Happy New Year!
Happy New Year to my friends and family on Facebook and beyond.
May 2012 bring you happiness.
May your wildest dreams come true.
May your soul be filled with compassion and your heart with love and forgiveness.
May your grudges fade away and be replaced with joy.
May you find humor in the mundane, love in the sadness and light in the shadows.
May you radiate health.
May you know God and learn from His Word.
May you be blessed with enough of everything you need; enough that you can share your abundance.
May this new year bring you riches, the kind that matter most.
May you find your heart's desire.
Superstitions abound--jingle coins in your pocket at midnight, eat nothing that scratches the ground on New Year's Day, tuck a coin in every purse and pocket so you will never know poverty. Or learn to be content with what life offers and make the most of it.
May you make friends of your enemies and extend the warmth of your family to your friends.
May you face a challenge without running, face your fears with dignity and face the truth no matter how painful. May your enemies forgive you. May any unpleasant truth be tempered with compassion.
May you accept love in the spirit it is offered and return it in kind.
May you know the warmth of human touch in the hug of a friend.
May you find something in every day for which to be thankful, something in every day that will make you smile and something in every day that will show you that God lives.
Peace be yours in 2012.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Meet Great Grand Aunt Tiddlewinks, Chapter One
Great Grand Aunt Tiddlewinks wasn't really an aunt, but a close family friend who was once intimately involved with Uncle Herbivore who wasn't really an uncle but a third cousin twice removed on Mom's side. I think it was Mom's mother's side, because that is the only way I can explain the affinity between me and cousin Zelda...
Anyway, by somewhat nefarious means I was able to wangle Tiddlewinks diary from the cold (possibly dead. It's hard to tell with that side of the family) hands of Toastre (pronounced Toe-Stray) Pastry, one of the daughters. Toastre is sweet and a bit flaky. She does exotic dancing (or did until a few years back) at the Limber Puppy club in Winoshka. After age began to show itself she got fired on the grounds that her puppies needed an uplifting experience. She is now the historian at the Modern Adult Bohemian Culture Club, Salome chapter, whatever that is. I'm sure I don't want to know.
Tiddlewinks was a tiny creature (I use the word advisedly) with long claw-like fingernails that twisted spiral-like at their tips, She painted them blood-red or black. She said she liked the color, but I suspect it was because she was too lazy to clean them properly. She wore her hair in a tall bee-hive (sigh...I wish I was better at description...bees really did take residence in that hive...) that rarely knew a shampoo or a comb. Herbivore worshipped the ground she walked on; if he slipped up, she kept a small whip tucked discreetly in her garter.
Tiddlewinks and Herbivore led quite an adventurous life, traveling around the county (yes, county. Only left it once as far as I can tell) making money on Herbivore's inventions. One of them, a flying car, is still in litigation according to Zelda. I can't imagine why. It only got eighteen inches off the ground, crashed into a fire hydrant drowning two dogs, injuring a bunch of street sweepers and whooshing a hot dog vendor's cart into the Wagasaskins River where several carp reportedly exploded from gas build-up after eating Farter's Chili. I wouldn't lie about that, would I?
Herbivore was a vegetarian who occasionally succumbed to a spare rib (he said there was no meat on the bone), a chicken nugget (he said that wasn't real meat) and Spam (ditto). He subsisted mainly on Tiddlewinks' inedible offerings of cucumber and kraut casserole and Pepsi. Once he invented a fruit that tasted like a pear on one side but if you turned it over it tasted like cherry. The farmer's lobby said it was too confusing, then came out with an apple that tasted like grapes. Go figure.
Herbivore was diminutive, perhaps four-foot-ten or so, with a bristly red beard that Tiddlewinks couldn't get him to shave and eyes like emeralds (one of them, anyway. It replaced the eyeball he lost in one of the wars). He walked so straight that some said he had a rod down his back, but of course that was nonsense. It was merely a yardstick.
Tiddlewinks loved animals and well-designed men. She raised boxers for awhile but after losing several matches in a row she decided to train dancers instead. Looking at the antique furniture she had acquired, she got the inspiration to call her dancers the Chippendales. Finding out the name was taken, she was very disappointed. Somehow the Duncan Pfyfes never caught on.
As she wrote it, the big break for Tiddlewinks and Herbivore came when they went on their one and only trip outside the county to the State Fair in the next county, some twenty-seven miles from home. Tiddlewinks took a jar of her famous ragweed honey and Herbivore took a sample of his newly-created lawyer-calling bullhorn. So many people had allergy attacks after trying Tiddlewinks' honey that one blast on the bullhorn brought lawyers from seven states to their rescue.
You'd think it would be Tiddlewinks who got sued, wouldn't you? But not on your life. Those lawyers loved the bullhorn so much that they paid Herbivore just to carry one around and blow it every time he saw somewhere they could make money. Eventually every ambulance in the county was equipped with an Herbivore lawyer-calling bullhorn. The judge got his cut, too, and the honey was dismissed as just one of those things.
Toastre came to see me the other day; I'm getting the idea she isn't dead after all. I heard she paid a visit to Zelda, too. She says I have no right to the diary because Tiddlewinks wasn't really my aunt, just the concubine of Herbivore. As it turns out, Zelda's in-law said that she found out that Zelda and I, being second cousins of first cousins and by a quirk of the law being sole heirs to the estate of Herbivore and consequently to Tiddlewinks (their marriage license and will were in the diary), we are the real owners of the diary and the estate (which after everything was paid and the bull-horn matter settled amounted to $13.73). So there, Toastre.
I also found out that Toastre's birth name is Gruntsmuch. Hmmmm....there must be a story in there someplace....
