Today is another beautiful Autumn day. I really enjoy these days of bright sunshine and cool, crisp temperatures, days in which a sweater is all that’s needed and boots are comfortable.
I’ve learned after 62 Autumn seasons, to enjoy these days because they are fleeting. Even the plants rejoice in the days of Fall. The leaves explode in colors of red, yellow, and orange.
Only a few weeks ago, the annuals I planted in pots last Spring were weary from the August and September heat and seemed to cry out for relief. Miraculously, in recent days they have revived and are abundant with blooms again. They thrive during the cool nights and relish the sunshine during the day.
The plants either don’t care or seem one bit concerned that their days are numbered. If the threat of change is lingering in the damp soil surrounding their roots, they have simply ignored their fate and continue to put on a proud show of color and scent. Their death by a brutal freeze is imminent yet the green leaves and delicate flowers are not sad. Every day is a gift and they are living up to their potential and continue to bring me joy.
Yes, Autumn is my favorite time of year. And now, especially at my age, I can somehow relate to the Autumn foliage. The greenery, plants, trees, and flowers will soon say good-bye to the prime of their lives. They accept the fact that the short time yet to live is far less than the time they have lived on this earth.
Why not have the attitude of my tenacious potted plants and my hardy rose bushes? Be determined to live each day in glorious and rich color, thriving, and blooming. Have a grateful and loving heart and bring happiness into someone’s life.
Romans 12:1-2 (The Message Bible):
So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life -- your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life -- and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Monday, September 21, 2015
62. 6+2=8. EIGHT THINGS ABOUT BEING 62
62. 6+2. 6+2=8 So here are 8 things that are good about being 62!
1. Senior discounts! I now qualify for the Lifetime membership pass for the National Parks, the cafeteria, and movie ticket discounts, to name just a few!
2. Social Security eligibility. Even though I won’t draw on it for a while, at least I know I can.
3. State Retirement. At 62, I am now eligible to draw my state retirement. Same as social security, it will be a while before I draw on it but it’s nice to know it is there.
4. Sleep. If I want to go to bed, say 8:30 or 9:00 p.m., I don’t have to apologize to anyone. I can just say, "I’m 62 and I need my rest!"
5. Baby Boomer. At 62, I am proud to call myself a Baby Boomer. I’ve seen the early days of space exploration and Captain Kangaroo; I grew up in an era of "Beverly Hillbillies" and "The Brady Bunch"; I witnessed women’s lib, free love, and the best music ever in the 1970's. "Thriller" and big hair, preppy clothes, and attitudes. "Back to the Future" and "Titanic" – those years from 1953-1993 were the years my kids and I grew up. What a freakin’ privilege!
6. Driving. At 62, if I hit a curb, make too wide a turn, drive too slow, or change lanes without a signal, I get yelled at or flipped off for being an old lady driver. But that’s okay, I am 62.
7. Legitimate complaining. At 62, I can complain about how young people act unappreciative and entitled. Back when I was young, I had to ride the bus to school, I had a curfew, I had to work for a car . . . blah, blah, blah. I am 62 and those were the good old days!
8. More stuff. At 62, I am allowed to enjoy a glass (or two) of wine, sit in the rocker on the front porch and do nothing, take a nap, fall asleep in front of the TV at 7:30, say a curse word whenever I damn well feel like it, let go of regrets and guilt, boldly profess my faith to anyone who will listen, make choices that bring me happiness as long as they don’t hurt someone else, and carry a roll of flab around my middle (which is utterly disgusting) but who cares? I am 62!
These are my 8 good things about having 62 wonderful, glorious, exciting years on this earth and I am thanking God for it all.
1. Senior discounts! I now qualify for the Lifetime membership pass for the National Parks, the cafeteria, and movie ticket discounts, to name just a few!
2. Social Security eligibility. Even though I won’t draw on it for a while, at least I know I can.
3. State Retirement. At 62, I am now eligible to draw my state retirement. Same as social security, it will be a while before I draw on it but it’s nice to know it is there.
