The new refrigerator arrived and we were going to make ice cubes! Before that, we had an old wooden ice box. I vaguely remember the ice man bringing a big block of ice each week. I'm sure we both have many memories of Dad letting a small stream of water run all night in an effort to keep the lines from freezing. When even that didn't work, he'd use a blow torch.
I'm sure you remember the Christmases we had at Velma's. Especially the year we were playing hide and seek in her big old farmhouse. Janet and I were hiding from you, Duane, Bill and any other male relative whose name and presence I've forgotten. We hid behind the drapes in the parlor. One of you came in the room, interrupted the adults talking, commenting you saw our shoes but couldn't find us! The adults choked back laughter until we finally had to be called from our hiding place.
Then, there was the time that Duane got a jeep that broke. You and Bill fixed it. Ran better than ever. Acted like a real jeep, climbing over books on the floor among other obstacles, rolled over and kept on going when it fell off something. Maybe that's where they got the idea for the Energizer Bunny. That jeep sure did go.
I'm sure you remember the day the house caught fire. You'd just come home from being out in the woods, when you smelled smoke. The chimney caught the wall on fire. Fortunately, it wasn't a bad one. Mr. Bowland came up and beat it out with his hands. That night, it was all hands on deck while Dad fireproofed the area where the fire started.
When I was in college, I have fond memories of you and Joan coming to the school to get me. Mom and Dad would meet us at your place, saving them the trip all the way to New York. Then, there's the time you deliberately put a diaper in my luggage when we returned from Germany because I accidentally left one at your place on the way to Germany. That's one superstition that seemed to work. You got Lisa and we got Dan.
Do you remember how Mom and Dad got their first TV? Do you remember telling Mom about your mother-in-law's TV that had a tube blow every six months until she got tired of replacing the tubes and bought another TV. We lugged that thing home and it was the family TV until Mom and Dad got tired of the same thing. I was 19 and a sophomore in college before we had a TV and pretty sure I was married before they replaced it.
Good memories, Brother. We lived in the real world, learning to cope. Mom and Dad would be proud, I'm sure.
We've been around a long time, Brother, Dear. I'll take pity on you and say you're six years older than me, but I won't mention our ages. Oh, wait. That means I'm taking as much pity on me as I am on you, doesn't it?
I'm not one of those who's ashamed of my age. By the time you get to 7+ decades, what's the point of denying it? We did have one aunt whose son said she'd changed her birth date on her birth certificate so many times, it could no longer be read. I understand an actress did the same thing. Why?
Now, telling my weight is another story entirely. NOT going there. Let's go back to you, Brother, whom (who?) I'm trying to celebrate. I love it when we have long conversations about our past. We have good laughs about different things. And, we have stories that would make younger people awe struck.
How did we get along in early childhood winters without a water heater? Mom boiled water and poured it into the bathtub, adding enough cool water that made the bath pleasant rather than too cold or too hot. Remember those little gas heaters in each room, that never did much for keeping us warm?
One of the earliest memories of you is when you came to the neighbors where I was playing with friends, telling me I needed to come home. The new refrigerator arrived and we were going to make ice cubes! Before that, we had an old wooden ice box. I vaguely remember the ice man bringing a big block of ice each week. I'm sure we both have many memories of Dad letting a small stream of water run all night in an effort to keep the lines from freezing. When even that didn't work, he'd use a blow torch.
I'm sure you remember the Christmases we had at Velma's. Especially the year we were playing hide and seek in her big old farmhouse. Janet and I were hiding from you, Duane, Bill and any other male relative whose name and presence I've forgotten. We hid behind the drapes in the parlor. One of you came in the room, interrupted the adults talking, commenting you saw our shoes but couldn't find us! The adults choked back laughter until we finally had to be called from our hiding place.
Then, there was the time that Duane got a jeep that broke. You and Bill fixed it. Ran better than ever. Acted like a real jeep, climbing over books on the floor among other obstacles, rolled over and kept on going when it fell off something. Maybe that's where they got the idea for the Energizer Bunny. That jeep sure did go.
I'm sure you remember the day the house caught fire. You'd just come home from being out in the woods, when you smelled smoke. The chimney caught the wall on fire. Fortunately, it wasn't a bad one. Mr. Bowland came up and beat it out with his hands. That night, it was all hands on deck while Dad fireproofed the area where the fire started.
When I was in college, I have fond memories of you and Joan coming to the school to get me. Mom and Dad would meet us at your place, saving them the trip all the way to New York. Then, there's the time you deliberately put a diaper in my luggage when we returned from Germany because I accidentally left one at your place on the way to Germany. That's one superstition that seemed to work. You got Lisa and we got Dan.
Do you remember how Mom and Dad got their first TV? Do you remember telling Mom about your mother-in-law's TV that had a tube blow every six months until she got tired of replacing the tubes and bought another TV. We lugged that thing home and it was the family TV until Mom and Dad got tired of the same thing. I was 19 and a sophomore in college before we had a TV and pretty sure I was married before they replaced it.
Good memories, Brother. We lived in the real world, learning to cope. Mom and Dad would be proud, I'm sure.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Announcement
I informed my husband this morning if he has the audacity to precede me in death, my first action will be to destroy all computers. Well, not the car or the washer and dryer, but certainly this demon possessed instrument of torture.
Someone, somehow, somewhere is messing with this machine and this machine sends it on to my head. The past two days, a notice has blocked my getting my emails or using this site. Clicking on "NO" does nothing but send me to the next page I would have received if I had pressed "YES." What part of "NO" don't these mad computer hacking geeks living in Mama's basement understand? Even Bob can't get it off. He "restored" something this morning in an effort to clear it up so I can get on and do an early morning rant. Let's see if that works any better than yesterday's effort.
Yesterday, he said the settings had been changed, but he didn't know how. Ain't that just dandy? The older my parents became, the more frustrated they became with the world. It changes so rapidly and we old foggies can't keep up. OK, so it all boils down to operator error. Please don't say that in my presence. I'm quite liable to express my frustrations in a way that will make you wonder why I call myself a Christian. My neurologist says I have "poor coping strategies." He doesn't know the half of it.
I have a friend who said computers frustrated her so much she gave up on them. Even her smart phone challenges her. I don't have a smartphone--yet. Afraid to get one because I fully expect to have the same problems I'm having with the computer. My friend my have the right idea. Stay tuned.
Someone, somehow, somewhere is messing with this machine and this machine sends it on to my head. The past two days, a notice has blocked my getting my emails or using this site. Clicking on "NO" does nothing but send me to the next page I would have received if I had pressed "YES." What part of "NO" don't these mad computer hacking geeks living in Mama's basement understand? Even Bob can't get it off. He "restored" something this morning in an effort to clear it up so I can get on and do an early morning rant. Let's see if that works any better than yesterday's effort.
Yesterday, he said the settings had been changed, but he didn't know how. Ain't that just dandy? The older my parents became, the more frustrated they became with the world. It changes so rapidly and we old foggies can't keep up. OK, so it all boils down to operator error. Please don't say that in my presence. I'm quite liable to express my frustrations in a way that will make you wonder why I call myself a Christian. My neurologist says I have "poor coping strategies." He doesn't know the half of it.
I have a friend who said computers frustrated her so much she gave up on them. Even her smart phone challenges her. I don't have a smartphone--yet. Afraid to get one because I fully expect to have the same problems I'm having with the computer. My friend my have the right idea. Stay tuned.
Monday, November 10, 2014
More heartburn
Reading FB yesterday, I read a message from a West Virginia Democrat who is seriously angry about the outcome of the elections. Her language was foul, crude, and offensive. My West Virginia mother taught me that foul language indicated a lack of intelligence. I'm glad she's not here to know how crude our world has become, especially in the state of her birth. All the West Virginians I know are gentle, kind, gracious, loving, genteel. Uh, all the West Virginians I know personally. Evidently, there's a few out there I haven't met in person who are different.
Today, even Christians are using language that would have gotten me severely chastised when I was a child. But, then, had my mother seen what the woman wrote in response to my comment, she'd have chastised me again for not "considering the source." She's right. The poor woman who wrote such a vulgar post is full of bitterness, hate, and anger.
Her personal post to me-which the whole world saw-was an attempt to insult me. Should have see it coming. Can't tell you how much I hate conflict, but I'm in the middle of it. We've not only become a world of crudeness, but a world of cruelty. And that's an improvement? By whose book? In spite of all the efforts to stop bullying, it's a thousand times worse than when I was a child.
Bullies believe they have the right to say and do whatever they want, and if you don't agree with them, they'll "hit you with your peace sign" as Bob Hope said so long ago. Since when did merely disagreeing with someone become a reason for offensive high drama and even conflict?
I so admire people who are able to point others to Jesus Christ without causing conflict. Apparently, I'm not one of them. I wasn't trying to convince her to become a Christian or a Republican, just being a better representative of the views of her political party. Unless and until the debate becomes more refined and restrained, we're not going to unite as a country. Trading insults doesn't resolve anything. Maybe that's why Washington is in gridlock. They haven't wised up to listening, consideration, and courtesy.
I've also come to the conclusion this dear woman is probably full of hate because she's afraid. But, afraid of what? Of me? Someone she'll never meet on this earth? An almost 71 year old who still has several hundred books to sell just to break even on my publishing costs? What do I represent to her that makes her afraid? I have to laugh when I think someone could possibly be afraid of me-God's weakest and whiniest child. One with absolutely no political clout I might add.
While working for the 2008 election, I remember talking on the phone to a man whose last name was the same as my maiden name. I mentioned that most of the Pollocks in Pennsylvania were Republican and it interested me in why the Florida Pollocks were Democrats. My question make him angry. Why? I wasn't trying to insult him, but he was compelled to become insulting. I was only interested in him and his conclusions. Puzzling.
I suppose it's what I represent that he and the West Virginia woman fears. I did vote Republican. Mine was one of the votes cast that took their party and her platform out of power. I'm not gloating the Republicans won. Not by an extremely long shot. There's still the need to trust in the Lord rather than to put confidence in men. (Psalm 118:8)
My dilemma: what do I do next? She'll undoubtedly be even more upset when I responded to her comment that I was "Sarah Palin's halfwit little sister" by saying I have an IQ of 135, more than a bachelor's degree in education, and I'm the older sister. Check out the white hair. She's right in one respect. Sarah Palin's a lightening rod for controversy and apparently, so am I, although I have no desire to be.
I have no quarrel with her. She lives in a different state, we'll never meet. If this situation continues the way conflicts have in the past, the Lord will probably convict me for not "considering the source," and convicting me to apologize. That has frequently softened a tense situation. If and when the time comes, I'll be grateful that's His desire. He knows what it will take to open her heart to His love. He knows my heart and doesn't want it to become bitter, angry, or afraid. Neither do I. God's way is always best.
Now, about my potty-mouthed sons and grandchildren.
Today, even Christians are using language that would have gotten me severely chastised when I was a child. But, then, had my mother seen what the woman wrote in response to my comment, she'd have chastised me again for not "considering the source." She's right. The poor woman who wrote such a vulgar post is full of bitterness, hate, and anger.
Her personal post to me-which the whole world saw-was an attempt to insult me. Should have see it coming. Can't tell you how much I hate conflict, but I'm in the middle of it. We've not only become a world of crudeness, but a world of cruelty. And that's an improvement? By whose book? In spite of all the efforts to stop bullying, it's a thousand times worse than when I was a child.
Bullies believe they have the right to say and do whatever they want, and if you don't agree with them, they'll "hit you with your peace sign" as Bob Hope said so long ago. Since when did merely disagreeing with someone become a reason for offensive high drama and even conflict?
I so admire people who are able to point others to Jesus Christ without causing conflict. Apparently, I'm not one of them. I wasn't trying to convince her to become a Christian or a Republican, just being a better representative of the views of her political party. Unless and until the debate becomes more refined and restrained, we're not going to unite as a country. Trading insults doesn't resolve anything. Maybe that's why Washington is in gridlock. They haven't wised up to listening, consideration, and courtesy.
I've also come to the conclusion this dear woman is probably full of hate because she's afraid. But, afraid of what? Of me? Someone she'll never meet on this earth? An almost 71 year old who still has several hundred books to sell just to break even on my publishing costs? What do I represent to her that makes her afraid? I have to laugh when I think someone could possibly be afraid of me-God's weakest and whiniest child. One with absolutely no political clout I might add.
While working for the 2008 election, I remember talking on the phone to a man whose last name was the same as my maiden name. I mentioned that most of the Pollocks in Pennsylvania were Republican and it interested me in why the Florida Pollocks were Democrats. My question make him angry. Why? I wasn't trying to insult him, but he was compelled to become insulting. I was only interested in him and his conclusions. Puzzling.