Anyway, by somewhat nefarious means I was able to wangle Tiddlewinks diary from the cold (possibly dead. It's hard to tell with that side of the family) hands of Toastre (pronounced Toe-Stray) Pastry, one of the daughters. Toastre is sweet and a bit flaky. She does exotic dancing (or did until a few years back) at the Limber Puppy club in Winoshka. After age began to show itself she got fired on the grounds that her puppies needed an uplifting experience. She is now the historian at the Modern Adult Bohemian Culture Club, Salome chapter, whatever that is. I'm sure I don't want to know.
Tiddlewinks was a tiny creature (I use the word advisedly) with long claw-like fingernails that twisted spiral-like at their tips, She painted them blood-red or black. She said she liked the color, but I suspect it was because she was too lazy to clean them properly. She wore her hair in a tall bee-hive (sigh...I wish I was better at description...bees really did take residence in that hive...) that rarely knew a shampoo or a comb. Herbivore worshipped the ground she walked on; if he slipped up, she kept a small whip tucked discreetly in her garter.
Tiddlewinks and Herbivore led quite an adventurous life, traveling around the county (yes, county. Only left it once as far as I can tell) making money on Herbivore's inventions. One of them, a flying car, is still in litigation according to Zelda. I can't imagine why. It only got eighteen inches off the ground, crashed into a fire hydrant drowning two dogs, injuring a bunch of street sweepers and whooshing a hot dog vendor's cart into the Wagasaskins River where several carp reportedly exploded from gas build-up after eating Farter's Chili. I wouldn't lie about that, would I?
Herbivore was a vegetarian who occasionally succumbed to a spare rib (he said there was no meat on the bone), a chicken nugget (he said that wasn't real meat) and Spam (ditto). He subsisted mainly on Tiddlewinks' inedible offerings of cucumber and kraut casserole and Pepsi. Once he invented a fruit that tasted like a pear on one side but if you turned it over it tasted like cherry. The farmer's lobby said it was too confusing, then came out with an apple that tasted like grapes. Go figure.
Herbivore was diminutive, perhaps four-foot-ten or so, with a bristly red beard that Tiddlewinks couldn't get him to shave and eyes like emeralds (one of them, anyway. It replaced the eyeball he lost in one of the wars). He walked so straight that some said he had a rod down his back, but of course that was nonsense. It was merely a yardstick.
Tiddlewinks loved animals and well-designed men. She raised boxers for awhile but after losing several matches in a row she decided to train dancers instead. Looking at the antique furniture she had acquired, she got the inspiration to call her dancers the Chippendales. Finding out the name was taken, she was very disappointed. Somehow the Duncan Pfyfes never caught on.
As she wrote it, the big break for Tiddlewinks and Herbivore came when they went on their one and only trip outside the county to the State Fair in the next county, some twenty-seven miles from home. Tiddlewinks took a jar of her famous ragweed honey and Herbivore took a sample of his newly-created lawyer-calling bullhorn. So many people had allergy attacks after trying Tiddlewinks' honey that one blast on the bullhorn brought lawyers from seven states to their rescue.
You'd think it would be Tiddlewinks who got sued, wouldn't you? But not on your life. Those lawyers loved the bullhorn so much that they paid Herbivore just to carry one around and blow it every time he saw somewhere they could make money. Eventually every ambulance in the county was equipped with an Herbivore lawyer-calling bullhorn. The judge got his cut, too, and the honey was dismissed as just one of those things.
Toastre came to see me the other day; I'm getting the idea she isn't dead after all. I heard she paid a visit to Zelda, too. She says I have no right to the diary because Tiddlewinks wasn't really my aunt, just the concubine of Herbivore. As it turns out, Zelda's in-law said that she found out that Zelda and I, being second cousins of first cousins and by a quirk of the law being sole heirs to the estate of Herbivore and consequently to Tiddlewinks (their marriage license and will were in the diary), we are the real owners of the diary and the estate (which after everything was paid and the bull-horn matter settled amounted to $13.73). So there, Toastre.
I also found out that Toastre's birth name is Gruntsmuch. Hmmmm....there must be a story in there someplace....
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Not To Be Forgotten (preview)
The adventures of Great-grand aunt Tiddlewinks and cousins Peach Melba and Toastre Pastry (pronounced toe-stray') are in the works. I've just uncovered a diary from their early days that will help a lot in reconstructing my and Zelda's family. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Happy New Year (Almost)
I've been thinking about resolutions for 2012. Every year I make some, break some. In 2011 I did pretty well. I accomplished a lot of what I set out to do. The most glaring failures I fully intend to rectify. Some aren't important anymore, but I had to find that out for myself.
The book...ah, yes, the book. It isn't going as fast as I planned. The editing is nerve-wracking, the cost is currently prohibitive. It will happen. It will happen. Hopefully it will come to pass before my next class reunion in 2014. Guess I'd better get a move on.
I've lost a few pounds, and I'm in better shape than I was a year ago. It isn't the result I wanted, but at least it is something. I will continue this effort for my health as well as my vanity. Wait till you see me on New Year's Eve.
My resolve to do more resulted in lots of changes from my haircut and wardrobe changes to my activities. I hurt my back which kept me from whitewater rafting as planned, but I did go kayaking. I didn't get a bike yet (same reason--the tailbone thing), but I have been invited to try snow-shoeing. Yes, you read that right. I didn't get my East Coast trip, but I did get to Las Vegas. Not bad, huh?
Of course, there were some private resolutions, too, that I never did accomplish. Why not? They weren't impossible. It was because I didn't share them. There was no one to care, no one to make me accountable. Perhaps if I had had some feedback I might have done things more aggressively, or at least differently. No matter, they go on my private list once again.
Over these months, since I started the blog, I have become acutely aware of my shortcomings--my sometimes lack of faith, my lousy homemaking skills, my vocabulary among other things---all of which need tweaked to put it mildly. It's not that these have been ignored, just circumvented....It's time to pay more attention.