4. Sleep. If I want to go to bed, say 8:30 or 9:00 p.m., I don’t have to apologize to anyone. I can just say, "I’m 62 and I need my rest!"
5. Baby Boomer. At 62, I am proud to call myself a Baby Boomer. I’ve seen the early days of space exploration and Captain Kangaroo; I grew up in an era of "Beverly Hillbillies" and "The Brady Bunch"; I witnessed women’s lib, free love, and the best music ever in the 1970's. "Thriller" and big hair, preppy clothes, and attitudes. "Back to the Future" and "Titanic" – those years from 1953-1993 were the years my kids and I grew up. What a freakin’ privilege!
6. Driving. At 62, if I hit a curb, make too wide a turn, drive too slow, or change lanes without a signal, I get yelled at or flipped off for being an old lady driver. But that’s okay, I am 62.
7. Legitimate complaining. At 62, I can complain about how young people act unappreciative and entitled. Back when I was young, I had to ride the bus to school, I had a curfew, I had to work for a car . . . blah, blah, blah. I am 62 and those were the good old days!
8. More stuff. At 62, I am allowed to enjoy a glass (or two) of wine, sit in the rocker on the front porch and do nothing, take a nap, fall asleep in front of the TV at 7:30, say a curse word whenever I damn well feel like it, let go of regrets and guilt, boldly profess my faith to anyone who will listen, make choices that bring me happiness as long as they don’t hurt someone else, and carry a roll of flab around my middle (which is utterly disgusting) but who cares? I am 62!
These are my 8 good things about having 62 wonderful, glorious, exciting years on this earth and I am thanking God for it all.
Friday, September 18, 2015
A License to Drive
It's mid-September and temperatures continue to reach into the 90's. I am desperate for a change in seasons. It seems that Fall is taking its sweet time to arrive and I am growing impatient.
My 62nd birthday is just days away. As I was thinking about this particular birthday and the long, hot days of Indian Summer, and my lack of patience, a vivid memory leaped to mind. It was a Friday, September 1969. School had let out for the day and mother picked me up at the high school to take me to get my drivers license. The day was a scorcher, however, it was a game day so I had worn my pep club outfit to school. The outfit consisted of a heavy wool sweater, long sleeve shirt, and a wool skirt. I was hot and uncomfortable. And, as if that wasn't enough, our car had no air conditioning and no power steering.
I was stressed. Hot, miserable, and terrified of the man giving the test, I began to sweat profusely and feel nauseated. But, I was determined to take the test and nothing was going to stop me. Everything was going okay until my attempts to parallel park. It was a disaster and when we arrived back at the tag office, Mr. Test Giver informed me that I had failed to pass the test. I was devastated.
Mother had to drive us home which was not part of my original plan. I sat in the passenger seat and sulked all the way home. I was embarrassed to go home and inform daddy and all my family that I had failed the test. Worse than that, I would have to tell my friends that I had flunked.
But, I was a stubborn kid and I was not going to let this one failure keep me from the thing I wanted more than anything in the world -- and that was a drivers license.
So, several days later and with a little more practice in parallel parking, I believed I was ready to face Mr. Test Giver a second time. On the day of the test, I dressed more appropriate for stress and weather and armed with dogged determination and a strong will to reach my goal, I aced the test.
That was probably one of the first big failures in my life. At the time, little did I know there would be many more failures in my future. I never dreamed that there could even be anything worse than failing a driving test.
I have failed many other tests in my life and some of them are embarrassing and some of them have made me a better person. Some of the tests taught me valuable lessons and some I have actually taken over and over and over again. I guess it all goes to remind me that just because I have failed a few tests along life's way, I am not a failure. In my mind and in my heart, I am the same determined and strong-willed girl that I was back then. With a little luck and a whole lot of faith, I believe I am ready for the next test that life brings my way.