I suppose it's what I represent that he and the West Virginia woman fears. I did vote Republican. Mine was one of the votes cast that took their party and her platform out of power. I'm not gloating the Republicans won. Not by an extremely long shot. There's still the need to trust in the Lord rather than to put confidence in men. (Psalm 118:8)
My dilemma: what do I do next? She'll undoubtedly be even more upset when I responded to her comment that I was "Sarah Palin's halfwit little sister" by saying I have an IQ of 135, more than a bachelor's degree in education, and I'm the older sister. Check out the white hair. She's right in one respect. Sarah Palin's a lightening rod for controversy and apparently, so am I, although I have no desire to be.
I have no quarrel with her. She lives in a different state, we'll never meet. If this situation continues the way conflicts have in the past, the Lord will probably convict me for not "considering the source," and convicting me to apologize. That has frequently softened a tense situation. If and when the time comes, I'll be grateful that's His desire. He knows what it will take to open her heart to His love. He knows my heart and doesn't want it to become bitter, angry, or afraid. Neither do I. God's way is always best.
Now, about my potty-mouthed sons and grandchildren.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Starting over
Ever notice how God cares for you in spite of the things you do to mess yourself up? Recently, I mentioned that Bob has had his blocked arteries improve dramatically. That is a miracle. We are very grateful.
Did I mention how selfishly I took the news? He's scarfing down Cheetos and garlic butter like there's not tomorrow and has actually improved, while Yours Truly faced the threat of diabetes. Until yesterday. I have neuropathies in my feet and the natural assumption is that they're caused by diabetes.
The doctor threw me a curve by ordering the long glucose tolerance test-you know- drinking goop sweet enough to give even me a headache. Then, blood is drawn periodically over a 2 1/2 hour period. I was in the hospital 4 1/2 hours. (Thank you, Obamacare, for all that ridiculous paperwork) By the time I walked out, I had a headache, a cold sweat, exhausted, and shaking like a leaf. Hadn't eaten since 9:00 the night before-serious business for someone who eats way too much. I'm not one of those capable of living off the fat of the land. Once I get hungry, I eat or I get sick.
Here's where the goodness and grace of God comes in. Just before I took the test, Sarah Young again touched my heart with her wisdom. She mentioned that whatever is done to the body can help or hinder the soul. I've known for years that my reasons for eating too much were spiritually harmful, but somehow, her words had an impact.
When I saw the high numbers on the test, I heard a wake up call-loud and clear. So, I've begun a new-for the zillionth time, to eat right, exercise, and generally live a healthy life.
Our God is so amazing. When I saw the doctor yesterday, he announced I do NOT have diabetes! All my envy of Bob's situation was wasted. However, all my efforts since I saw the results of the test have not gone to waste. I feel better this week than I have in a long time. I know that the power of God is there for me to do the right thing. I also know how weak I am. Pray for me that this is the last time I've started over. Stay tuned.
Did I mention how selfishly I took the news? He's scarfing down Cheetos and garlic butter like there's not tomorrow and has actually improved, while Yours Truly faced the threat of diabetes. Until yesterday. I have neuropathies in my feet and the natural assumption is that they're caused by diabetes.
The doctor threw me a curve by ordering the long glucose tolerance test-you know- drinking goop sweet enough to give even me a headache. Then, blood is drawn periodically over a 2 1/2 hour period. I was in the hospital 4 1/2 hours. (Thank you, Obamacare, for all that ridiculous paperwork) By the time I walked out, I had a headache, a cold sweat, exhausted, and shaking like a leaf. Hadn't eaten since 9:00 the night before-serious business for someone who eats way too much. I'm not one of those capable of living off the fat of the land. Once I get hungry, I eat or I get sick.
Here's where the goodness and grace of God comes in. Just before I took the test, Sarah Young again touched my heart with her wisdom. She mentioned that whatever is done to the body can help or hinder the soul. I've known for years that my reasons for eating too much were spiritually harmful, but somehow, her words had an impact.
When I saw the high numbers on the test, I heard a wake up call-loud and clear. So, I've begun a new-for the zillionth time, to eat right, exercise, and generally live a healthy life.
Our God is so amazing. When I saw the doctor yesterday, he announced I do NOT have diabetes! All my envy of Bob's situation was wasted. However, all my efforts since I saw the results of the test have not gone to waste. I feel better this week than I have in a long time. I know that the power of God is there for me to do the right thing. I also know how weak I am. Pray for me that this is the last time I've started over. Stay tuned.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Praise the Lord
Here's where I cause heartburn in some, delight in others, misunderstanding in still more. It was so refreshing to know that many in this country, not just the conservatives (Nazis according to Nancy Pelosi, crazies, according to Harry Reid, racists according to Al Sharpton) are fed up with the direction of this country.
Let me hasten to add the best political advice I ever heard was from a black professor at Moody Bible Institute. "It's time to put trust in Almighty God instead of almighty government." How right he is. In fact, Psalm 118:8&9 have become my political mantra. "It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in men. It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in princes."
Scripture commands us to give thanksgiving and praise in everything. Even in politics, no matter what other people think, no matter the outcome. And, I am grateful. God was so abundant in providing different leadership. However, Scripture also talks of Israel having good kings and rebellious people. In order for government to work, there must be both good leadership and "followership." Whether or not we have that remains to be seen.
Whether or not the new leadership can turn this country around also remains to be seen. Warning signs are all over the place that it will not happen. Many believe this is but a slight reprieve and American cannot return to the greatness it once had. A Baptist pastor once said if God does not punish America, he owes Sodom and Gomorrah an apology. The more I get into writing about immorality in our churches, the more I agree with him.
Having said all that, my prayer for years has been Lord, keep me faithful. Keep me grateful. Good, bad or otherwise in the circumstances is not what I'm to depend on. I am to depend on Almighty God. He is worthy of praise. I have to be honest though, and admit maybe I'm a little more grateful this time.
Let me hasten to add the best political advice I ever heard was from a black professor at Moody Bible Institute. "It's time to put trust in Almighty God instead of almighty government." How right he is. In fact, Psalm 118:8&9 have become my political mantra. "It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in men. It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in princes."
Scripture commands us to give thanksgiving and praise in everything. Even in politics, no matter what other people think, no matter the outcome. And, I am grateful. God was so abundant in providing different leadership. However, Scripture also talks of Israel having good kings and rebellious people. In order for government to work, there must be both good leadership and "followership." Whether or not we have that remains to be seen.
Whether or not the new leadership can turn this country around also remains to be seen. Warning signs are all over the place that it will not happen. Many believe this is but a slight reprieve and American cannot return to the greatness it once had. A Baptist pastor once said if God does not punish America, he owes Sodom and Gomorrah an apology. The more I get into writing about immorality in our churches, the more I agree with him.
Having said all that, my prayer for years has been Lord, keep me faithful. Keep me grateful. Good, bad or otherwise in the circumstances is not what I'm to depend on. I am to depend on Almighty God. He is worthy of praise. I have to be honest though, and admit maybe I'm a little more grateful this time.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Fear not
This morning, during my devotions, I read about Jacob's return home and how terrified he was to face his brother and the 400 men with him. Jacob prayed and God intervened, making his fears unfounded.
That took me back many, many years when I was working graveyard at a Dunkin Donuts in Arizona. Every Saturday night, this big, blonde, Southern farm boy turned army sergeant would stagger in after the NCO Club closed on base. His demand never changed. Coffee, a Bavarian Creme, and a fork. The only person I ever met who ate his donut with a fork. His drunken belligerence was intimidating, to say the least. One night, I was busy and didn't hear his demands for something, and he made a really nasty remark about my ignoring him. (I think I forgot the fork.) When the boss and his wife came in, I mentioned it to the boss' wife. "Feel free to call the police if you think he's going to cause trouble," was her immediate response.
"I have the feeling he'd tear the place apart if I did that," I replied.
The next week, a woman who used to work at the NCO Club sat down beside him. She recognized him and they began to talk. After he left, I asked her if she knew him. I mentioned the previous behavior and my concern. "Oh, yes, he'd tear this place apart. I saw him do it one night at the club when the bar tender refused to serve him anymore." Not a very comforting response to my question.
The following Saturday night (about 1:30 a.m. really), I saw him get out of his car and move toward the door in his typical unsteady gait. I'll fix your wagon. I poured his coffee, put his donut on a plate, and set his fork on a napkin beside the plate.
He straddled the stool without looking at what I'd put on the counter for him. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he began fiddling with the coins he held before he looked up at me and said, "What can I get for this?" The change he held wasn't enough to pay for his order, so I asked the baker what we should do. The coffee was already poured and the donut was already out of the case.
The baker smiled and said, "Tell him it's on the house." With the biggest smile I could muster and the most polite tone of voice I had, I repeated what the baker said.
Sergeant farm boy muttered a thanks and set upon his donut and coffee. Unbeknownst to me, his pride was wounded. He never came back!
Arguing with a drunk is a waste of time. You're talking to chemicals that can't respond. Arguing with a bully could get you hurt. Arguing with a drunken bully is doubly dangerous. By God's grace alone, the situation was rectified. Is it any wonder God's Word consistently tells us not to fear?
That took me back many, many years when I was working graveyard at a Dunkin Donuts in Arizona. Every Saturday night, this big, blonde, Southern farm boy turned army sergeant would stagger in after the NCO Club closed on base. His demand never changed. Coffee, a Bavarian Creme, and a fork. The only person I ever met who ate his donut with a fork. His drunken belligerence was intimidating, to say the least. One night, I was busy and didn't hear his demands for something, and he made a really nasty remark about my ignoring him. (I think I forgot the fork.) When the boss and his wife came in, I mentioned it to the boss' wife. "Feel free to call the police if you think he's going to cause trouble," was her immediate response.
"I have the feeling he'd tear the place apart if I did that," I replied.
The next week, a woman who used to work at the NCO Club sat down beside him. She recognized him and they began to talk. After he left, I asked her if she knew him. I mentioned the previous behavior and my concern. "Oh, yes, he'd tear this place apart. I saw him do it one night at the club when the bar tender refused to serve him anymore." Not a very comforting response to my question.
The following Saturday night (about 1:30 a.m. really), I saw him get out of his car and move toward the door in his typical unsteady gait. I'll fix your wagon. I poured his coffee, put his donut on a plate, and set his fork on a napkin beside the plate.
He straddled the stool without looking at what I'd put on the counter for him. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he began fiddling with the coins he held before he looked up at me and said, "What can I get for this?" The change he held wasn't enough to pay for his order, so I asked the baker what we should do. The coffee was already poured and the donut was already out of the case.
The baker smiled and said, "Tell him it's on the house." With the biggest smile I could muster and the most polite tone of voice I had, I repeated what the baker said.
Sergeant farm boy muttered a thanks and set upon his donut and coffee. Unbeknownst to me, his pride was wounded. He never came back!
Arguing with a drunk is a waste of time. You're talking to chemicals that can't respond. Arguing with a bully could get you hurt. Arguing with a drunken bully is doubly dangerous. By God's grace alone, the situation was rectified. Is it any wonder God's Word consistently tells us not to fear?
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Not fair!
Bob and I had blood test done yesterday. It's been an ongoing thing since he had his stress test that sowed an abnormality. The heart cath showed nothing wrong, in fact, revealed the blockages he had were reduced. Beautiful! I'm so proud of him and happy for the both of us.
However, there's still the issue of fatigue and shortness of breath. Since the heart test showed no cause, the blood tests were done yesterday and they all came out fine! Praise the Lord!
Now, here's the unfair part. I try very hard to watch what I eat and my test results showed a possibility of diabetes! On the other hand, my beloved lives on cheetos and garlic butter! How fair is that?
However, there's still the issue of fatigue and shortness of breath. Since the heart test showed no cause, the blood tests were done yesterday and they all came out fine! Praise the Lord!
Now, here's the unfair part. I try very hard to watch what I eat and my test results showed a possibility of diabetes! On the other hand, my beloved lives on cheetos and garlic butter! How fair is that?
Friday, October 31, 2014
Memories
Happy 50th birthday, Son. Really? No way. Can't be. Now, I shall quote the mantra of old people. "Where did the time go?" 50 years of being oh, so proud of your accomplishments, oh, so scared of your antics causing major problems (Yes, your brother told me about your taking the corner on Lover's Lane on 2 wheels) and, oh, so blessed by the years of joy you have given us.
For all your tough business practices, you have a tender heart for people that will probably embarrass you at the mere mention of it. Get over it. It's a mother's prerogative to embarrass the one she gave birth to.
The day your brother was born, we followed all the "expert" advice of the day. Dad took the baby into the house and put him in the crib, then picked you up from the baby sitter's. I was waiting at the front door with a new toy for you. The door flew open and you raced past my open arms shouting, "Where's my baby brother!" So much for the experts whose advice left me standing with empty arms.
You may not remember the Christmas parade in Oakdale the year we were enroute from Arizona to New Jersey. Grandma and I stood at the back of the crowd watching you take care of your 2 year old brother and a neighbor's little girl about the same age. You talked to them the whole time, pointing out things of interest. It's not easy to keep one two year old engrossed, let alone two, but you did it and you were only six!