This year coming, I have vowed to be a candle that lights the way for others to find God. I will not hide my faith because it might make somebody uncomfortable, or because they might believe differently than I do...if I can lead one person to God's Word, I will be content.
I will work harder--much, much harder--to say nothing unkind. I will speak my mind; I will not be a pushover or yes-woman. I will learn to temper my words. I want to be remembered for kindness in the eulogy, not referred to as "the bitch".
In case you didn't notice, I've been a bit down of late. I will drive myself mercilessly to overcome these tsunamis of sadness and frustration. There is not much logic behind them, it just IS. It will take some doing to understand the wherewithal; it is something I have to do myself.
Hubby has his flaws like we all do, but he is a good man, honest and steady, and I doubt there is a better kisser in all the world. No matter how mad I get, one kiss turns me to mush even after all these years. I resolve to reserve my anger, pick my battles and be a better wife.
One resolution I won't make this year is to clean the basement...dungeon...whatever that hell-hole should be called. It's a depository for worthwhile and not-so-worthwhile junk and treasures. Some of it has to go, and some of it will--eventually. The basement has become last on my list of priorities, just below getting a full-body wax job.
Then there is the job --actual work, not wax. I resolved to get a new one last year and I did--not one, but three. One sent me to Las Vegas but I hated it. The second makes me more content, but the money isn't enough to survive. The third is sales--it makes me alive! Looks like I may be job-hunting again.
I'm excited about serving on church council, especially since I have only been a member since last January 9. Messiah has become my friends, my family and home to me. I am at peace when I am there. It is bright on cloudy days, the pews are full of people I trust, my Pastor is a human man with God's word flowing from him. I resolve to give my church my time, my talent and my finances until I know its mission is fulfilled.
My friends--those I have known more than fifty years, my high school friends, those I have made in the course of my careers, those who are neighbors and Y friends and Facebook friends--have all become so important to me! Each is a pearl in a very long strand. When I lose one, the strand is incomplete. Perhaps this is part of the sadness thing. I resolve to mend that strand, winning back those that matter and replacing those that don't mean so much with a new lifelong ally.
So there they are, my resolutions for 2012 in black and white, for all to see and to hold me accountable. The private list will remain just that, although I suspect somebody knows and will encourage me on that, too.
An early Happy New Year, my friends!
The book...ah, yes, the book. It isn't going as fast as I planned. The editing is nerve-wracking, the cost is currently prohibitive. It will happen. It will happen. Hopefully it will come to pass before my next class reunion in 2014. Guess I'd better get a move on.
I've lost a few pounds, and I'm in better shape than I was a year ago. It isn't the result I wanted, but at least it is something. I will continue this effort for my health as well as my vanity. Wait till you see me on New Year's Eve.
My resolve to do more resulted in lots of changes from my haircut and wardrobe changes to my activities. I hurt my back which kept me from whitewater rafting as planned, but I did go kayaking. I didn't get a bike yet (same reason--the tailbone thing), but I have been invited to try snow-shoeing. Yes, you read that right. I didn't get my East Coast trip, but I did get to Las Vegas. Not bad, huh?
Of course, there were some private resolutions, too, that I never did accomplish. Why not? They weren't impossible. It was because I didn't share them. There was no one to care, no one to make me accountable. Perhaps if I had had some feedback I might have done things more aggressively, or at least differently. No matter, they go on my private list once again.
Over these months, since I started the blog, I have become acutely aware of my shortcomings--my sometimes lack of faith, my lousy homemaking skills, my vocabulary among other things---all of which need tweaked to put it mildly. It's not that these have been ignored, just circumvented....It's time to pay more attention.
This year coming, I have vowed to be a candle that lights the way for others to find God. I will not hide my faith because it might make somebody uncomfortable, or because they might believe differently than I do...if I can lead one person to God's Word, I will be content.
I will work harder--much, much harder--to say nothing unkind. I will speak my mind; I will not be a pushover or yes-woman. I will learn to temper my words. I want to be remembered for kindness in the eulogy, not referred to as "the bitch".
In case you didn't notice, I've been a bit down of late. I will drive myself mercilessly to overcome these tsunamis of sadness and frustration. There is not much logic behind them, it just IS. It will take some doing to understand the wherewithal; it is something I have to do myself.
Hubby has his flaws like we all do, but he is a good man, honest and steady, and I doubt there is a better kisser in all the world. No matter how mad I get, one kiss turns me to mush even after all these years. I resolve to reserve my anger, pick my battles and be a better wife.
One resolution I won't make this year is to clean the basement...dungeon...whatever that hell-hole should be called. It's a depository for worthwhile and not-so-worthwhile junk and treasures. Some of it has to go, and some of it will--eventually. The basement has become last on my list of priorities, just below getting a full-body wax job.
Then there is the job --actual work, not wax. I resolved to get a new one last year and I did--not one, but three. One sent me to Las Vegas but I hated it. The second makes me more content, but the money isn't enough to survive. The third is sales--it makes me alive! Looks like I may be job-hunting again.
I'm excited about serving on church council, especially since I have only been a member since last January 9. Messiah has become my friends, my family and home to me. I am at peace when I am there. It is bright on cloudy days, the pews are full of people I trust, my Pastor is a human man with God's word flowing from him. I resolve to give my church my time, my talent and my finances until I know its mission is fulfilled.
My friends--those I have known more than fifty years, my high school friends, those I have made in the course of my careers, those who are neighbors and Y friends and Facebook friends--have all become so important to me! Each is a pearl in a very long strand. When I lose one, the strand is incomplete. Perhaps this is part of the sadness thing. I resolve to mend that strand, winning back those that matter and replacing those that don't mean so much with a new lifelong ally.