My 62nd birthday is just days away. As I was thinking about this particular birthday and the long, hot days of Indian Summer, and my lack of patience, a vivid memory leaped to mind. It was a Friday, September 1969. School had let out for the day and mother picked me up at the high school to take me to get my drivers license. The day was a scorcher, however, it was a game day so I had worn my pep club outfit to school. The outfit consisted of a heavy wool sweater, long sleeve shirt, and a wool skirt. I was hot and uncomfortable. And, as if that wasn't enough, our car had no air conditioning and no power steering.
I was stressed. Hot, miserable, and terrified of the man giving the test, I began to sweat profusely and feel nauseated. But, I was determined to take the test and nothing was going to stop me. Everything was going okay until my attempts to parallel park. It was a disaster and when we arrived back at the tag office, Mr. Test Giver informed me that I had failed to pass the test. I was devastated.
Mother had to drive us home which was not part of my original plan. I sat in the passenger seat and sulked all the way home. I was embarrassed to go home and inform daddy and all my family that I had failed the test. Worse than that, I would have to tell my friends that I had flunked.
But, I was a stubborn kid and I was not going to let this one failure keep me from the thing I wanted more than anything in the world -- and that was a drivers license.
So, several days later and with a little more practice in parallel parking, I believed I was ready to face Mr. Test Giver a second time. On the day of the test, I dressed more appropriate for stress and weather and armed with dogged determination and a strong will to reach my goal, I aced the test.
That was probably one of the first big failures in my life. At the time, little did I know there would be many more failures in my future. I never dreamed that there could even be anything worse than failing a driving test.
I have failed many other tests in my life and some of them are embarrassing and some of them have made me a better person. Some of the tests taught me valuable lessons and some I have actually taken over and over and over again. I guess it all goes to remind me that just because I have failed a few tests along life's way, I am not a failure. In my mind and in my heart, I am the same determined and strong-willed girl that I was back then. With a little luck and a whole lot of faith, I believe I am ready for the next test that life brings my way.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
FALL BRINGS CHANGE & MEMORIES
Fall brings changes. Changes in temperatures and color. Changes in time and attitudes. Changes in the things we do for pleasure. Changes in the foods we eat and in the clothes we wear. Change is good and welcome.
Along with change, Fall also brings memories.
A few years ago, as I rode my bicycle through the neighborhood late one autumn afternoon, I had a peculiar experience. The leaves were falling and blowing about and there was a chill in the air. No one was on the street but me on my bike. A lonely, nostalgic feeling embraced me and I suddenly remembered a scene from "To Kill a Mockingbird" where Scout is dressed in her Halloween costume and walking down a dark and spooky street.
As I was pedaling my bike, I felt transported into that scene and could actually sense the mystery and suspense that she experienced. It was an extraordinary memory in which I perceived a very real moment and a familiar literary moment were actually one and the same. I will always remember that odd and unusual experience where the past and the present collided into one magical explosion of fantasy and reality.
Along with change, Fall also brings memories.
A few years ago, as I rode my bicycle through the neighborhood late one autumn afternoon, I had a peculiar experience. The leaves were falling and blowing about and there was a chill in the air. No one was on the street but me on my bike. A lonely, nostalgic feeling embraced me and I suddenly remembered a scene from "To Kill a Mockingbird" where Scout is dressed in her Halloween costume and walking down a dark and spooky street.
As I was pedaling my bike, I felt transported into that scene and could actually sense the mystery and suspense that she experienced. It was an extraordinary memory in which I perceived a very real moment and a familiar literary moment were actually one and the same. I will always remember that odd and unusual experience where the past and the present collided into one magical explosion of fantasy and reality.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
PERFECTION
Today, I have the good fortune of camping near Glacier National Park in Montana. I am surrounded by dense forest, an incredibly blue sky, and big puffy clouds. After a few moments of meditating in this amazing environment, I became overwhelmed with thanksgiving to God for this glorious experience. I offer my thanks to be alive and to enjoy the magnificence of this park.