A Halloween birthday made that day the busiest of the year for your mother and I apologize for being grumpier on your birthday than most other days of the year. My grumpiness, however, was a backdrop highlighting your amazing tenderness. The year we moved from Arizona to Hawaii was Of course, over your birthday. We were staying with Grandma Nettles because our belongings were packed and in storage. Since most of Grandma's neighbors didn't know you, we took you back to Ft. Huachuca where they did.
You were so excited at treats a neighbor gave you, you rushed to the car to show us. For some reason, you stopped short in your glowing report and said, "Dad, you're hurting, aren't you?" Dad, hadn't said a word.
"A little bit," he replied.
"Danny, get in the car. We're going back to Grandma's. Dad's hurting." Never a glimmer of disappointment at your childhood tradition being cut short. You were eleven years old.
However, you made up for it the next year, in Hawaii. Mountains are steep, valleys deep, and flashfloods quick in Hawaii. Heavy rains can cause serious problems in a heart beat. More than one unsuspecting person has been swept to their doom. On Trick or Treat night, it poured. I called the mps to ask if the night was cancelled and rescheduled. They refused to give me an answer. I was in a quandry (dither) because I didn't want you to miss out on the fun, but didn't want you killed in a flashflood, either. Finally, Dad made the decision. "Let them go. They'll be fine."
With a stern warning that they were to return home if four neighbors said they weren't doing trick or treat in such nasty weather, I sent them on their way and wrote a letter to Grandma, complaining that your dad sent you out to surf the nearest tsunami. You were gone for the longest time. I paced and fretted.
When you finally relieved my anxieties by returning, your sacks were full of goodies. Don't remember who let it slip, but you outsmarted your mother by going to the farthest end of post before knocking on any doors! That way, if you were turned down, you could continue to collect. After all, you were on your way home. Like Dad said when you got your first big promotion, "How'd you get so smart?"
That Christmas, Dad was hospitalized for his surgery. Rather than fret about it, you focused on your swimming and won a bucket load of first prizes. If I remember correctly, you won 7 first places that weekend and moved up in to the AA group. "I'm going to pin a ribbon on every tube in Dad's body!" you crowed. You won all those ribbons for Dad. Amazing.
Oh, the memories, my son. Your 12 years of patriotic service to your country in the U.S. Navy, your marriage to a woman who could not possibly be more wonderful. Being a good dad to Jeffrey and Ashley. Guiding them into adulthood with a firm, steady, but loving hand. Where oh where did the time go? Like the landscape in Hawaii, we've had steep ups and downs, but through it all, we've watched and prayed. And been grateful.
Happy birthday my son. Love, you, Mom
For all your tough business practices, you have a tender heart for people that will probably embarrass you at the mere mention of it. Get over it. It's a mother's prerogative to embarrass the one she gave birth to.
The day your brother was born, we followed all the "expert" advice of the day. Dad took the baby into the house and put him in the crib, then picked you up from the baby sitter's. I was waiting at the front door with a new toy for you. The door flew open and you raced past my open arms shouting, "Where's my baby brother!" So much for the experts whose advice left me standing with empty arms.
You may not remember the Christmas parade in Oakdale the year we were enroute from Arizona to New Jersey. Grandma and I stood at the back of the crowd watching you take care of your 2 year old brother and a neighbor's little girl about the same age. You talked to them the whole time, pointing out things of interest. It's not easy to keep one two year old engrossed, let alone two, but you did it and you were only six!
A Halloween birthday made that day the busiest of the year for your mother and I apologize for being grumpier on your birthday than most other days of the year. My grumpiness, however, was a backdrop highlighting your amazing tenderness. The year we moved from Arizona to Hawaii was Of course, over your birthday. We were staying with Grandma Nettles because our belongings were packed and in storage. Since most of Grandma's neighbors didn't know you, we took you back to Ft. Huachuca where they did.
You were so excited at treats a neighbor gave you, you rushed to the car to show us. For some reason, you stopped short in your glowing report and said, "Dad, you're hurting, aren't you?" Dad, hadn't said a word.
"A little bit," he replied.
"Danny, get in the car. We're going back to Grandma's. Dad's hurting." Never a glimmer of disappointment at your childhood tradition being cut short. You were eleven years old.
However, you made up for it the next year, in Hawaii. Mountains are steep, valleys deep, and flashfloods quick in Hawaii. Heavy rains can cause serious problems in a heart beat. More than one unsuspecting person has been swept to their doom. On Trick or Treat night, it poured. I called the mps to ask if the night was cancelled and rescheduled. They refused to give me an answer. I was in a quandry (dither) because I didn't want you to miss out on the fun, but didn't want you killed in a flashflood, either. Finally, Dad made the decision. "Let them go. They'll be fine."
With a stern warning that they were to return home if four neighbors said they weren't doing trick or treat in such nasty weather, I sent them on their way and wrote a letter to Grandma, complaining that your dad sent you out to surf the nearest tsunami. You were gone for the longest time. I paced and fretted.
When you finally relieved my anxieties by returning, your sacks were full of goodies. Don't remember who let it slip, but you outsmarted your mother by going to the farthest end of post before knocking on any doors! That way, if you were turned down, you could continue to collect. After all, you were on your way home. Like Dad said when you got your first big promotion, "How'd you get so smart?"
That Christmas, Dad was hospitalized for his surgery. Rather than fret about it, you focused on your swimming and won a bucket load of first prizes. If I remember correctly, you won 7 first places that weekend and moved up in to the AA group. "I'm going to pin a ribbon on every tube in Dad's body!" you crowed. You won all those ribbons for Dad. Amazing.
Oh, the memories, my son. Your 12 years of patriotic service to your country in the U.S. Navy, your marriage to a woman who could not possibly be more wonderful. Being a good dad to Jeffrey and Ashley. Guiding them into adulthood with a firm, steady, but loving hand. Where oh where did the time go? Like the landscape in Hawaii, we've had steep ups and downs, but through it all, we've watched and prayed. And been grateful.
Happy birthday my son. Love, you, Mom
Monday, October 27, 2014
My bad
I received an email the other day quoting the President as saying something so reprehensible that I felt compelled to send it on. Two good friends corrected me. Thank you, Gary and Judy. The quote was taken completely out of context. I'm sorry I believed it and passed it on.
Such behavior on the part of the President's opposition is wrong. Just plain wrong. Let me hasten to say I have no agreement with about anything our President says. However, that does not give me or anyone else the right to stoop to sleazy tactics. I met an honorable man in Denver many years ago who said he built his business on the principle that he would not allow himself to be dragged into the gutter others chose to do business in.
Remember the old saying, "Cheaters never win and winners never cheat"? Yeah, that's hard, but someday I'll stand before a holy GOD who will ask me about my actions. Did they honor His Son, or did they shame Him? Deceitful behavior is a lack of trust that He knows what we're up against by being honorable in a cheating world. That seems to give the cheaters an unfair advantage. If they do win, what have they won? When they stand before God in eternity, will they think it was worth it? When they look in the mirror now, can they do it with pride and self-confidence?
However, if I use the same deceitful tactics, that makes me no different. I have become as wrong as those I oppose. I've become "The pot calling the kettle black."
There's also the understanding that words, once spoken can never be taken back. How many people trusted me and sent that on to their address book? Will they retract it? And, will those who get it send it on?
One of the many things I admire about former President George W. Bush is his ability to keep quiet when liberals say things about him that are taken out of context or are outright lies. He doesn't defend himself. That's nobility and integrity few of us, myself included, have. But, it's behavior, I believe, all Christians should exhibit. How else is a world without Christ going to see a difference? It's no wonder we're considered hypocrites. The pastor reminded us just yesterday that the world will read a Bible in shoe leather long before they'll look at one in Morocco leather. In other words, the world is watching.
Such behavior on the part of the President's opposition is wrong. Just plain wrong. Let me hasten to say I have no agreement with about anything our President says. However, that does not give me or anyone else the right to stoop to sleazy tactics. I met an honorable man in Denver many years ago who said he built his business on the principle that he would not allow himself to be dragged into the gutter others chose to do business in.
Remember the old saying, "Cheaters never win and winners never cheat"? Yeah, that's hard, but someday I'll stand before a holy GOD who will ask me about my actions. Did they honor His Son, or did they shame Him? Deceitful behavior is a lack of trust that He knows what we're up against by being honorable in a cheating world. That seems to give the cheaters an unfair advantage. If they do win, what have they won? When they stand before God in eternity, will they think it was worth it? When they look in the mirror now, can they do it with pride and self-confidence?
However, if I use the same deceitful tactics, that makes me no different. I have become as wrong as those I oppose. I've become "The pot calling the kettle black."
There's also the understanding that words, once spoken can never be taken back. How many people trusted me and sent that on to their address book? Will they retract it? And, will those who get it send it on?
One of the many things I admire about former President George W. Bush is his ability to keep quiet when liberals say things about him that are taken out of context or are outright lies. He doesn't defend himself. That's nobility and integrity few of us, myself included, have. But, it's behavior, I believe, all Christians should exhibit. How else is a world without Christ going to see a difference? It's no wonder we're considered hypocrites. The pastor reminded us just yesterday that the world will read a Bible in shoe leather long before they'll look at one in Morocco leather. In other words, the world is watching.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Awesome God II
God was so loving and gracious to allow Bob's heart cath to go swiftly and smoothly, bringing about such wonderful results. Betty Elliot said after the death of her husband in the jungle of Ecuador that even if things don't go well, God is still God and worthy of our praise. She's so right. However, I must also sing His praises when things go well. It will form the habit of praise at all times and God is worthy of that.
Today, He sent even more encouragement. Xulon, the publisher of my book ran a special, making it possible for "The Color of Roses" to be advertised in the New York City book fair late next spring. It's not something I should turn down. The calling period to take advantage of the sale is 3 hours today only, 9AM-Noon. I debated on whether to call early and leave a voice message or take the chance of getting through when dozens, maybe hundreds, of other authors would be competing for her phone line at 9:00.
She greeted me with a merry laugh saying she had 74 voice mails to wade through! I got to talk to her first! I'm glad I waited. I'm glad Bob and I prayed about spending still more money without seeing much come in. Not only was it good to talk to a person instead of leaving a voice mail, she was so good to give me a pep talk. Ever notice how those crop up so frequently in my blog? God never fails to send encouragement when I get discouraged. Awesome. So, when am I going to believe Him and move on?
Her advice was to remember that with the first book being self-published, I became an entrepreneur and entrepreneurship always has heavy start up costs. She said it takes 1 - 2 years to see a profit and most see a loss those first 2 years. I was aware of that because I was a Mary Kay consultant 30+ years ago, but that doesn't make the decision on whether or not to spend more money any easier. My high school Problems of Democracy teacher used to talk about his uncle who threw good money after bad, investing in aviation during the Depression. It was so bad, he had to farm his kids out because he couldn't afford to feed them. Then, WWII started and he became a very wealthy man.
Yes, I know the risks. I also know not everyone succeeds. That's why it's called risk, and that's where the concern comes in. I begin to wonder if this was my idea and I asked God to bless it, or is it truly what He wants me to do?
Kimberly's next gem was, "By the way, your book did VERY WELL in the Frankfurt Book Fair." How much more encouraging could she have been? I would hope the day is coming, sooner rather than later, when I stop whining and presuming on God's patience and just be faithful in the small things, trusting Him in all things. He truly is worthy of my trust. And He's truly awesome.
Today, He sent even more encouragement. Xulon, the publisher of my book ran a special, making it possible for "The Color of Roses" to be advertised in the New York City book fair late next spring. It's not something I should turn down. The calling period to take advantage of the sale is 3 hours today only, 9AM-Noon. I debated on whether to call early and leave a voice message or take the chance of getting through when dozens, maybe hundreds, of other authors would be competing for her phone line at 9:00.
She greeted me with a merry laugh saying she had 74 voice mails to wade through! I got to talk to her first! I'm glad I waited. I'm glad Bob and I prayed about spending still more money without seeing much come in. Not only was it good to talk to a person instead of leaving a voice mail, she was so good to give me a pep talk. Ever notice how those crop up so frequently in my blog? God never fails to send encouragement when I get discouraged. Awesome. So, when am I going to believe Him and move on?
Her advice was to remember that with the first book being self-published, I became an entrepreneur and entrepreneurship always has heavy start up costs. She said it takes 1 - 2 years to see a profit and most see a loss those first 2 years. I was aware of that because I was a Mary Kay consultant 30+ years ago, but that doesn't make the decision on whether or not to spend more money any easier. My high school Problems of Democracy teacher used to talk about his uncle who threw good money after bad, investing in aviation during the Depression. It was so bad, he had to farm his kids out because he couldn't afford to feed them. Then, WWII started and he became a very wealthy man.