So there they are, my resolutions for 2012 in black and white, for all to see and to hold me accountable. The private list will remain just that, although I suspect somebody knows and will encourage me on that, too.
An early Happy New Year, my friends!
Dammit!
No, I'm not really cursing. It's the name of my client's cat.
Well, it wasn't, but it is now. At least that's what I call her. Carol doesn't seem to mind. Neither does the cat. She loves me. The cat. Maybe Carol, too.
I like cats...sort of. I wouldn't want a cat for a pet. I find them sneaky and unpredictable (witness the scratch and bite marks on my hand). Love bites, says my friend the cat lover. (Yeah, my patootie.) I like to hear them purr. I like their soft fur. I like to stroke a cat, and I like it when they sit on my lap. I like to watch them play. I wouldn't hurt a cat. But let's face it, people, I'm a dog person through and through.
You cannot own a cat. She is independent, expects a great deal from her human and will turn on you if you don't idolize her. She expresses her displeasure by glaring, ears flat, a quiet growl in her throat. She may or may not accept the treats you offer; she will come when called if she feels like it. (My son once had a cat named Jasmine who hated me even though I saved her life. If I cared for her, she would put up with my presence until she was fed, then she'd turn and hiss, do her business on the floor next to the freshly cleaned litter box and defy me to challenge her. She now rests in peace in my backyard. I bet she hates that.)
Such is Dammit.
She will greet me on arrival, meowing for attention. Carol says she hasn't meowed in forever, so she must like me. She doesn't purr, either, but that's just a matter of time--I'll work on it. She knows I feed her and will come when she hears the box. She recognizes that I change her litter box daily--and she will still pee on the floor next to it. I don't understand. And did you know that while a dog will generally remain tame, even if left to his own devices, a cat will turn feral? That's right, feral, as in wild. Ah, the strangeness of felixus domesticus.
"Dammit! Quit using the floor!" I will plead to deaf ears.
"Dammit! Quit scratching me! I know you don't mean to, but it hurts!"
"Dammit! I'm gonna get a water sprayer after you!"
Today Dammit crawled up on my lap, rubbing her face on my leg, then off to find a suitable perch to watch the rare birds outdoors. I took advantage, getting up to get a drink, sitting the quarter-full glass on a side table. Dammit, living up to her nickname, was back in a shot, batting at the glass with one tiny paw, spilling what was left before I could save it. Miserable cat. A dog would have exhibited some guilt, or wagged his tail at the fun of it all.
Did Dammit do any such thing? Of course not. She twitched her tail, very self-satisfied, and pawed at my hand--claws outstretched--as I mopped up.
A last word about felines, lest you think I'd trap and sell them to a furrier or a dubious restaurant: Cats are beautiful and mysterious animals. I'm sure there is a good reason why they are associated with witches and warlocks, were worshipped by ancients and are the kings of jungles. I'm sure there is a reason why Dammit defies me.
I don't think I want to know.
Well, it wasn't, but it is now. At least that's what I call her. Carol doesn't seem to mind. Neither does the cat. She loves me. The cat. Maybe Carol, too.
I like cats...sort of. I wouldn't want a cat for a pet. I find them sneaky and unpredictable (witness the scratch and bite marks on my hand). Love bites, says my friend the cat lover. (Yeah, my patootie.) I like to hear them purr. I like their soft fur. I like to stroke a cat, and I like it when they sit on my lap. I like to watch them play. I wouldn't hurt a cat. But let's face it, people, I'm a dog person through and through.
You cannot own a cat. She is independent, expects a great deal from her human and will turn on you if you don't idolize her. She expresses her displeasure by glaring, ears flat, a quiet growl in her throat. She may or may not accept the treats you offer; she will come when called if she feels like it. (My son once had a cat named Jasmine who hated me even though I saved her life. If I cared for her, she would put up with my presence until she was fed, then she'd turn and hiss, do her business on the floor next to the freshly cleaned litter box and defy me to challenge her. She now rests in peace in my backyard. I bet she hates that.)
Such is Dammit.
She will greet me on arrival, meowing for attention. Carol says she hasn't meowed in forever, so she must like me. She doesn't purr, either, but that's just a matter of time--I'll work on it. She knows I feed her and will come when she hears the box. She recognizes that I change her litter box daily--and she will still pee on the floor next to it. I don't understand. And did you know that while a dog will generally remain tame, even if left to his own devices, a cat will turn feral? That's right, feral, as in wild. Ah, the strangeness of felixus domesticus.
"Dammit! Quit using the floor!" I will plead to deaf ears.
"Dammit! Quit scratching me! I know you don't mean to, but it hurts!"
"Dammit! I'm gonna get a water sprayer after you!"
Today Dammit crawled up on my lap, rubbing her face on my leg, then off to find a suitable perch to watch the rare birds outdoors. I took advantage, getting up to get a drink, sitting the quarter-full glass on a side table. Dammit, living up to her nickname, was back in a shot, batting at the glass with one tiny paw, spilling what was left before I could save it. Miserable cat. A dog would have exhibited some guilt, or wagged his tail at the fun of it all.
Did Dammit do any such thing? Of course not. She twitched her tail, very self-satisfied, and pawed at my hand--claws outstretched--as I mopped up.
A last word about felines, lest you think I'd trap and sell them to a furrier or a dubious restaurant: Cats are beautiful and mysterious animals. I'm sure there is a good reason why they are associated with witches and warlocks, were worshipped by ancients and are the kings of jungles. I'm sure there is a reason why Dammit defies me.
I don't think I want to know.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Noel, Noel...