In the midst of this euphoric happening, I turn my attention to this morning's devotional addressed "perfection". These words jump out at me and I quote, "None of us is perfect. Only God is, and we are all only human. This need for perfection is the very reason many women struggle with a low concept of themselves."
Immediately, I struggle to compare the perfection of God's creation to my futile quest for perfection. It's a sad comparison but if the subject of the day is perfection, then I intend to explore the thought more thoroughly.
The prime example of perfection is right here in the mountains, trees, streams, blue sky, and in all the intricacies of this special place, God's creation. All the separate parts of the environment -- animals, rocks, flowers, insects, fire, water -- have their own special roles to play. One entity can't survive without the other. This is God's perfect design for our planet.
God also designed humans to be perfect but because of free will, that perfection was obliterated by man's choice. However, God made a way, through Jesus Christ, for man and woman to be made perfect and blameless in His sight.
In my imperfection, I wrestle with low self-esteem and worry. This is not God's plan for my life. He has a perfect plan for mankind and that includes me. Accepting that I am worthy of God's love is the key to experiencing a joy-filled and complete life. That confidence will be made transparent and obvious to those around me.
So, today I leave perfection to the beauty that surrounds me and waste not one moment on the personal imperfections that haunt me. There is no place in my heart for worry and undervaluing my self-worth. Rejoice and assuredly claim God's marvelous Grace and peace.
"My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is perfect in weakness." 2 Cor. 12:9
In the midst of this euphoric happening, I turn my attention to this morning's devotional addressed "perfection". These words jump out at me and I quote, "None of us is perfect. Only God is, and we are all only human. This need for perfection is the very reason many women struggle with a low concept of themselves."
Immediately, I struggle to compare the perfection of God's creation to my futile quest for perfection. It's a sad comparison but if the subject of the day is perfection, then I intend to explore the thought more thoroughly.
The prime example of perfection is right here in the mountains, trees, streams, blue sky, and in all the intricacies of this special place, God's creation. All the separate parts of the environment -- animals, rocks, flowers, insects, fire, water -- have their own special roles to play. One entity can't survive without the other. This is God's perfect design for our planet.
God also designed humans to be perfect but because of free will, that perfection was obliterated by man's choice. However, God made a way, through Jesus Christ, for man and woman to be made perfect and blameless in His sight.
In my imperfection, I wrestle with low self-esteem and worry. This is not God's plan for my life. He has a perfect plan for mankind and that includes me. Accepting that I am worthy of God's love is the key to experiencing a joy-filled and complete life. That confidence will be made transparent and obvious to those around me.
So, today I leave perfection to the beauty that surrounds me and waste not one moment on the personal imperfections that haunt me. There is no place in my heart for worry and undervaluing my self-worth. Rejoice and assuredly claim God's marvelous Grace and peace.
"My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is perfect in weakness." 2 Cor. 12:9
Friday, July 24, 2015
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Stop! Be quiet! Listen!
Writing is one of my creative outlets. Typically, I write a page or two in my daily journal, post a note on Facebook, or write a couple of sentences in a personal note or card to a loved one. Nothing brilliant or completely new evolves from my writings, but I do promise they are genuine, real, and honest.
Knowing that I enjoy writing and especially journaling, a friend recommended a journaling workshop to me and my daughter. It was our first opportunity to attend together and we both agreed that the time spent was spiritual, inspirational, and highly motivational.
The leader of the workshop, introduced the group to some exercises to quiet the mind and body and to prepare us for meditation, collecting and sorting our thoughts and feelings, and then self-expressing through the written word.
One of the most interesting moments of the workshop was near the beginning. We were asked to sit quietly – no talking and certainly no cell phones allowed. After a few moments of silence, I became aware of my own breathing, the clock ticking, the hum of the air conditioner, and the sound of water bubbling in a small fountain. I was completely mindful of my surroundings.