Yes, I know the risks. I also know not everyone succeeds. That's why it's called risk, and that's where the concern comes in. I begin to wonder if this was my idea and I asked God to bless it, or is it truly what He wants me to do?
Kimberly's next gem was, "By the way, your book did VERY WELL in the Frankfurt Book Fair." How much more encouraging could she have been? I would hope the day is coming, sooner rather than later, when I stop whining and presuming on God's patience and just be faithful in the small things, trusting Him in all things. He truly is worthy of my trust. And He's truly awesome.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Praise the Lord
I was stunned when the phone rang this morning at 8:33 and heard the doctor's voice on the other end of the line. Bob's heart cath took less than 30 minutes to complete (half the anticipated time) and everything is fine! So fine in fact, he couldn't find the 60% blockage the doctor saw several years ago!
Now, the hard part begins. Keeping him quiet until the wound heals enough to keep him from bleeding to death. Try not using the hand you use for everything for 48 hours. Now, try to get your husband to do that. You get my drift, I'm sure.
We still have to determine what's causing the fatigue and shortness of breath. One friend said she hoped it turned out to be something simple like a vitamin deficiency. An email from my cousin said her husband's problem stemmed from anemia. The nurse mentioned anemia. That may be the answer. One thing is clear, "God is keeping him here for something," said my dear friend, Katherine.
When things fall together like that, I cannot help but believe God is in control. And, He's so worthy of praise. Our pastor said when his wife's tumor disappeared, he remembered verses in Malachi warning us against robbing God financially. He said, "I'll not rob you of praise, either."
My first response to the doctor's call was "Praise the Lord!" I would have said it aloud, except for the fatigue and shortness of breath, for which I now had no explanation. Shame on me for not saying it and trusting God to take care of the rest. The Apostle Paul claimed to be the chief of sinners. Well, I'm the weakest and whiniest.
Truly, our God is awesome. To think that he not only relieved us of the concern about Bob's heart, he sent 3 messages to remind me that He knows the answer and will take care of it. Praising God for the wonderful news is such a simple thing. I hope He ascribes to "Better late than never."
PRAISE THE LORD!
Now, the hard part begins. Keeping him quiet until the wound heals enough to keep him from bleeding to death. Try not using the hand you use for everything for 48 hours. Now, try to get your husband to do that. You get my drift, I'm sure.
We still have to determine what's causing the fatigue and shortness of breath. One friend said she hoped it turned out to be something simple like a vitamin deficiency. An email from my cousin said her husband's problem stemmed from anemia. The nurse mentioned anemia. That may be the answer. One thing is clear, "God is keeping him here for something," said my dear friend, Katherine.
When things fall together like that, I cannot help but believe God is in control. And, He's so worthy of praise. Our pastor said when his wife's tumor disappeared, he remembered verses in Malachi warning us against robbing God financially. He said, "I'll not rob you of praise, either."
My first response to the doctor's call was "Praise the Lord!" I would have said it aloud, except for the fatigue and shortness of breath, for which I now had no explanation. Shame on me for not saying it and trusting God to take care of the rest. The Apostle Paul claimed to be the chief of sinners. Well, I'm the weakest and whiniest.
Truly, our God is awesome. To think that he not only relieved us of the concern about Bob's heart, he sent 3 messages to remind me that He knows the answer and will take care of it. Praising God for the wonderful news is such a simple thing. I hope He ascribes to "Better late than never."
PRAISE THE LORD!
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Happy Birthday
Today is Bob's 79th birthday! Where has the time gone? Time passing or not, he's still a feisty stinker. In his thank you note to Mark's family for sending him money, he said he thought he'd use it for a lap dance! Here's hoping you understand his sense of humor.
Even after almost 51 years of marriage, he still makes me laugh. Sometimes it's an embarrassed laugh. Like the first Sunday we came to Shiloh. Shiloh Tabernacle is not contemporary by any stretch of the imagination. We still sing hymns and use the Kind James Bible. Nothing wrong with that and I'm not complaining. It's just not contemporary. And, while they have a wonderful sense of humor, it doesn't always go along with Bob's.
That Sunday morning almost eleven years ago, there was a baby dedication. The pastor began it with, "It wasn't too many years ago this young couple stood before me and said 'I do'."
Smart Aleck Bob whispered, "They did." Trouble is, the WHOLE church heard him! Everyone laughed except the pastor. He didn't hear what made everyone laugh and I'm not about to tell him!
Bob rather sheepishly remarked on the way home that he really only intended that comment for me. So, no, his sense of humor doesn't always go along the straight and narrow. Guess it's because he didn't come to the straight and narrow until he was 52.
But, he is on the straight and narrow, risque sense of humor or not. His love for the Lord cannot be doubted. I guess his sense of humor is open to question-at times.
Regardless, a very happy birthday to the man I love and have loved for 51 years.
Even after almost 51 years of marriage, he still makes me laugh. Sometimes it's an embarrassed laugh. Like the first Sunday we came to Shiloh. Shiloh Tabernacle is not contemporary by any stretch of the imagination. We still sing hymns and use the Kind James Bible. Nothing wrong with that and I'm not complaining. It's just not contemporary. And, while they have a wonderful sense of humor, it doesn't always go along with Bob's.
That Sunday morning almost eleven years ago, there was a baby dedication. The pastor began it with, "It wasn't too many years ago this young couple stood before me and said 'I do'."
Smart Aleck Bob whispered, "They did." Trouble is, the WHOLE church heard him! Everyone laughed except the pastor. He didn't hear what made everyone laugh and I'm not about to tell him!
Bob rather sheepishly remarked on the way home that he really only intended that comment for me. So, no, his sense of humor doesn't always go along the straight and narrow. Guess it's because he didn't come to the straight and narrow until he was 52.
But, he is on the straight and narrow, risque sense of humor or not. His love for the Lord cannot be doubted. I guess his sense of humor is open to question-at times.
Regardless, a very happy birthday to the man I love and have loved for 51 years.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
True confession
Anyone who's had a weight problem will understand this. Not only have I had a weight problem, I carry it in the wrong places-mainly my belly. In school, boys would tease me about looking pregnant before I even knew what caused it!
Therefore, I'm a sucker for anything and everything new on the market that looks like it might help. Yesterday, I spent four hours in the Seasonal Gift Shop trying to sell my book. It didn't take me long to realize I will undoubtedly spend more than I make while there. It's another of those inevitable weaknesses. Working in sales takes a special discipline I apparently don't have, any more than I do about weight loss programs.
I bit. This morning, getting ready for church, I thought perhaps all weight loss programs are probably more successful because they're so expensive and once you take the plunge, you don't want to waste the money, so you refrain from cheating. Every program works as long as you work the program. I know. I've been on about all of them. And, yes, I've lost weight on all of them. But, the paradigm shift from program to maintaining has eluded me for 57 years.
It didn't take long for my thought to prove true. After church, I sat down, getting ready to read the paper and had the sudden urge to nibble while reading. Before I could set the paper aside and get out of my recliner, a voice in my head screamed, "NOT AT THOSE PRICES! Saved. Thank you, Lord.
I'm a clean-your-plate eater, a meal time eater, an eat-to-keep-from-getting-hungry-eater, a social eater, a boredom eater, a frustrated eater, an angry eater, a self-pity eater, an exhaustion eater (the worst), an eat-the-right-thing-even-though-I'm-not-hungry eater, an I-just-want-to-try-it eater, a Baltic Pride Week eater, a Sofa Care Month eater, a Hangnail Day eater. Yeah, I'm addicted. Unfortunately.
Actually, I want to move beyond the paradigm shift from program to maintaining to living "normally." Maintaining has the connotation of constantly being aware that something could go wrong and I'm off and running again. I want to shatter this loathsome god for all time. I want to spend my thoughts seeking God's presence, not this despicable idol that interferes with my relationship with the Lord, diminishes my testimony, gives others the opportunity to treat me with contempt and consider me stupid, and puts me in embarrassingly tight clothes when I overeat and sloppy, loose ones when I'm thinner. It's a no win situation.
However, I have hope. I wouldn't start a new program if I didn't have hope. My greatest hope is that someday food will no longer control me. At the moment, food controls me, even on diets. But, I'll never say die. Pray with me and stay tuned.
Therefore, I'm a sucker for anything and everything new on the market that looks like it might help. Yesterday, I spent four hours in the Seasonal Gift Shop trying to sell my book. It didn't take me long to realize I will undoubtedly spend more than I make while there. It's another of those inevitable weaknesses. Working in sales takes a special discipline I apparently don't have, any more than I do about weight loss programs.
I bit. This morning, getting ready for church, I thought perhaps all weight loss programs are probably more successful because they're so expensive and once you take the plunge, you don't want to waste the money, so you refrain from cheating. Every program works as long as you work the program. I know. I've been on about all of them. And, yes, I've lost weight on all of them. But, the paradigm shift from program to maintaining has eluded me for 57 years.
It didn't take long for my thought to prove true. After church, I sat down, getting ready to read the paper and had the sudden urge to nibble while reading. Before I could set the paper aside and get out of my recliner, a voice in my head screamed, "NOT AT THOSE PRICES! Saved. Thank you, Lord.
I'm a clean-your-plate eater, a meal time eater, an eat-to-keep-from-getting-hungry-eater, a social eater, a boredom eater, a frustrated eater, an angry eater, a self-pity eater, an exhaustion eater (the worst), an eat-the-right-thing-even-though-I'm-not-hungry eater, an I-just-want-to-try-it eater, a Baltic Pride Week eater, a Sofa Care Month eater, a Hangnail Day eater. Yeah, I'm addicted. Unfortunately.
Actually, I want to move beyond the paradigm shift from program to maintaining to living "normally." Maintaining has the connotation of constantly being aware that something could go wrong and I'm off and running again. I want to shatter this loathsome god for all time. I want to spend my thoughts seeking God's presence, not this despicable idol that interferes with my relationship with the Lord, diminishes my testimony, gives others the opportunity to treat me with contempt and consider me stupid, and puts me in embarrassingly tight clothes when I overeat and sloppy, loose ones when I'm thinner. It's a no win situation.
However, I have hope. I wouldn't start a new program if I didn't have hope. My greatest hope is that someday food will no longer control me. At the moment, food controls me, even on diets. But, I'll never say die. Pray with me and stay tuned.
Friday, October 10, 2014
Hands off
One question I never expected to hear about my book is how long it took. I always blush a little when I say 28 years. That even beats Jane Austen's 17 years and, back then women weren't supposed to do creative and intelligent things.
It's been said you reveal yourself in writing and I've come to realize, scary as that is, it's true. Maggie, the lead character had a lonely childhood, immersed herself in books, was fat, and depressed. Hello. The rest of her story is pretty much made up, but when she has a discussion with her son, I can hear my Dan saying those words. Bob was not a Christian when we met and that caused some spiritual and cultural difficulty in our marriage until he made his peace with GOD 24 years later. There's a very slight connection there.
To me, Maggie doesn't have a sense of humor and neither do I. If I do, it's self-deprecating. Charlie, on the other hand, does. So does my husband. We've lived in a small town outside Pittsburgh, hence the Steelers connection. Then, too, we've lived in Northwest Georgia. We've moved 33 times in 50 years. Charlie travels a great deal in his business. Obviously, I've revealed myself as I wrote. Even when the majority of the story is fiction, I'm still in there. My attitudes, my way of handling difficulties-it's there.
Perhaps that's one reason it took 28 years to write. Who wants all their secrets exposed? Another reason was a lack of self confidence. I've waffled back and forth for years. Will it sell? Will it provide a message of restoration and hope for those who've made serious mistakes in their lives? Most of all, will GOD be glorified in what I've written?
There are those who've let me know fiction will not honor GOD. They've been adamant about it. There are those who just want to be entertained and I don't write for entertainment. I'm not condemning those who do, it's just not my calling. The first will not be reading my book. The second may (I hope).
Things have been a little slow at school this past week. Correcting workbooks is generally a huge portion of my day, but there's another tutor on board and she's much faster at it than I am, so between working with boys, what to do? I decided to reread "Pilgrim's Progress." A work of fiction that still speaks to hearts today. "The Color of Roses" is not in the caliber of "Pilgrim's Progress." I might be "weird" but I'm not a fool. However, I can think of no Christian who would castigate "Pilgrim's Progress" because it's fiction.
There's also a vicar by the name of McDonald from the 19th century whose family was starving so he began to write fiction to support his family. In the culture of his day, some of his work may have seemed less than Christian, but he got a wonderful message of grace and mercy across. That's what I'm trying to do.
The hardest part is that when things seem to be going well, I'm sure this is GOD's will for me. When they're not, I begin to question. However, there's no turning back now. Another author friend was encouraging by reminding me there's always risk involved. That's what happens when you surrender control to the LORD. It's His work. Hands off.