The angels sent word to shepards in their fields, to kings, to all who were within hearing distance--Christ the King is born! Bring Him gifts and worship Him as you would Me, for He is My Son, the Living Word. And so, through the ages, we have come to accept Him as our Savior.
The trick is not that we must just believe in Him, or that we must worship Him. It is in believing that this long dead man is the Son of God, that He IS God, that He still lives. Now THAT is an act of faith!
We worship sometimes with words, with lip service. Oh yes, we say we believe, and we do, when it is convenient. It is convenient on Saturday night, but not on Sunday at 8:30; maybe at 11:00, but certainly not on Wednesday. We have to go to work, or to meetings, or out to dinner with Harry's boss. We all have excuses not to worship, or at least excuses not to share the Word.
When the angels called the shepards from their fields, they came. The kings came. They found time.
I have to work. Yes, I do. I don't want to get fired. Neither do you.
So that keeps me from church services sometimes. It doesn't have to keep me from worship.
Pastor Jeff reads my mind sometimes, as I've told you. Last week it was a challenge to see God in our lives every day at least once. For a few days, I couldn't find Him. I asked Him to reveal Himself, He did. This week Pastor offered another challenge--to BE the God-sighting,to let our light of peace illuminate our own corner of the world, letting His light shine through us.
THERE'S SO MUCH MORE TO THIS CHALLENGE THAN IT SOUNDS.
First of all, we have to hear the angels calling us to follow the star.
We have to believe that Jesus is the Son of God.
We have to know that He still lives.
We have to be willing to be filled with His love and His light and His Word, filled to overflowing, so that we can, without fear or reservation, let His light shine through us.
And lastly, we have to be bold enough to share.
The challenge isn't so simple after all. Am I up to it? I don't know, but I will try, one day at a time, beginning this Christmas morning. I will begin with my husband who deserves much better a wife than I am. I will try every day this week and beyond to give a little light to someone. I will try, even when I wake up in a crappy mood, even when I am too tired to think...I will try to give a kind word, a good deed, a word of prayer or praise.
I accept your challenge once again, Pastor. Thank you for making me see what needs to be done, and keep me in your prayers that I may accomplish your challenge.
Merry Christmas to all, and in the words of tiny Tim,
" God bless us, every one!"
The trick is not that we must just believe in Him, or that we must worship Him. It is in believing that this long dead man is the Son of God, that He IS God, that He still lives. Now THAT is an act of faith!
We worship sometimes with words, with lip service. Oh yes, we say we believe, and we do, when it is convenient. It is convenient on Saturday night, but not on Sunday at 8:30; maybe at 11:00, but certainly not on Wednesday. We have to go to work, or to meetings, or out to dinner with Harry's boss. We all have excuses not to worship, or at least excuses not to share the Word.
When the angels called the shepards from their fields, they came. The kings came. They found time.
I have to work. Yes, I do. I don't want to get fired. Neither do you.
So that keeps me from church services sometimes. It doesn't have to keep me from worship.
Pastor Jeff reads my mind sometimes, as I've told you. Last week it was a challenge to see God in our lives every day at least once. For a few days, I couldn't find Him. I asked Him to reveal Himself, He did. This week Pastor offered another challenge--to BE the God-sighting,to let our light of peace illuminate our own corner of the world, letting His light shine through us.
THERE'S SO MUCH MORE TO THIS CHALLENGE THAN IT SOUNDS.
First of all, we have to hear the angels calling us to follow the star.
We have to believe that Jesus is the Son of God.
We have to know that He still lives.
We have to be willing to be filled with His love and His light and His Word, filled to overflowing, so that we can, without fear or reservation, let His light shine through us.
And lastly, we have to be bold enough to share.
The challenge isn't so simple after all. Am I up to it? I don't know, but I will try, one day at a time, beginning this Christmas morning. I will begin with my husband who deserves much better a wife than I am. I will try every day this week and beyond to give a little light to someone. I will try, even when I wake up in a crappy mood, even when I am too tired to think...I will try to give a kind word, a good deed, a word of prayer or praise.
I accept your challenge once again, Pastor. Thank you for making me see what needs to be done, and keep me in your prayers that I may accomplish your challenge.
Merry Christmas to all, and in the words of tiny Tim,
" God bless us, every one!"
Saturday, December 24, 2011
God-Sighting--The Challenge
OK, so here I am, almost a week into the challenge to find God in my life every day.
I was feeling stressed and unhappy, and for a couple of days I wondered where He was. I couldn't see Him. I asked Him to show Himself.
He did. Today.
I baked cookies with a client. Her daughter, whom I wasn't sure I liked at all, turned out to be funny--even silly. She has three BIG dogs, a loving bunch of tongues and tails. I had a wonderful time and am looking forward to meeting her again, something I never would have believed.
A friend at work heard me say that my dryer went kaput. She's giving me one. My sons and their fiances provided transportation when I needed it, dried my clothes, filled me with cookies. My friends made me laugh. Hubby shows his love for me in countless ways. I could go on and on. I am blessed.
When I asked Him to show Himself, I had no idea it would be so revealing, so obvious.
Yes, this is very brief today. I need not say another word. He said it all.
He lives.
I was feeling stressed and unhappy, and for a couple of days I wondered where He was. I couldn't see Him. I asked Him to show Himself.
He did. Today.
I baked cookies with a client. Her daughter, whom I wasn't sure I liked at all, turned out to be funny--even silly. She has three BIG dogs, a loving bunch of tongues and tails. I had a wonderful time and am looking forward to meeting her again, something I never would have believed.
A friend at work heard me say that my dryer went kaput. She's giving me one. My sons and their fiances provided transportation when I needed it, dried my clothes, filled me with cookies. My friends made me laugh. Hubby shows his love for me in countless ways. I could go on and on. I am blessed.