Over the past few days, I have reflected on this easy exercise and I ask myself, “What have I missed because I did not take time to stop, be quiet, and listen?”.
We live in a world that demands we move quickly and make a lot of noise in doing so. There is no time to slow down to experience and contemplate the moment. If we think about taking our ‘foot off the gas’ and easing up a little, we might get run over!
After the journaling workshop, my husband James and I made a trip to Barnes & Noble. The store was bustling and a long line of people were waiting to checkout. A young couple with small children were in line behind us. The little daughter, who was about 7 years old, was impatient and in an exasperated tone said, “I am in a hurry!” Her daddy quickly told her, “You are too young to be in a hurry!” I thought, well, she’s heard that from someone and she’s already learned that if things aren’t moving fast enough, make noise and complain.
Immediately after leaving the book store, we made a stop at Walmart (please, don’t judge me). As we were heading toward the check out lane, another shopper was forced to slow down otherwise he would have collided with our cart. He told us we were moving too slow. We were astonished by his rudeness and perplexed because we thought we were walking pretty fast!
And to think that only a few hours earlier, I was getting in touch with my inner quietness and my surroundings. I was appalled and repulsed by the lack of serenity and harmony at Walmart! What is wrong with these people? Don’t they know how exciting it is to hear a clock ticking or water bubbling?
This was my aha moment! I had to admit that I, too, am caught up in the insanity of hurriedness and constant noise – music on my car radio, music on my computer at work, opting for Wheel of Fortune and the evening news rather than having dinner with no distractions. I am a card-carrying member of the rat race and I hereby tender my resignation!
In a few days, James and I are going on an extended trip to the mountains. We will be camping in the midst of the most beautiful natural resources in the world. I want to enjoy the sounds of a rushing waterfall, a buzzing bee, and birds singing. I believe, the way to live in that moment of serenity and peace is to stop, be quiet, and listen. And in that place, I am sure that I will discover all the inspiration and motivation I need for filling the pages of my journal.
Knowing that I enjoy writing and especially journaling, a friend recommended a journaling workshop to me and my daughter. It was our first opportunity to attend together and we both agreed that the time spent was spiritual, inspirational, and highly motivational.
The leader of the workshop, introduced the group to some exercises to quiet the mind and body and to prepare us for meditation, collecting and sorting our thoughts and feelings, and then self-expressing through the written word.
One of the most interesting moments of the workshop was near the beginning. We were asked to sit quietly – no talking and certainly no cell phones allowed. After a few moments of silence, I became aware of my own breathing, the clock ticking, the hum of the air conditioner, and the sound of water bubbling in a small fountain. I was completely mindful of my surroundings.
Over the past few days, I have reflected on this easy exercise and I ask myself, “What have I missed because I did not take time to stop, be quiet, and listen?”.
We live in a world that demands we move quickly and make a lot of noise in doing so. There is no time to slow down to experience and contemplate the moment. If we think about taking our ‘foot off the gas’ and easing up a little, we might get run over!
After the journaling workshop, my husband James and I made a trip to Barnes & Noble. The store was bustling and a long line of people were waiting to checkout. A young couple with small children were in line behind us. The little daughter, who was about 7 years old, was impatient and in an exasperated tone said, “I am in a hurry!” Her daddy quickly told her, “You are too young to be in a hurry!” I thought, well, she’s heard that from someone and she’s already learned that if things aren’t moving fast enough, make noise and complain.
Immediately after leaving the book store, we made a stop at Walmart (please, don’t judge me). As we were heading toward the check out lane, another shopper was forced to slow down otherwise he would have collided with our cart. He told us we were moving too slow. We were astonished by his rudeness and perplexed because we thought we were walking pretty fast!