It's been said you reveal yourself in writing and I've come to realize, scary as that is, it's true. Maggie, the lead character had a lonely childhood, immersed herself in books, was fat, and depressed. Hello. The rest of her story is pretty much made up, but when she has a discussion with her son, I can hear my Dan saying those words. Bob was not a Christian when we met and that caused some spiritual and cultural difficulty in our marriage until he made his peace with GOD 24 years later. There's a very slight connection there.
To me, Maggie doesn't have a sense of humor and neither do I. If I do, it's self-deprecating. Charlie, on the other hand, does. So does my husband. We've lived in a small town outside Pittsburgh, hence the Steelers connection. Then, too, we've lived in Northwest Georgia. We've moved 33 times in 50 years. Charlie travels a great deal in his business. Obviously, I've revealed myself as I wrote. Even when the majority of the story is fiction, I'm still in there. My attitudes, my way of handling difficulties-it's there.
Perhaps that's one reason it took 28 years to write. Who wants all their secrets exposed? Another reason was a lack of self confidence. I've waffled back and forth for years. Will it sell? Will it provide a message of restoration and hope for those who've made serious mistakes in their lives? Most of all, will GOD be glorified in what I've written?
There are those who've let me know fiction will not honor GOD. They've been adamant about it. There are those who just want to be entertained and I don't write for entertainment. I'm not condemning those who do, it's just not my calling. The first will not be reading my book. The second may (I hope).
Things have been a little slow at school this past week. Correcting workbooks is generally a huge portion of my day, but there's another tutor on board and she's much faster at it than I am, so between working with boys, what to do? I decided to reread "Pilgrim's Progress." A work of fiction that still speaks to hearts today. "The Color of Roses" is not in the caliber of "Pilgrim's Progress." I might be "weird" but I'm not a fool. However, I can think of no Christian who would castigate "Pilgrim's Progress" because it's fiction.
There's also a vicar by the name of McDonald from the 19th century whose family was starving so he began to write fiction to support his family. In the culture of his day, some of his work may have seemed less than Christian, but he got a wonderful message of grace and mercy across. That's what I'm trying to do.
The hardest part is that when things seem to be going well, I'm sure this is GOD's will for me. When they're not, I begin to question. However, there's no turning back now. Another author friend was encouraging by reminding me there's always risk involved. That's what happens when you surrender control to the LORD. It's His work. Hands off.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Ranting
Aha! The truth is finally out. Security at the White House was breached because the intruder over powered a female Secret Service agent. When are we going to learn men's upper body strength is extremely difficult and almost impossible to overcome?
For years now, TV programs have shown tiny, little size 2's overpowering big thugs. It's so misleading. The new program, NCIS New Orleans showed the female agent banging a guy's head against the table. NOT! "Charlie's Angels" may have been among the first. In your dreams, ladies.
Every time I see a woman getting physical with a guy and winning the altercation on TV, I am reminded of 2 events that proves my point.
40-50 years ago, Saturday morning TV had a circus every week. (Original reality TV) One of the acts was a tiny woman who was a black belt in karate. Her opponent was an enormous guy with white belt training. She lost and left the stage, humiliated and in tears.
Fast forward to the 1980's. A female student at a Christian college in Chicago believed "no man would ever get to her." I never met her, but saw several pictures of her and was told her story. She was quite strong. Competitive swimmers lift weights as part of their training and she was a competitive swimmer. She had swimmer's shoulders. When she was in high school, she was accosted twice-and won both attacks, proving her belief that she was strong enough to fight off any guy.
She worked at a local YMCA as a lifeguard. One night, she was walking back to school from work, passing through a ghetto so tough police didn't bother much to investigate murders there. One reporter was standing on a street corner and remarked as an aside that she'd heard gunfire three times in the five minutes she'd been standing there.
Walking through the ghetto at 10 p.m. was bad enough, but she was wearing head phones. She never heard him coming. Three weeks later, they found her mutilated, dismembered body in a dumpster several blocks from the school.
Women need to understand more than men's upper body strength. They also need to understand their mind set. They are NOT going to lose, even if it means they have to cheat. That's what happened in both cases. The big, inexperienced guy didn't follow karate protocol. He brushed her maneuvers off like he'd brush off a mosquito.
The woman in Chicago wasn't alert to possible danger and didn't think about weapons. The woman who told me about it said she knew men who lived in that area who wouldn't go out alone at night.
I saw understanding the mind set as part of the situation between our two sons. The oldest is not nearly as big as his younger brother. When he bullied him in their childhood, I would say, in frustration, "When you're adults, he's going to get even."
When my oldest came home basic training, he slipped up behind his brother and grabbed him. My youngest was powerless-more because he adored his older brother than the lack of physical strength.
The news that a female agent was overpowered by the intruder sent me off on this bent (rant according to my husband). Regardless, if some young girl reads this and decides to be more alert and careful, I'm grateful and I'll continue to rant.
In fact, in my books, the lead character is protective of the woman he loves. I think that's one reason why women who've read the one that's been published like him. Two women have said if I know any "Charlie's," let them know!
For your won sake, please, wake up, girls.
For years now, TV programs have shown tiny, little size 2's overpowering big thugs. It's so misleading. The new program, NCIS New Orleans showed the female agent banging a guy's head against the table. NOT! "Charlie's Angels" may have been among the first. In your dreams, ladies.
Every time I see a woman getting physical with a guy and winning the altercation on TV, I am reminded of 2 events that proves my point.
40-50 years ago, Saturday morning TV had a circus every week. (Original reality TV) One of the acts was a tiny woman who was a black belt in karate. Her opponent was an enormous guy with white belt training. She lost and left the stage, humiliated and in tears.
Fast forward to the 1980's. A female student at a Christian college in Chicago believed "no man would ever get to her." I never met her, but saw several pictures of her and was told her story. She was quite strong. Competitive swimmers lift weights as part of their training and she was a competitive swimmer. She had swimmer's shoulders. When she was in high school, she was accosted twice-and won both attacks, proving her belief that she was strong enough to fight off any guy.
She worked at a local YMCA as a lifeguard. One night, she was walking back to school from work, passing through a ghetto so tough police didn't bother much to investigate murders there. One reporter was standing on a street corner and remarked as an aside that she'd heard gunfire three times in the five minutes she'd been standing there.
Walking through the ghetto at 10 p.m. was bad enough, but she was wearing head phones. She never heard him coming. Three weeks later, they found her mutilated, dismembered body in a dumpster several blocks from the school.
Women need to understand more than men's upper body strength. They also need to understand their mind set. They are NOT going to lose, even if it means they have to cheat. That's what happened in both cases. The big, inexperienced guy didn't follow karate protocol. He brushed her maneuvers off like he'd brush off a mosquito.
The woman in Chicago wasn't alert to possible danger and didn't think about weapons. The woman who told me about it said she knew men who lived in that area who wouldn't go out alone at night.
I saw understanding the mind set as part of the situation between our two sons. The oldest is not nearly as big as his younger brother. When he bullied him in their childhood, I would say, in frustration, "When you're adults, he's going to get even."
When my oldest came home basic training, he slipped up behind his brother and grabbed him. My youngest was powerless-more because he adored his older brother than the lack of physical strength.
The news that a female agent was overpowered by the intruder sent me off on this bent (rant according to my husband). Regardless, if some young girl reads this and decides to be more alert and careful, I'm grateful and I'll continue to rant.
In fact, in my books, the lead character is protective of the woman he loves. I think that's one reason why women who've read the one that's been published like him. Two women have said if I know any "Charlie's," let them know!
For your won sake, please, wake up, girls.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Uh Oh
Hit a bump. One that I have to laugh about, but at the same time, praise God for the opportunity to share God's love with someone who seems very lonely.
A Linked In message came last night. Very complimentary. Alarm bells went off. Along with lots of laughter. Who'd be interested in a 70 year old great grandmother who's been very happily married for more than 50 years?
My first step when a guy shows an interest in me is to ignore it. Mostly because I can't believe it. I'm well aware that men can turn a situation into "He said, she said" in a heartbeat and I don't want the hassle. It also expresses a loneliness in them that makes me feel sorry for them.
Debbie Macomber talked about her messages from guys in prison. Jill Briscoe said if a guy has never hit on you, "Don't worry, someone will." The amazing part of that is she's a pastor's wife.
Second message came this morning with the question, "Are you married?" I can't play dumb on that one. So I told him I'm a happily married 70 year old great-grandmother, but my first love is the love of God. Hope he got the message.
A Linked In message came last night. Very complimentary. Alarm bells went off. Along with lots of laughter. Who'd be interested in a 70 year old great grandmother who's been very happily married for more than 50 years?
My first step when a guy shows an interest in me is to ignore it. Mostly because I can't believe it. I'm well aware that men can turn a situation into "He said, she said" in a heartbeat and I don't want the hassle. It also expresses a loneliness in them that makes me feel sorry for them.
Debbie Macomber talked about her messages from guys in prison. Jill Briscoe said if a guy has never hit on you, "Don't worry, someone will." The amazing part of that is she's a pastor's wife.
Second message came this morning with the question, "Are you married?" I can't play dumb on that one. So I told him I'm a happily married 70 year old great-grandmother, but my first love is the love of God. Hope he got the message.
My baby!
Today is our son Dan's 46th birthday. My baby! My six foot whatever. He says 6'4", his dad says 6'5", and I say 6'6". He's a big guy. And a wonderful one. His life has been quite a journey and we're button busting proud of him.
Of course, you realize, the years between our ages are getting smaller all the time. How could I become a mother at such a young age? I'm getting so old, I can't own up to my age when I had my first son, let alone my second. Let's just say I was a child bride (NOT) and move on to other subjects. The day may come when they'll admit to being older than me. Not saying I intend to lie about my age, but...
We don't get to see Dan's family very often. They're in Tulsa and we're in Florida, but we did have a grand time with them last December when Bob and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. For those of you who've seen my daughter-in-law's Facebook, or get my Christmas letter, you'll see pictures. I would here, but still haven't learned how.
Dan's the one who encouraged me to get involved with Facebook. Tina tried, but I soon gave it up. Seemed ridiculous to me, but Dan said when he joined classmates started popping up all over the place. The older I get, the more I enjoy memory lane, so I was convinced to rejoin. Trouble is, so many people my age are retired and have no desire to engage in electronic media, so I haven't found a whole lot of classmates.
Have made some wonderful acquaintances all over the rest of the world, though. Kenya, Africa; Bolivia, South America; West Virginia, USA. That much has been great. And humbling. Everyone is so good at this stuff and I'm still stumbling along, huffing and puffing, trying to catch up. Never happen. What I learned today was obsolete years ago.
Uh oh. Spoke too soon. I've been gratefully bragging on the topical cream that's kept my fire ant bites from itching. It may have just delayed it. The desire to scratch just hit with a vengeance.
Anyway, a very, very happy birthday, Dear Dan. And many, many more to come even if it does tell on your mother's old age. Love you, Son.
Of course, you realize, the years between our ages are getting smaller all the time. How could I become a mother at such a young age? I'm getting so old, I can't own up to my age when I had my first son, let alone my second. Let's just say I was a child bride (NOT) and move on to other subjects. The day may come when they'll admit to being older than me. Not saying I intend to lie about my age, but...
We don't get to see Dan's family very often. They're in Tulsa and we're in Florida, but we did have a grand time with them last December when Bob and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. For those of you who've seen my daughter-in-law's Facebook, or get my Christmas letter, you'll see pictures. I would here, but still haven't learned how.
Dan's the one who encouraged me to get involved with Facebook. Tina tried, but I soon gave it up. Seemed ridiculous to me, but Dan said when he joined classmates started popping up all over the place. The older I get, the more I enjoy memory lane, so I was convinced to rejoin. Trouble is, so many people my age are retired and have no desire to engage in electronic media, so I haven't found a whole lot of classmates.
Have made some wonderful acquaintances all over the rest of the world, though. Kenya, Africa; Bolivia, South America; West Virginia, USA. That much has been great. And humbling. Everyone is so good at this stuff and I'm still stumbling along, huffing and puffing, trying to catch up. Never happen. What I learned today was obsolete years ago.
Uh oh. Spoke too soon. I've been gratefully bragging on the topical cream that's kept my fire ant bites from itching. It may have just delayed it. The desire to scratch just hit with a vengeance.
Anyway, a very, very happy birthday, Dear Dan. And many, many more to come even if it does tell on your mother's old age. Love you, Son.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Continuing down Memory Lane
Sharon tells me Pittsburgh is doing something to reclaim the land that once was stripped of its beauty for the coal that was beneath. Congratulations, Pittsburgh! And, they're doing it in my backyard-so to speak.
When I was a young girl, Dad made his living by operating a steam shovel, tearing open the side of hills to get at the coal. Why those shovels were used at night is a mystery, but coming home from church after dark we would sometimes see a bright light coming from a sparsely populated area. Before long, we could see the shovel. I remember Dad once telling me about working at night when his big scoop did more than rip open the side of the hill. He also opened a den of copperheads. I doubt he was in any danger, but it did startle him, I'm sure.