When I asked Him to show Himself, I had no idea it would be so revealing, so obvious.
Yes, this is very brief today. I need not say another word. He said it all.
He lives.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
God-Sighting
I have told you a little about Pastor Jeff. I believe he has been called to be a clergyman, and mostly I find his sermons give me something to think about. Today was such a day. He gave the congregation a challenge--look for a place where God is at work each day this week--a God-sighting.
I accept the challenge.
Since I began my journey to find out who I am (forward two steps, take one backwards) I have tried counting my blessings, finding something to be grateful for each day. Somewhere along the way I got busy, too busy to be thankful. Oh, occasionally God shouts at me, "WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT, UNGRATEFUL WENCH?" I reply, "Nothing, Master." but I continue to make my list. Gratefulness has taken a backseat to fear, worry and callous disregard for what I already have.
When I heard the sermon today, this came home to me--I swear Pastor Jeff reads my thoughts and writes his sermon around them. I knew in an instant why I am so sad of late...I haven't been taking the time to look for signs of God, just the petition-prayers instead of praise.
I need to get back on track. I've been lapsing into worldly worries instead of exercising my faith.
OK. Begin yet again.
When I got home from church I put dinner in the crockpot (cabbage rolls, for the nosy). threw in a load of dark clothes and settled down with more coffee and the newspaper. As we are wont to do, I scanned the obits to make sure I wasn't listed, set aside the comics for later, turned to Dear Abby.
There it was, so obvious. It was a poem, attributed to James Patrick Kinney. It brought unwelcome tears to my eyes, convicting me of my own shortcomings. Not prejudice so much as the things I have left undone for whatever reason, showing me a selfish place in my subconscious that I have denied existed. Would I hold on to my stick of wood when it could mean life or death? No. But do I judge some who I think may be unworthy of my help? God, please forgive me, for this I have done. What have I held back that would have served God and my fellow humans?
The Cold Within
Six humans trapped in happenstance in dark and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood. Or so the story told.
Their dying fire in need of logs.
The first woman held hers back, for of the faces around the fire
she noticed one was black.
The next man looking across the way saw not one of his church,
and couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes. He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
to warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
and how to keep what he had earned from the shiftless poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
for all he saw in his stick of wood was the chance to spite the white.
The last man in this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands, was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without.
They died from the cold within.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I have had a God-sighting today. He showed me, in His miraculous way, that the selfishness that I had thought I'd put aside was still lurking.
I promise to do better, Lord. Where will I see you tomorrow?
I accept the challenge.
Since I began my journey to find out who I am (forward two steps, take one backwards) I have tried counting my blessings, finding something to be grateful for each day. Somewhere along the way I got busy, too busy to be thankful. Oh, occasionally God shouts at me, "WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT, UNGRATEFUL WENCH?" I reply, "Nothing, Master." but I continue to make my list. Gratefulness has taken a backseat to fear, worry and callous disregard for what I already have.
When I heard the sermon today, this came home to me--I swear Pastor Jeff reads my thoughts and writes his sermon around them. I knew in an instant why I am so sad of late...I haven't been taking the time to look for signs of God, just the petition-prayers instead of praise.
I need to get back on track. I've been lapsing into worldly worries instead of exercising my faith.
OK. Begin yet again.
When I got home from church I put dinner in the crockpot (cabbage rolls, for the nosy). threw in a load of dark clothes and settled down with more coffee and the newspaper. As we are wont to do, I scanned the obits to make sure I wasn't listed, set aside the comics for later, turned to Dear Abby.
There it was, so obvious. It was a poem, attributed to James Patrick Kinney. It brought unwelcome tears to my eyes, convicting me of my own shortcomings. Not prejudice so much as the things I have left undone for whatever reason, showing me a selfish place in my subconscious that I have denied existed. Would I hold on to my stick of wood when it could mean life or death? No. But do I judge some who I think may be unworthy of my help? God, please forgive me, for this I have done. What have I held back that would have served God and my fellow humans?
The Cold Within
Six humans trapped in happenstance in dark and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood. Or so the story told.
Their dying fire in need of logs.
The first woman held hers back, for of the faces around the fire
she noticed one was black.
The next man looking across the way saw not one of his church,
and couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes. He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
to warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
and how to keep what he had earned from the shiftless poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
for all he saw in his stick of wood was the chance to spite the white.
The last man in this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands, was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without.
They died from the cold within.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I have had a God-sighting today. He showed me, in His miraculous way, that the selfishness that I had thought I'd put aside was still lurking.
I promise to do better, Lord. Where will I see you tomorrow?
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Twelve Days of Christmas, My Way
I love the song "Twelve Days of Christmas", although I never did see the point.
Why would one want a half-dozen geese pooping around the house? Add a few turtle doves, some French hens and a couple of calling birds (all made nervous by those infernal drummers) and those maids better stop a-milking and start a-scrubbing. And what are they milking? There are no cows on the list. So I have to buy a bunch of bovines to give these maids (which I didn't want to begin with) something to do? Then there's the swans a-swimming...maybe in my backyard after a spring rain. What's with all the birds, anyway? We live in the CITY, for Pete's sake. At least the partridges are in a pear tree and I do love pears.
What earthly good are lords a-leaping and ladies dancing (what else would they be doing? Dancers, I mean.) ? Unless they are Chippendales, give me a break. As for pipers piping, well, I prefer Kenny G. And where would they all sleep? And how do I feed these crowds? If you think I'm going to do all that laundry, you're nuts. I hope it's a quick visit and they're not expecting room and board for the next year. Get a real job, people.
Five gold rings....now THAT I understand. But instead of FIVE gold rings, one will do, and make one of them into a simple gold chain, another some earrings and a bracelet will do nicely.