And to think that only a few hours earlier, I was getting in touch with my inner quietness and my surroundings. I was appalled and repulsed by the lack of serenity and harmony at Walmart! What is wrong with these people? Don’t they know how exciting it is to hear a clock ticking or water bubbling?
This was my aha moment! I had to admit that I, too, am caught up in the insanity of hurriedness and constant noise – music on my car radio, music on my computer at work, opting for Wheel of Fortune and the evening news rather than having dinner with no distractions. I am a card-carrying member of the rat race and I hereby tender my resignation!
In a few days, James and I are going on an extended trip to the mountains. We will be camping in the midst of the most beautiful natural resources in the world. I want to enjoy the sounds of a rushing waterfall, a buzzing bee, and birds singing. I believe, the way to live in that moment of serenity and peace is to stop, be quiet, and listen. And in that place, I am sure that I will discover all the inspiration and motivation I need for filling the pages of my journal.
Monday, July 20, 2015
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Grandmother's Rocker
Just a few days ago, my good friend passed from this life. The memorial service was a celebration of her life, the love she shared with her family and friends, and her many accomplishments, both personal and professional. Her beautiful life inspires me to be a better person.
Thinking of her causes me to consider my own mortality and ask myself some hard questions. What have I done to make this world a better place? Who, if anyone, have I touched in a positive and loving way? And, what people will say about me after my death and my soul has gone to Heaven?
Introspection is not uncommon after losing someone we love. Of course, we all want our lives to count for something. Who, in their right mind, would want to live an anonymous life and then no one notice or care when they die?
All this can be wrapped up and tied with a pretty bow as one question – What will be my legacy? In contemplating the value of a legacy, my mind wanders to my maternal grandmother, Maggie Skinner. She was the most loving, kindest, most generous, non-judgmental, and happy person that I’ve ever known. If I were to list all the qualities that made her a beautiful woman, it would be a very long list.
Her legacy to her family was first and foremost, her faith. She read her old and tattered Bible everyday. She regularly attended the Methodist Church where she had many friends and she literally lived out the Golden Rule.
She left us lots of wonderful memories, many old photographs, a few treasured letters, and an old rocking chair that, from my earliest memory, creaks and squeaks when rocked. I vaguely remembered the origin of the rocker, so I asked my mother to remind me again of its history.
In 1955, Mother and Daddy gave the rocker to her parents, Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Roy Skinner, as a Christmas gift. Mother says that they were both so proud of their new rocking chair and would fuss over who got to sit in it. It has been reupholstered at least three times over the years and has been moved around and all over Pottawatomie and Oklahoma counties.
Over the past 60 years, I can name the babies that were gently rocked to sleep in that rocker – beginning with me. After me was my sister Jayme, my brother Patrick, both of my daughters, Cathryn and Stacy, my grandson Mason, my niece Maggie, and many other babies who visited my grandmother’s home and my home.
Grandma Maggie’s old rocking chair is a treasured legacy and now sits in my home. It doesn’t really fit in anywhere. It isn’t worth a lot of money. It isn’t fashionable, the wood is scratched, it’s noisy, and the fabric is outdated. But the memories that it holds are irreplaceable.
A legacy is a gift of property – as is the old rocking chair. A legacy is also anything that is handed down from the past, from an ancestor or predecessor. My grandmother gave us the gifts of faith, dedication to family, and a strong, unconditional love for others.
So, back to one of my original questions, “What do I want my legacy to be?”. I believe I have answered my own question. First, my legacy is my faith which is the most important thing in my life. Then, I pass along my deep love for family and friends. Last, but not least, I bequeath Grandma Maggie’s creaky, old rocking chair to the future babies in our family. May they be gently rocked to sleep in the loving arms of their mothers and daddies.
Thinking of her causes me to consider my own mortality and ask myself some hard questions. What have I done to make this world a better place? Who, if anyone, have I touched in a positive and loving way? And, what people will say about me after my death and my soul has gone to Heaven?