This morning, I browsed the web site for the Pittsburgh Botanic Garden and was amazed at the ingenuity of some people. Instead of carrying signs and making loud noises or talking through their hat just because they're rich and famous, there are people in Pittsburgh who are doing something worthwhile. Building a botanic garden on reclaimed land.
What's so unusual about that? It's the only one of it's kind in the world, for starters, but the amazing thing is they've managed to clean up the waters that for decades have been polluted by mine run off. Chartiers Creek runs through my home town. All the years I was growing up, it was orange from mining pollution. I could never really ice skate on it because all the chemicals kept the creek from completely freezing over. About the only place it would freeze was under bridges where the sun couldn't melt it. Now, there is a procedure that returns the water to a natural ph balance that will sustain natural vegetation. Beautiful.
Dad also told me when he was a boy he and his friends would take baking potatoes when they went out to play. Step one was to wrap the potato in clay pulled from the creek bank. Then, they'd build a fire and when it died down, they'd bury the clay covered potato in ashes and go off to play for an hour. Lunch or snack would be those baked potatoes. Anyone who tried that in my day would suffer dire consequences from the chemicals that turned the creek bottom orange.
Our fifth grade class did a large mural of downtown. Before we finished, the creek that we'd painted blue had to be changed. We'd never seen clear water in that creek. Now, the water is in the process of being returned to it's natural, healthy state. Anyone who lives in or who visits Pittsburgh can enjoy nature in a way that brings back memories-wonderful memories of riding my bike through that area, or walking under the canopy of trees. So peaceful, refreshing, calming.
Shout it from the rooftops, Pittsburgh. You've done a wonderful thing and perhaps others will have the good sense to follow.
When I was a young girl, Dad made his living by operating a steam shovel, tearing open the side of hills to get at the coal. Why those shovels were used at night is a mystery, but coming home from church after dark we would sometimes see a bright light coming from a sparsely populated area. Before long, we could see the shovel. I remember Dad once telling me about working at night when his big scoop did more than rip open the side of the hill. He also opened a den of copperheads. I doubt he was in any danger, but it did startle him, I'm sure.
This morning, I browsed the web site for the Pittsburgh Botanic Garden and was amazed at the ingenuity of some people. Instead of carrying signs and making loud noises or talking through their hat just because they're rich and famous, there are people in Pittsburgh who are doing something worthwhile. Building a botanic garden on reclaimed land.
What's so unusual about that? It's the only one of it's kind in the world, for starters, but the amazing thing is they've managed to clean up the waters that for decades have been polluted by mine run off. Chartiers Creek runs through my home town. All the years I was growing up, it was orange from mining pollution. I could never really ice skate on it because all the chemicals kept the creek from completely freezing over. About the only place it would freeze was under bridges where the sun couldn't melt it. Now, there is a procedure that returns the water to a natural ph balance that will sustain natural vegetation. Beautiful.
Dad also told me when he was a boy he and his friends would take baking potatoes when they went out to play. Step one was to wrap the potato in clay pulled from the creek bank. Then, they'd build a fire and when it died down, they'd bury the clay covered potato in ashes and go off to play for an hour. Lunch or snack would be those baked potatoes. Anyone who tried that in my day would suffer dire consequences from the chemicals that turned the creek bottom orange.
Our fifth grade class did a large mural of downtown. Before we finished, the creek that we'd painted blue had to be changed. We'd never seen clear water in that creek. Now, the water is in the process of being returned to it's natural, healthy state. Anyone who lives in or who visits Pittsburgh can enjoy nature in a way that brings back memories-wonderful memories of riding my bike through that area, or walking under the canopy of trees. So peaceful, refreshing, calming.
Shout it from the rooftops, Pittsburgh. You've done a wonderful thing and perhaps others will have the good sense to follow.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Homesick
Can you still get homesick after being away most of your life? Don't know about you, but I can and do. I grew up in a small town located in the hills of Pennsylvania, where the seasons changed so beautifully. After I married, I spent a total of 5 years out of fifty in the vicinity of my youth.
There were several more years spent in places that had the change of seasons, such as Germany, (27 months), Steubenville, Ohio, (41 months), 46 months in Chicago, 10 months in Long Branch, New Jersey, 10 months in Pottstown, PA, 1 year in Denver, and 6 years, 10 months in Rolla, Missouri. And, while I appreciated the change of seasons in each, there's no place quite like home. Excluding Steubenville, which was close to home, 14 out of 50 years were spent where seasons changed. The rest was high desert or tropical, which, by the way, has it's beauties, too.
My friend, Jeanne, must miss it, too. She goes back every so often. But then, she lives in New Mexico and the change of seasons there is not quite like the ones in PA. Not sure Bettyann will feel that way when she moves. Her aunt once said our town was a good place to be from. In the 33 moves I've made, I can't say any ever replaced that special spot in my heart that my home town and its people still hold.
In fact, an email from the longest friendship in my life is what sparked my trip down memory lane. Sharon and I once tried to remember when we first met. We can't. We were too young. Our fathers and grandfathers knew each other, so our relationship goes a long way back. I remember walking down to visit our second grade teacher, Mrs. Pendleton. Such a lovely, lovely lady. Always gave us flowers from her garden.
Not everyone was lovely, though. Bettyann and I were laughing about the behavior of some of our neighbors and yes, our home town had an underbelly, but I just found out the very, very upscale community not too far to my south has one that is worse. Ours was just a bunch of drunken neighbor men who met the screaming wrath of their wives with equally loud shouting at a time when the rest of the neighborhood would rather be asleep. People are going to be people, no matter where you go. When I heard of some of the goings on in the town I now live close to, I praised God He did not allow me to stoop to some of the things that have been done to acquire riches and power.
I lived across the street from a Boy's Industrial Home. The home started as an orphanage. Over the years, the state began to house boys there who'd been in some sort of trouble. Petty stuff, but breaking the law, none the less. In all the years we lived there, we only had one break in, never locked our doors unless we were going to be gone for several days.
The boy who broke in stole stupid stuff that we rarely or never used. For example, I questioned what I'd done with my new wallet, thinking I hadn't placed it that drawer after all. The police brought it back. Likewise, a box of band aids my dad accused my brothers and me of wasting. When Frankie crawled out a window, a neighbor caught him. His excuse was that he was looking for his baseball. Poor kid. Learned what happened to my wallet, but wonder what happened to him. His antics were nothing compared to what some will do for riches and power.
Maybe I'm just hankering for the quiet, peaceful days of the 1950's, where Moms stayed home, and neighbors wouldn't allow us to get away with anything, but at the same time, allowed us to be kids. Sassing, bulling, fighting, vandalism was stopped in its tracks-and then parents were informed. Running through yards to play hide and seek would just bring a smile. "Have a good time, kids," my mom would say, "but don't get hurt." Jeanne and I could walk downtown at 10:00PM to get her mother an ice cream cone from Jones' without a second thought of safety. Today, kids are being snatched from their front yards in broad daylight.
I was thirteen when my friends and I rode the bus to downtown Pittsburgh to shop-unaccompanied by an adult. There was one bus drive that acted a little too frisky, but we laughed at him.
People weren't so uptight then. Not nearly so angry. If the game of one upmandship was played it was far too subtle for me to notice. Some people had more money than others, but who cared? Lawsuits between neighbors were unheard of and backfired when tried. I remember cutting my foot on a screw on Sharon's metal wading pool. Her mother put some blue medication and a band aid on it. That night, Sharon's dad removed the screw. End of story.
In Spring, we flew kites, and picked forget-me-not's in the field up the hill from our homes. Mud from thawing dirt streets made a mess, but everyone had the same mess. No big deal. In summer, we waited downtown for the school bus that would take us to the one pool several miles away. One car per family in those days. Once in a while, Sharon's or Connie's mother would take us to all the way South Park where there was another pool. Different families would go on vacation at different times over the summer. Those still at home would find other friends or some outdoor pursuit (catching lightening bugs, picking blackberries) to keep us busy and out of trouble.
Autumn, ah, autumn. When the frost would remove the chlorophyll and the Lord would reveal His awesome creativity in the spectacular colors of the leaves underneath. Back to school and the beginning of wearing sweaters. Going to footballs games. Dad always said, "Have a good time, but act like a lady." Sorry, Dad, but cheering for my team was not ladylike.
Winter. Snow, sled rides, ice skating, Christmas. Lights, lots of lights and icicles on the Christmas trees. Hearing Christmas carols in every store from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve. Bob could never understand why I wanted to decorate for Christmas the way I did. Until we moved to Steubenville and he saw I wasn't nearly as gung ho as the rest of the community.
Even the bitter cold of January and February was special. There's something invigorating about a very cold day, even when the sun is shining. By March, the cold was beginning to lose the battle with the sun returning from its winter vacation. Each season brought anticipation, each had a time of excitement. And, yes, I still miss it.
There were several more years spent in places that had the change of seasons, such as Germany, (27 months), Steubenville, Ohio, (41 months), 46 months in Chicago, 10 months in Long Branch, New Jersey, 10 months in Pottstown, PA, 1 year in Denver, and 6 years, 10 months in Rolla, Missouri. And, while I appreciated the change of seasons in each, there's no place quite like home. Excluding Steubenville, which was close to home, 14 out of 50 years were spent where seasons changed. The rest was high desert or tropical, which, by the way, has it's beauties, too.
My friend, Jeanne, must miss it, too. She goes back every so often. But then, she lives in New Mexico and the change of seasons there is not quite like the ones in PA. Not sure Bettyann will feel that way when she moves. Her aunt once said our town was a good place to be from. In the 33 moves I've made, I can't say any ever replaced that special spot in my heart that my home town and its people still hold.
In fact, an email from the longest friendship in my life is what sparked my trip down memory lane. Sharon and I once tried to remember when we first met. We can't. We were too young. Our fathers and grandfathers knew each other, so our relationship goes a long way back. I remember walking down to visit our second grade teacher, Mrs. Pendleton. Such a lovely, lovely lady. Always gave us flowers from her garden.
Not everyone was lovely, though. Bettyann and I were laughing about the behavior of some of our neighbors and yes, our home town had an underbelly, but I just found out the very, very upscale community not too far to my south has one that is worse. Ours was just a bunch of drunken neighbor men who met the screaming wrath of their wives with equally loud shouting at a time when the rest of the neighborhood would rather be asleep. People are going to be people, no matter where you go. When I heard of some of the goings on in the town I now live close to, I praised God He did not allow me to stoop to some of the things that have been done to acquire riches and power.
I lived across the street from a Boy's Industrial Home. The home started as an orphanage. Over the years, the state began to house boys there who'd been in some sort of trouble. Petty stuff, but breaking the law, none the less. In all the years we lived there, we only had one break in, never locked our doors unless we were going to be gone for several days.
The boy who broke in stole stupid stuff that we rarely or never used. For example, I questioned what I'd done with my new wallet, thinking I hadn't placed it that drawer after all. The police brought it back. Likewise, a box of band aids my dad accused my brothers and me of wasting. When Frankie crawled out a window, a neighbor caught him. His excuse was that he was looking for his baseball. Poor kid. Learned what happened to my wallet, but wonder what happened to him. His antics were nothing compared to what some will do for riches and power.
Maybe I'm just hankering for the quiet, peaceful days of the 1950's, where Moms stayed home, and neighbors wouldn't allow us to get away with anything, but at the same time, allowed us to be kids. Sassing, bulling, fighting, vandalism was stopped in its tracks-and then parents were informed. Running through yards to play hide and seek would just bring a smile. "Have a good time, kids," my mom would say, "but don't get hurt." Jeanne and I could walk downtown at 10:00PM to get her mother an ice cream cone from Jones' without a second thought of safety. Today, kids are being snatched from their front yards in broad daylight.
I was thirteen when my friends and I rode the bus to downtown Pittsburgh to shop-unaccompanied by an adult. There was one bus drive that acted a little too frisky, but we laughed at him.
People weren't so uptight then. Not nearly so angry. If the game of one upmandship was played it was far too subtle for me to notice. Some people had more money than others, but who cared? Lawsuits between neighbors were unheard of and backfired when tried. I remember cutting my foot on a screw on Sharon's metal wading pool. Her mother put some blue medication and a band aid on it. That night, Sharon's dad removed the screw. End of story.
In Spring, we flew kites, and picked forget-me-not's in the field up the hill from our homes. Mud from thawing dirt streets made a mess, but everyone had the same mess. No big deal. In summer, we waited downtown for the school bus that would take us to the one pool several miles away. One car per family in those days. Once in a while, Sharon's or Connie's mother would take us to all the way South Park where there was another pool. Different families would go on vacation at different times over the summer. Those still at home would find other friends or some outdoor pursuit (catching lightening bugs, picking blackberries) to keep us busy and out of trouble.