Not being an especially greedy person at Christmas time, I have opted to write my own wishes for the Twelve Days of Christmas. Listen up, Hubby! If anybody else wants in on the Twelve Days, well, I have another list and I'll tell you where to send it if you ask....
Twelve Days Of Christmas, My Way
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me.....
Twelve dishes all washed...
Eleven snows a-shoveled...
Ten dinners cooking....
Nine windows gleaming....
Eight pairs of earrings (OK, maybe a LITTLE greedy)...
Seven rooms all vacuumed...
Six foot massages....
Five tanks of gas......
Four car washes....
Three cups of java...
Two breakfast burritos....
and a kiss by the Christmas tree!
Why would one want a half-dozen geese pooping around the house? Add a few turtle doves, some French hens and a couple of calling birds (all made nervous by those infernal drummers) and those maids better stop a-milking and start a-scrubbing. And what are they milking? There are no cows on the list. So I have to buy a bunch of bovines to give these maids (which I didn't want to begin with) something to do? Then there's the swans a-swimming...maybe in my backyard after a spring rain. What's with all the birds, anyway? We live in the CITY, for Pete's sake. At least the partridges are in a pear tree and I do love pears.
What earthly good are lords a-leaping and ladies dancing (what else would they be doing? Dancers, I mean.) ? Unless they are Chippendales, give me a break. As for pipers piping, well, I prefer Kenny G. And where would they all sleep? And how do I feed these crowds? If you think I'm going to do all that laundry, you're nuts. I hope it's a quick visit and they're not expecting room and board for the next year. Get a real job, people.
Five gold rings....now THAT I understand. But instead of FIVE gold rings, one will do, and make one of them into a simple gold chain, another some earrings and a bracelet will do nicely.
Not being an especially greedy person at Christmas time, I have opted to write my own wishes for the Twelve Days of Christmas. Listen up, Hubby! If anybody else wants in on the Twelve Days, well, I have another list and I'll tell you where to send it if you ask....
Twelve Days Of Christmas, My Way
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me.....
Twelve dishes all washed...
Eleven snows a-shoveled...
Ten dinners cooking....
Nine windows gleaming....
Eight pairs of earrings (OK, maybe a LITTLE greedy)...
Seven rooms all vacuumed...
Six foot massages....
Five tanks of gas......
Four car washes....
Three cups of java...
Two breakfast burritos....
and a kiss by the Christmas tree!
Monday, December 12, 2011
What a Year!
My Dearest Family and Friends,
2011 hasn't been half bad. It is leaps and bounds above 2010 in more ways than I can count. Except for the illness of my much-loved mother-in-law it's been pretty good.
Son #1 started a new job. This is the kid who, at 15 or so, I would gladly have rented out for a few years (just joshin'). He's turned into a remarkable man. All the qualities we saw in him as a child--his humor, his charm--have blossomed. I'm so proud!
Son #2 keeps growing. They love him at work and at home. His expanded family is beginning to gel. He has become a fine man. He, like his brother, is driven to succeed. He has ideas and the intelligence and creativity to make them happen. I'm so proud!
The women they have chosen to be life mates are wonderful additions to our little family. All the best qualities reside in them--compassion, loving hands, intelligence and nurturing. How joyful!
I'm blessed with six grandchildren, three boys and three girls, some natural and some acquired. I sometimes forget which are which. I love them all. I love the way they laugh, the way they hug, the way they play, the way they tell stories, the way a smile makes their noses crinkle. I see them making great accomplishments.
Hubby and I have been together more than 40 years. We have ups and downs, but we always end up in the same place. He's more handsome now than he was when we married. I guess you could call us lucky. Through all the good stuff and all the bad stuff, I know I am loved.
This year I've been through a myriad of changes, far too many to report here. I started my blog. I went kayaking for the first time. I took Pilates and tried Y-boxing and Zumba---way too much energy for this old lady! I've made lots of new friends online and off. I've found cousins again who have enriched my family and old friends--I'm talking people I knew as a 4 year old--who let me remember who I was in my carefree childhood. I am blessed! In July my company sent me to Las Vegas--I had never been there--and a got to go for an extra few days with a friend who knew her way around. We had a wonderful time--once in a lifetime for me. I'm glad I had the chance to experience it. I've discovered that my brain is only 16! So much of life yet to live!
In October I turned my back on my longtime career in sales and became a caregiver. Is it working out? I'm not sure.
Best of all, a year ago, more or less, I found a new church. In January I officially became a member; this coming January, I will be installed on the church council. I've made so many friends there. The fellowship I've found is incredible. The Pastor encourages my faith to grow with every sermon he gives, every prayer he says. I am home.
I had a sense of foreboding a few months ago. That feeling has been replaced with anticipation. I can feel things sliding into place. I wonder what adventure awaits? The book is slowly shaping up. How I will publish it, I don't know, but it will happen.
Ideas flow through my head like the proverbial river. Sometimes they are dark thoughts and most times they are pleasant ones. As 2011 ends, I am learning how to use them. I hope to use my words to change just one life for the better.
To all who read this, to all who don't--I wish you the happiest Christmas you have ever had and the most joyful new year that life can bring. May we all be generous in giving our love and forgiveness, especially to those we think least deserve it. Reach out to an old friend or touch the hand of a new one. If you know God, rejoice in Him. If you don't, give Him a chance--He's not such a bad guy, you know.
As 2011 ends, and as I write this (whether it is from my dark side or the light), I know one thing for sure. I have friends and family who care, and I love you for that.
A very Merry Christmas to all, and God bless us, every one.
2011 hasn't been half bad. It is leaps and bounds above 2010 in more ways than I can count. Except for the illness of my much-loved mother-in-law it's been pretty good.