Introspection is not uncommon after losing someone we love. Of course, we all want our lives to count for something. Who, in their right mind, would want to live an anonymous life and then no one notice or care when they die?
All this can be wrapped up and tied with a pretty bow as one question – What will be my legacy? In contemplating the value of a legacy, my mind wanders to my maternal grandmother, Maggie Skinner. She was the most loving, kindest, most generous, non-judgmental, and happy person that I’ve ever known. If I were to list all the qualities that made her a beautiful woman, it would be a very long list.
Her legacy to her family was first and foremost, her faith. She read her old and tattered Bible everyday. She regularly attended the Methodist Church where she had many friends and she literally lived out the Golden Rule.
She left us lots of wonderful memories, many old photographs, a few treasured letters, and an old rocking chair that, from my earliest memory, creaks and squeaks when rocked. I vaguely remembered the origin of the rocker, so I asked my mother to remind me again of its history.
In 1955, Mother and Daddy gave the rocker to her parents, Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Roy Skinner, as a Christmas gift. Mother says that they were both so proud of their new rocking chair and would fuss over who got to sit in it. It has been reupholstered at least three times over the years and has been moved around and all over Pottawatomie and Oklahoma counties.
Over the past 60 years, I can name the babies that were gently rocked to sleep in that rocker – beginning with me. After me was my sister Jayme, my brother Patrick, both of my daughters, Cathryn and Stacy, my grandson Mason, my niece Maggie, and many other babies who visited my grandmother’s home and my home.
Grandma Maggie’s old rocking chair is a treasured legacy and now sits in my home. It doesn’t really fit in anywhere. It isn’t worth a lot of money. It isn’t fashionable, the wood is scratched, it’s noisy, and the fabric is outdated. But the memories that it holds are irreplaceable.
A legacy is a gift of property – as is the old rocking chair. A legacy is also anything that is handed down from the past, from an ancestor or predecessor. My grandmother gave us the gifts of faith, dedication to family, and a strong, unconditional love for others.
So, back to one of my original questions, “What do I want my legacy to be?”. I believe I have answered my own question. First, my legacy is my faith which is the most important thing in my life. Then, I pass along my deep love for family and friends. Last, but not least, I bequeath Grandma Maggie’s creaky, old rocking chair to the future babies in our family. May they be gently rocked to sleep in the loving arms of their mothers and daddies.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
The Scenic Byway
This past weekend, James and I enjoyed camping at Bull Shoals State Park in North Central Arkansas. To our delight, the weather was perfect which afforded us several opportunities to take long hikes, make campfires, and spend time in nature.
Early on Sunday morning, we packed up our campsite and started back to Oklahoma, opting to take a different route on our return. We drove on two state highways (designated as scenic byways) which took us through the Boston Mountains. Indeed, these roads provided us views of forested mountains, the rapids of the Buffalo River, grassy valleys, pristine farms and lovely old farmhouses.
However, as you would expect with two-lane roads through the mountains, they are winding, narrow, and continuous ups-and-downs. It was three hours of feeling as if we were on a roller coaster. It was nearly noon when we arrived at the I-40 junction which gave us a straight shot back to Oklahoma City. As we traveled the interstate, we kept a close eye on a couple of thunderstorms but we narrowly missed both storms and contended with only a few sprinkles. Finally, we arrived home safe and sound – and exhausted.
As I look back, our journey home brings to mind the similarities between our long and arduous drive and the unpredictable ways of life. Everyday we face twists and turns, mountaintop and valley experiences, storms and peaceful moments. Some days are more challenging than others and on those days, screaming “STOP! I QUIT!” may be our first thought to end the madness. But, seldom do we ever really quit because we know that life’s experiences are usually temporary. And, amazingly, there is inside us an inherent will to survive.
All I know is what I’ve experienced so far. When I’ve encountered a bumpy road or made a wrong turn, I cling to the One who holds me tight and navigates me through the difficulties. I may suffer a mishap or two, become bruised and beat down but there is Hope in the midst of physical and emotional pain, disappointment and despair. My trust is in the One who guides me and leads me to my final home in Heaven.