Autumn, ah, autumn. When the frost would remove the chlorophyll and the Lord would reveal His awesome creativity in the spectacular colors of the leaves underneath. Back to school and the beginning of wearing sweaters. Going to footballs games. Dad always said, "Have a good time, but act like a lady." Sorry, Dad, but cheering for my team was not ladylike.
Winter. Snow, sled rides, ice skating, Christmas. Lights, lots of lights and icicles on the Christmas trees. Hearing Christmas carols in every store from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve. Bob could never understand why I wanted to decorate for Christmas the way I did. Until we moved to Steubenville and he saw I wasn't nearly as gung ho as the rest of the community.
Even the bitter cold of January and February was special. There's something invigorating about a very cold day, even when the sun is shining. By March, the cold was beginning to lose the battle with the sun returning from its winter vacation. Each season brought anticipation, each had a time of excitement. And, yes, I still miss it.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Attacked!
Ever since we moved into this cottage, we've been trying to get grass to grow to cover the bare, poorly nourished soil. Grass seed, fertilizer, and top soil have all been applied. Bob has spent many hours dragging a hose around, watering when it needed it. Well, the Lord has been gracious in sending lots of rain over the past 8 or 9 days. And, I do mean lots.
Is the top soil and the grass seed he put down before this started still in place? Hard to say. I'm concerned it all washed into the ditch behind the house. In the front yard, something is growing. Wish I knew how to take a picture and let you see the bumper crop of toad stool that are flourishing. Well, at least something is growing.
Unfortunately, there's something else growing in the side yard. Fire ants. Nasty little beasts. It's been documented that they wait until their friends and family have joined them on your person before they attack. I was busy focusing on controlling the huge golf umbrella as well as the dog's leash, when I realized I hadn't fastened her rain coat properly and moved to set it right. I didn't want her to pee on her coat. It's a good thing I moved. As I moved toward her, I felt a sting on my right foot, but more anxious about her messing up her raincoat, I ignored it. When she squatted, I was too late to do anything about her, so I looked down at my foot to see several fire ants feasting on me.
Umbrella and leash in hand doesn't leave anything to use to crush the little monsters. Wiping my foot on my pant leg didn't get rid of enough of them. I could feel them crawling and biting. Put away the umbrella, undress her, open the door, check her raincoat. All had to be done before attending to the bites that will now cause me misery for at least a week, maybe more.
We put out fire ant killer several times when we first moved in. They were all over the place. We were so successful in getting rid of them, I actually forgot to look for them. Sneaky as they are, they were biding their time and attacked when I wasn't thinking about them, not remembering they never really go away and return with a vengeance when the ground is wet.
Like the church lady says, "Isn't this special?"
Is the top soil and the grass seed he put down before this started still in place? Hard to say. I'm concerned it all washed into the ditch behind the house. In the front yard, something is growing. Wish I knew how to take a picture and let you see the bumper crop of toad stool that are flourishing. Well, at least something is growing.
Unfortunately, there's something else growing in the side yard. Fire ants. Nasty little beasts. It's been documented that they wait until their friends and family have joined them on your person before they attack. I was busy focusing on controlling the huge golf umbrella as well as the dog's leash, when I realized I hadn't fastened her rain coat properly and moved to set it right. I didn't want her to pee on her coat. It's a good thing I moved. As I moved toward her, I felt a sting on my right foot, but more anxious about her messing up her raincoat, I ignored it. When she squatted, I was too late to do anything about her, so I looked down at my foot to see several fire ants feasting on me.
Umbrella and leash in hand doesn't leave anything to use to crush the little monsters. Wiping my foot on my pant leg didn't get rid of enough of them. I could feel them crawling and biting. Put away the umbrella, undress her, open the door, check her raincoat. All had to be done before attending to the bites that will now cause me misery for at least a week, maybe more.
We put out fire ant killer several times when we first moved in. They were all over the place. We were so successful in getting rid of them, I actually forgot to look for them. Sneaky as they are, they were biding their time and attacked when I wasn't thinking about them, not remembering they never really go away and return with a vengeance when the ground is wet.
Like the church lady says, "Isn't this special?"
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Keep up, Grandma!
Trying to write my second book is a big challenge. Plot, characters, and location aren't the problem. What then? It's the times. I never noticed how much has changed in my lifetime. Oh, sure, hair styles, clothing styles, and cars among other things have changed. That's why I don't like modern or contemporary furniture. It's obsolete long before we can afford to replace it. Even worse, it looks so uncomfortable, uninviting, and cold.
I never thought about it, but names also become obsolete. When I did remember, characters in this book are in their 20's and couldn't have names like Barbara, Sharon, Bill, or Richard. No, it's Amber, Ashley, Courtney, Paige, Kevin, Zachary, Brad, etc. Now, people in their 20's are recycling names from my mother's generation. Isobel, Charlotte, Sophia. Boys are given Biblical names. My great grandson is Elijah. A boy in our church is "Levi," and there are lots of Jacobs around.
If I want to be relevant, I have to know these things. Just a few years ago, an award winning best selling author had a carborater go bad in her car. That word is so obsolete I couldn't even find it in the dictionary to spell it right! Her editor should have caught that. Our 1987 Bonneville had computer chips that went bad repeatedly. It took five terrifying years to get it corrected. (It would die when you tapped the brakes. Try that on the interstate when 18 wheelers are climbing your tail pipe in Chicago rush hour traffic at 75 mph) Anyway, that's how I knew cars in the 2010's don't have that thing I can't spell.
The first book was not a problem in that regard. The characters were my age when the story took place in the 1980's. Back then, people had names I was familiar with and I used them, but now, I'll have to get my granddaughter's approval for expressions as well as names. I've noticed ads in the newspaper no longer say "throw" pillows. They're "toss" pillows. When did that happen? Now that the coffee table is the size of a small bedroom, have they changed the name, too? Are crossword puzzles still popular or are they all doing sudoku? For that matter, do they read newspapers? Even that's going electronic.
It seems like about every expression I use, the TV says it's a no no. I described a character as a "hunk." Unh uh. So, I changed it to "hot." Nope. What do they say these days? Someone asked me if I wrote about men from a man's point of view. Not possible. I'm not a man. How am I going to write about 20 somethings if I don't even know what to call them? Never mind all their electronic gadgets. That's been a real nightmare. It's not been too long since they started talking about "Crackle" on TV. What's that? For that matter, it won't be long before my 4 year old great-grandson will vaguely remember TV as a thing in his very young life. Now, everything is being streamed onto ipads, iphones, and maybe even iwatches.
I'm trying kids, I really am, but Grandma is huffing and puffing, just trying to catch up. Unfortunately, I feel like getting behinder and behinder.
I never thought about it, but names also become obsolete. When I did remember, characters in this book are in their 20's and couldn't have names like Barbara, Sharon, Bill, or Richard. No, it's Amber, Ashley, Courtney, Paige, Kevin, Zachary, Brad, etc. Now, people in their 20's are recycling names from my mother's generation. Isobel, Charlotte, Sophia. Boys are given Biblical names. My great grandson is Elijah. A boy in our church is "Levi," and there are lots of Jacobs around.
If I want to be relevant, I have to know these things. Just a few years ago, an award winning best selling author had a carborater go bad in her car. That word is so obsolete I couldn't even find it in the dictionary to spell it right! Her editor should have caught that. Our 1987 Bonneville had computer chips that went bad repeatedly. It took five terrifying years to get it corrected. (It would die when you tapped the brakes. Try that on the interstate when 18 wheelers are climbing your tail pipe in Chicago rush hour traffic at 75 mph) Anyway, that's how I knew cars in the 2010's don't have that thing I can't spell.
The first book was not a problem in that regard. The characters were my age when the story took place in the 1980's. Back then, people had names I was familiar with and I used them, but now, I'll have to get my granddaughter's approval for expressions as well as names. I've noticed ads in the newspaper no longer say "throw" pillows. They're "toss" pillows. When did that happen? Now that the coffee table is the size of a small bedroom, have they changed the name, too? Are crossword puzzles still popular or are they all doing sudoku? For that matter, do they read newspapers? Even that's going electronic.
It seems like about every expression I use, the TV says it's a no no. I described a character as a "hunk." Unh uh. So, I changed it to "hot." Nope. What do they say these days? Someone asked me if I wrote about men from a man's point of view. Not possible. I'm not a man. How am I going to write about 20 somethings if I don't even know what to call them? Never mind all their electronic gadgets. That's been a real nightmare. It's not been too long since they started talking about "Crackle" on TV. What's that? For that matter, it won't be long before my 4 year old great-grandson will vaguely remember TV as a thing in his very young life. Now, everything is being streamed onto ipads, iphones, and maybe even iwatches.
I'm trying kids, I really am, but Grandma is huffing and puffing, just trying to catch up. Unfortunately, I feel like getting behinder and behinder.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Uh Oh
Hit a bump. Never in my wildest imagination did I, as a 70 year old happily married great grandmother, expect to get an email from a man saying he wanted to get to know me better, along with nice compliments in the message. His picture looks like I've got about 30 years on him!
Alarm bells were going off, along with Sarai's disbelieving laughter. When the alarms ring, I choose to start off by pretending I don't understand. I try to let him think I believe he's just being friendly. However, men are very good at turning a situation into "He said, she said" and frankly I don't need the hassle. By some strange quirk of the human dynamic, men are more often believed than woman. I answered, keeping it impersonal, mentioning my computer illiteracy.
This morning, his first question was about my marital status. I feel so sorry for him. He's obviously very lonely. But, oh, what an open door to present the Gospel! I stepped through that door, after a lot of prayer and gratitude for those who are praying for me. Now, I'm praying for him.
If I hadn't stepped through the door into the world of publishing, I would never have joined any social media and would have missed a wonderful opportunity and blessing.
God is amazing. He's turned an uh oh into an aah.
Alarm bells were going off, along with Sarai's disbelieving laughter. When the alarms ring, I choose to start off by pretending I don't understand. I try to let him think I believe he's just being friendly. However, men are very good at turning a situation into "He said, she said" and frankly I don't need the hassle. By some strange quirk of the human dynamic, men are more often believed than woman. I answered, keeping it impersonal, mentioning my computer illiteracy.
This morning, his first question was about my marital status. I feel so sorry for him. He's obviously very lonely. But, oh, what an open door to present the Gospel! I stepped through that door, after a lot of prayer and gratitude for those who are praying for me. Now, I'm praying for him.
If I hadn't stepped through the door into the world of publishing, I would never have joined any social media and would have missed a wonderful opportunity and blessing.
God is amazing. He's turned an uh oh into an aah.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Good day, Bad day
Why is it when I'm having a fantastic day, a good friend is having it rough? Wanda and I used to do that. She'd call moaning, groaning and complaining about her husband. Bob and I would be getting along just fine. Then, we'd have an argument, but Wanda and David had reconciled. Come to think of it, I guess we couldn't be much help to each other if we were both down at the same time. Maybe that's the way God works it.
Just read Marianne's blog. It's a tough time for her right now and I'm really sorry. She's a good friend to have. In fact, she was my first friend in the state of Florida. We met 19 years ago next month.
I got an email from a dear friend who lives in Albuquerque. Our friendship goes beyond us. Our mothers were friends. She's been battling cancer and what a valiant warrior she's been. The cancer is still hanging on. The doctor's gave her two years and she's surpassed that, but some of the tumors are growing again. Then, too, her husband just had a mild stroke, and her daughter had to have a foot amputated. See what I mean? Dear friends are having a tough time and while I want to fix it, I can't.
I can pray and I do, but Larry Crabb, among many others have come to realize -and teach me - that our God is not manipulated. He may choose to heal. He may not, but He is still God and worthy of our worship.
And, worship I did this morning. While my life seems to be a bit crazy at the moment, my time with the Lord is beyond description. A friend (Connie) invited me to a pancake breakfast this morning. In order to get to her house, I had to go west before going south to Vero. It was raining and I saw the most vibrant rainbow I've seen in a very long time. Apparently, as the sun was coming up, the clouds were moving west and the rainbow got the full exposure of the sun between the clouds that were scattered behind me. I sang (thankfully, I was alone) all the way to Vero.
I thought I'd check my emails before I left and the first one I came across was from the publisher, offering a very good deal to be shown at the Frankfurt, Germany, book fair. Just last week, I told the marketing coach that I'd love to take advantage of what I thought was a good offer, but couldn't. Lo and behold, they cut that price in half! I jumped on it. The Frankfurt book fair is the largest in the world. Since I don't have 900 friends (working on it through Face Book and Linked In) I have hopes that book sellers around the world will take an interest in my book and make purchases.
My husband had minor surgery on his hand yesterday and even though so many little things kept going wrong, I was able to take care of the dog, check my emails, and retrieve my Moody Bible Institute class ring (1991) from the floor where I'd dropped it. So far, the glass lid I broke last night has not shown up in the dog's foot, for which I'm extremely grateful. Bob's been resting about all day.