Son #1 started a new job. This is the kid who, at 15 or so, I would gladly have rented out for a few years (just joshin'). He's turned into a remarkable man. All the qualities we saw in him as a child--his humor, his charm--have blossomed. I'm so proud!
Son #2 keeps growing. They love him at work and at home. His expanded family is beginning to gel. He has become a fine man. He, like his brother, is driven to succeed. He has ideas and the intelligence and creativity to make them happen. I'm so proud!
The women they have chosen to be life mates are wonderful additions to our little family. All the best qualities reside in them--compassion, loving hands, intelligence and nurturing. How joyful!
I'm blessed with six grandchildren, three boys and three girls, some natural and some acquired. I sometimes forget which are which. I love them all. I love the way they laugh, the way they hug, the way they play, the way they tell stories, the way a smile makes their noses crinkle. I see them making great accomplishments.
Hubby and I have been together more than 40 years. We have ups and downs, but we always end up in the same place. He's more handsome now than he was when we married. I guess you could call us lucky. Through all the good stuff and all the bad stuff, I know I am loved.
This year I've been through a myriad of changes, far too many to report here. I started my blog. I went kayaking for the first time. I took Pilates and tried Y-boxing and Zumba---way too much energy for this old lady! I've made lots of new friends online and off. I've found cousins again who have enriched my family and old friends--I'm talking people I knew as a 4 year old--who let me remember who I was in my carefree childhood. I am blessed! In July my company sent me to Las Vegas--I had never been there--and a got to go for an extra few days with a friend who knew her way around. We had a wonderful time--once in a lifetime for me. I'm glad I had the chance to experience it. I've discovered that my brain is only 16! So much of life yet to live!
In October I turned my back on my longtime career in sales and became a caregiver. Is it working out? I'm not sure.
Best of all, a year ago, more or less, I found a new church. In January I officially became a member; this coming January, I will be installed on the church council. I've made so many friends there. The fellowship I've found is incredible. The Pastor encourages my faith to grow with every sermon he gives, every prayer he says. I am home.
I had a sense of foreboding a few months ago. That feeling has been replaced with anticipation. I can feel things sliding into place. I wonder what adventure awaits? The book is slowly shaping up. How I will publish it, I don't know, but it will happen.
Ideas flow through my head like the proverbial river. Sometimes they are dark thoughts and most times they are pleasant ones. As 2011 ends, I am learning how to use them. I hope to use my words to change just one life for the better.
To all who read this, to all who don't--I wish you the happiest Christmas you have ever had and the most joyful new year that life can bring. May we all be generous in giving our love and forgiveness, especially to those we think least deserve it. Reach out to an old friend or touch the hand of a new one. If you know God, rejoice in Him. If you don't, give Him a chance--He's not such a bad guy, you know.
As 2011 ends, and as I write this (whether it is from my dark side or the light), I know one thing for sure. I have friends and family who care, and I love you for that.
A very Merry Christmas to all, and God bless us, every one.
Dark Places
I enjoy my Facebook friends, even those who have different politics and different opinions of life. I've reached a point where I no longer get mad because we disagree. I don't try to retaliate. Getting even is no longer on my agenda. Instead I have learned to listen and learn, to beg them to teach me what they know--and then I keep what I want and discard the rest.
So it is with the Dark Place....
It is a place where the mind goes so it can look at itself from within and without. It is almost akin to depression as opposed to sadness. I hope I have learned what the friend is only beginning to teach me. The Dark Place, as I understand, is part of the conscious state. I need to be wide awake to be able to use it wisely.
This Christmas I am not happy. I am in that Dark Place. At this moment, I have ups--like the Christmas concert--and downs, like Mom-in-law's illness and adjusting to a new job. The trick, so I've been trying to understand, is to use the Dark Place creatively, to look within and find something good in there. I have to look at the depression, unhappiness, whatever as a thing and not necessarily a state of mind.
I'm not sure I've got it right. It doesn't matter. It fits how I think of the mind with its many rooms and many file cabinets and many phases. I want to explore them all and tap whatever is there. It isn't the lack of ideas that has been keeping me from writing, it is the energy it requires. It isn't the lack of desire that keeps me from cleaning the basement--I would love to see the things I have forgotten are there--it is the overwhelming challenge of it all. I'm hoping that by examining the dresser drawers in the Dark Place that I will find reasons for the inertia.
Meanwhile, I have been writing but not publishing.
Tonight I will do some publishing but not writing.
Somewhere in this Dark Place is a switch.
It's time to turn it on and shed some light on the subject.
So it is with the Dark Place....
It is a place where the mind goes so it can look at itself from within and without. It is almost akin to depression as opposed to sadness. I hope I have learned what the friend is only beginning to teach me. The Dark Place, as I understand, is part of the conscious state. I need to be wide awake to be able to use it wisely.
This Christmas I am not happy. I am in that Dark Place. At this moment, I have ups--like the Christmas concert--and downs, like Mom-in-law's illness and adjusting to a new job. The trick, so I've been trying to understand, is to use the Dark Place creatively, to look within and find something good in there. I have to look at the depression, unhappiness, whatever as a thing and not necessarily a state of mind.
I'm not sure I've got it right. It doesn't matter. It fits how I think of the mind with its many rooms and many file cabinets and many phases. I want to explore them all and tap whatever is there. It isn't the lack of ideas that has been keeping me from writing, it is the energy it requires. It isn't the lack of desire that keeps me from cleaning the basement--I would love to see the things I have forgotten are there--it is the overwhelming challenge of it all. I'm hoping that by examining the dresser drawers in the Dark Place that I will find reasons for the inertia.
Meanwhile, I have been writing but not publishing.
Tonight I will do some publishing but not writing.
Somewhere in this Dark Place is a switch.
It's time to turn it on and shed some light on the subject.
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