The pancake breakfast was a lot of fun. I got to meet several lovely people, found out about a new branch library where I'll drop a copy of my book off next week. On the way home, I needed to look for bandages for my husband's hand. Walgreen's and the health care supply store didn't have what he wanted so I headed for one of those tiny, hole-in-the-wall drug stores that usually have everything the box stores don't. I know a husband and wife team that are the pharmacist's there, so I took my book into show them. Before I could get in the door, the woman coming out noticed my book in my hand and literally came to a screeching halt. Of course she had to have one, so I made a sale before I got in the door. (Was it like this for you, John Grisham?) My friends weren't there today, and neither were the bandages I wanted, but it wasn't a total loss.
I also stopped at the bank to deposit checks I'd received for sale of other books and the manager took a picture of the book, said his wife would get it on line and to come back. There's a teller in that branch who is constantly reading. The mail had another check to be deposited come Monday.
All because of my dear friend Connie. She's very social and has the gift of hospitality. I'm neither, but if I hang onto her coattails, I may learn. She promotes my book wherever she goes and has sold several. Bless her, Lord! Had she not extended the invitation yesterday, I'd have stayed home and cleaned (Maybe). It wouldn't have been nearly as wonderful as today has been. I would have missed the rainbow. I would have missed meeting such wonderful people. I'd have missed a good breakfast. And, I wouldn't have had a good excuse to let the dust lie:) Thanks, Connie, you're a sweetheart!
Just read Marianne's blog. It's a tough time for her right now and I'm really sorry. She's a good friend to have. In fact, she was my first friend in the state of Florida. We met 19 years ago next month.
I got an email from a dear friend who lives in Albuquerque. Our friendship goes beyond us. Our mothers were friends. She's been battling cancer and what a valiant warrior she's been. The cancer is still hanging on. The doctor's gave her two years and she's surpassed that, but some of the tumors are growing again. Then, too, her husband just had a mild stroke, and her daughter had to have a foot amputated. See what I mean? Dear friends are having a tough time and while I want to fix it, I can't.
I can pray and I do, but Larry Crabb, among many others have come to realize -and teach me - that our God is not manipulated. He may choose to heal. He may not, but He is still God and worthy of our worship.
And, worship I did this morning. While my life seems to be a bit crazy at the moment, my time with the Lord is beyond description. A friend (Connie) invited me to a pancake breakfast this morning. In order to get to her house, I had to go west before going south to Vero. It was raining and I saw the most vibrant rainbow I've seen in a very long time. Apparently, as the sun was coming up, the clouds were moving west and the rainbow got the full exposure of the sun between the clouds that were scattered behind me. I sang (thankfully, I was alone) all the way to Vero.
I thought I'd check my emails before I left and the first one I came across was from the publisher, offering a very good deal to be shown at the Frankfurt, Germany, book fair. Just last week, I told the marketing coach that I'd love to take advantage of what I thought was a good offer, but couldn't. Lo and behold, they cut that price in half! I jumped on it. The Frankfurt book fair is the largest in the world. Since I don't have 900 friends (working on it through Face Book and Linked In) I have hopes that book sellers around the world will take an interest in my book and make purchases.
My husband had minor surgery on his hand yesterday and even though so many little things kept going wrong, I was able to take care of the dog, check my emails, and retrieve my Moody Bible Institute class ring (1991) from the floor where I'd dropped it. So far, the glass lid I broke last night has not shown up in the dog's foot, for which I'm extremely grateful. Bob's been resting about all day.
The pancake breakfast was a lot of fun. I got to meet several lovely people, found out about a new branch library where I'll drop a copy of my book off next week. On the way home, I needed to look for bandages for my husband's hand. Walgreen's and the health care supply store didn't have what he wanted so I headed for one of those tiny, hole-in-the-wall drug stores that usually have everything the box stores don't. I know a husband and wife team that are the pharmacist's there, so I took my book into show them. Before I could get in the door, the woman coming out noticed my book in my hand and literally came to a screeching halt. Of course she had to have one, so I made a sale before I got in the door. (Was it like this for you, John Grisham?) My friends weren't there today, and neither were the bandages I wanted, but it wasn't a total loss.
I also stopped at the bank to deposit checks I'd received for sale of other books and the manager took a picture of the book, said his wife would get it on line and to come back. There's a teller in that branch who is constantly reading. The mail had another check to be deposited come Monday.
All because of my dear friend Connie. She's very social and has the gift of hospitality. I'm neither, but if I hang onto her coattails, I may learn. She promotes my book wherever she goes and has sold several. Bless her, Lord! Had she not extended the invitation yesterday, I'd have stayed home and cleaned (Maybe). It wouldn't have been nearly as wonderful as today has been. I would have missed the rainbow. I would have missed meeting such wonderful people. I'd have missed a good breakfast. And, I wouldn't have had a good excuse to let the dust lie:) Thanks, Connie, you're a sweetheart!
Friday, September 12, 2014
Blossoms on my tree
If you haven't already guessed, I call my friends my blossoms on my tree. I have no idea whether the nettle tree actually has blossoms, but the nettles' tree does.
My friend Gideon was such a blessing to me recently. Then there's Sandra. Sandra and I met in 92 in Steubenville, Ohio. We were both working at Kaufman's and not too happy about it. She'd been a home ec teacher in the South, but was not able to get a teaching position when her family moved north to become Baptist music missionaries in Weirton, West Virginia.
We hit it off immediately. When I became aware of VISTA positions at Urban Mission, I told her she needed to apply. She did. Both of us began to work for the Mission. I admired her courage. There were difficulties at the mission that should not have been there. I left in protest. She stayed to minister to the ones hurt by the wrong doing. In fact, they gave her a full time position. When her husband, Mike, became very ill, Sandra was able to figure out a way to continue her work and care full time for her husband. Amazing.
After Mike's death, she continued to live in Steubenville and minister in her church, the reason for them moving from the south in the first place. "The Lord didn't send me here to watch it die," was her valiant battle cry. It was not to be. Health issues took her back south to her son's families.
The Lord so graciously cared for this wonderful woman I can only begin to describe. She now resides in Mississippi, making our contact via phone the only way to stay in touch. But, oh, those conversations!
I was telling her how difficult the job has been to promote my book. "Now, Mary, what did your characters do when they hit rough times?" she asked.
"You mean you're telling me I should take a page out of my own book?"
"Yes."
"Point taken......right through my heart." We had a really good laugh together. I'm so grateful my friend knew it was time for me to set aside the pity party and get on my knees. That's what best friends do. They know instinctively whether to comfort or correct. Is it any wonder I consider my friends blossoms on my tree?
My friend Gideon was such a blessing to me recently. Then there's Sandra. Sandra and I met in 92 in Steubenville, Ohio. We were both working at Kaufman's and not too happy about it. She'd been a home ec teacher in the South, but was not able to get a teaching position when her family moved north to become Baptist music missionaries in Weirton, West Virginia.
We hit it off immediately. When I became aware of VISTA positions at Urban Mission, I told her she needed to apply. She did. Both of us began to work for the Mission. I admired her courage. There were difficulties at the mission that should not have been there. I left in protest. She stayed to minister to the ones hurt by the wrong doing. In fact, they gave her a full time position. When her husband, Mike, became very ill, Sandra was able to figure out a way to continue her work and care full time for her husband. Amazing.
After Mike's death, she continued to live in Steubenville and minister in her church, the reason for them moving from the south in the first place. "The Lord didn't send me here to watch it die," was her valiant battle cry. It was not to be. Health issues took her back south to her son's families.
The Lord so graciously cared for this wonderful woman I can only begin to describe. She now resides in Mississippi, making our contact via phone the only way to stay in touch. But, oh, those conversations!
I was telling her how difficult the job has been to promote my book. "Now, Mary, what did your characters do when they hit rough times?" she asked.
"You mean you're telling me I should take a page out of my own book?"
"Yes."
"Point taken......right through my heart." We had a really good laugh together. I'm so grateful my friend knew it was time for me to set aside the pity party and get on my knees. That's what best friends do. They know instinctively whether to comfort or correct. Is it any wonder I consider my friends blossoms on my tree?
Monday, September 8, 2014
Shame on me
Shame on me for thinking social media was a waste. Pardon my snobbery. I'm meeting so many wonderful people, sharing so many wonderful things, learning still more wonderful things. Now, I seriously doubt I'll ever be very good at it and sincerely hope I won't get so wrapped up in it I'll neglect family or face-to-face friends.
Made two of those just this past week. My friend, Connie, invited me for a game of dominoes. Thinking it was the little black plastic ones with the white dots, I agreed. She kept commenting that the times she'd played the game before, her guests were just learning. That puzzled me. I thought every one knew who to play dominoes.
Turns out this is completely different. The dominoes are white tiles and each set of dots has a different color. Each player gets a small train. Starting with the double 12, each player forms her own train-if she has a 12. If not, she goes to the "bones" and picks up another tile. The train goes to the head of where her tiles will be. As long as her train is visible, other players can add to her tile train. Her train stays in place until she can use her own tile to add to her train. During the game, one extra train can be started and anyone can play on it. When one player uses all her tiles, the game starts over with eleven and so on down to the double zero.
It wasn't as hard as it sounds, but the fun part was getting acquainted with Sandra and Lorraine. They accepted me like a long lost friend. As a general rule, meeting people for the first time can be awkward, but there was none of that this time. Perhaps the game was the ice breaker. Perhaps we were just four people who enjoyed each other's company. They were so gracious, they even bought my book! But, that wasn't the reason we had such a good time getting acquainted.
It was such a delight to make friends face to face as well as on line. On line, there have been so many who have been so gracious and accepting of this computer amateur and I'm grateful It's always good to start the day grateful, don't you think?
I'm especially grateful for Gideon, his family, and his church. He's in Kenya and we'll probably never meet this side of heaven, but he, his family, and his church have felt led to pray for me and my ministry. Every time the negative feelings crop up, here comes a message from Gideon saying they're praying for me. Thank you Gideon. And, thank you, internet, for the privilege of meeting and being friends with people like Gideon, his family, and his church.
Made two of those just this past week. My friend, Connie, invited me for a game of dominoes. Thinking it was the little black plastic ones with the white dots, I agreed. She kept commenting that the times she'd played the game before, her guests were just learning. That puzzled me. I thought every one knew who to play dominoes.
Turns out this is completely different. The dominoes are white tiles and each set of dots has a different color. Each player gets a small train. Starting with the double 12, each player forms her own train-if she has a 12. If not, she goes to the "bones" and picks up another tile. The train goes to the head of where her tiles will be. As long as her train is visible, other players can add to her tile train. Her train stays in place until she can use her own tile to add to her train. During the game, one extra train can be started and anyone can play on it. When one player uses all her tiles, the game starts over with eleven and so on down to the double zero.
It wasn't as hard as it sounds, but the fun part was getting acquainted with Sandra and Lorraine. They accepted me like a long lost friend. As a general rule, meeting people for the first time can be awkward, but there was none of that this time. Perhaps the game was the ice breaker. Perhaps we were just four people who enjoyed each other's company. They were so gracious, they even bought my book! But, that wasn't the reason we had such a good time getting acquainted.
It was such a delight to make friends face to face as well as on line. On line, there have been so many who have been so gracious and accepting of this computer amateur and I'm grateful It's always good to start the day grateful, don't you think?
I'm especially grateful for Gideon, his family, and his church. He's in Kenya and we'll probably never meet this side of heaven, but he, his family, and his church have felt led to pray for me and my ministry. Every time the negative feelings crop up, here comes a message from Gideon saying they're praying for me. Thank you Gideon. And, thank you, internet, for the privilege of meeting and being friends with people like Gideon, his family, and his church.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Panic Attack!
Hoo, boy. The books have arrived. 12 boxes of the, 25 per box. About 15 or 20 are promised. And, that's not all. I'll have to sell 855 just to break even (so i can try it again with my second book). I've been on pins and needles for weeks, waiting for them to come when it suddenly dawned on me that the number of friends I have who've asked for a book number less than 50! When I realized how many I have to sell and how few are promised, that's when the panic hit.
Supposedly, John Grisham bought 1,000 copies of his first book and sold them out of the back of his car, so his humble beginnings are an encouragement. I do not expect to become a best selling author, but it is encouraging to realize even best sellers have to start somewhere.
Now, if I were a little more computer savvy, I'd include a picture of the book cover. I admit, the graphic artist did a fabulous job. Several have commented on it, saying it should sell a lot of books. Your lips to God's ears.
Supposedly, John Grisham bought 1,000 copies of his first book and sold them out of the back of his car, so his humble beginnings are an encouragement. I do not expect to become a best selling author, but it is encouraging to realize even best sellers have to start somewhere.
Now, if I were a little more computer savvy, I'd include a picture of the book cover. I admit, the graphic artist did a fabulous job. Several have commented on it, saying it should sell a lot of books. Your lips to God's ears.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)