Matthew 5:12 states, “Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in Heaven.” I ask you, “who travels with you on your life journey?”, and may I respectfully suggest you seek Jesus Christ who provides the ultimate road to eternity.
Early on Sunday morning, we packed up our campsite and started back to Oklahoma, opting to take a different route on our return. We drove on two state highways (designated as scenic byways) which took us through the Boston Mountains. Indeed, these roads provided us views of forested mountains, the rapids of the Buffalo River, grassy valleys, pristine farms and lovely old farmhouses.
However, as you would expect with two-lane roads through the mountains, they are winding, narrow, and continuous ups-and-downs. It was three hours of feeling as if we were on a roller coaster. It was nearly noon when we arrived at the I-40 junction which gave us a straight shot back to Oklahoma City. As we traveled the interstate, we kept a close eye on a couple of thunderstorms but we narrowly missed both storms and contended with only a few sprinkles. Finally, we arrived home safe and sound – and exhausted.
As I look back, our journey home brings to mind the similarities between our long and arduous drive and the unpredictable ways of life. Everyday we face twists and turns, mountaintop and valley experiences, storms and peaceful moments. Some days are more challenging than others and on those days, screaming “STOP! I QUIT!” may be our first thought to end the madness. But, seldom do we ever really quit because we know that life’s experiences are usually temporary. And, amazingly, there is inside us an inherent will to survive.
All I know is what I’ve experienced so far. When I’ve encountered a bumpy road or made a wrong turn, I cling to the One who holds me tight and navigates me through the difficulties. I may suffer a mishap or two, become bruised and beat down but there is Hope in the midst of physical and emotional pain, disappointment and despair. My trust is in the One who guides me and leads me to my final home in Heaven.
Matthew 5:12 states, “Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in Heaven.” I ask you, “who travels with you on your life journey?”, and may I respectfully suggest you seek Jesus Christ who provides the ultimate road to eternity.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
A Piece of Meat and Peace with Me
A Piece of Meat and Peace with Me
(April 9, 2015)
It's strange that an everyday experience can spark a moment to contemplate and re-evaluate the past and possibly the future. It all began last week as I was planning Easter lunch for my family. I really wanted it to be special and reflect the time and energy and love that would go into the meal. I created a simple menu with the star being a brisket. I went to a big chain store (which will remain nameless) to buy the meat and a few other items. While perusing the meat aisles, I stopped to sample pork which was being doled out by a nice lady in a white apron and hovering over an electric skillet. The pork smelled really good, looked good, and tasted equally as good. She convinced me that I could buy an 8 lb. pork roast, ask the butcher to cut 1/3 of it into a roast and the remainder into pork chops. I abandoned the brisket plan, opted for the pork, and was so pleased that I was not only a thrifty shopper but that I was going to impress my family with my culinary skills.
All was going as planned. I immediately went home and divided the pork chops into separate packets for freezing and I prepared the roast portion for the crock pot. It cooked all night and the next morning the house smelled wonderful. My family arrived for lunch, I served the pork roast, and we all enjoyed a lovely Easter Sunday.
Then, reality set in. After our company left, James told me he didn't particularly care for the pork. "Why not?", I demanded. He said that, to him, it tasted "processed" and bland. Well, not only was I disappointed but this is when my quandary began. What was I to do with all the leftover pork roast and pork chops? From this point, it all went downhill.
James suggested I make pulled pork sandwiches. So, the next night, I set out to salvage the leftover pork roast. I chopped, shredded, added barbeque sauce, Tabasco sauce, garlic powder, more barbeque sauce, and voila! -- the result was horrible. It looked and tasted disgusting. So, it went to the garbage. Now, I'm stuck with about a dozen 1" thick pork chops in my freezer which will eventually join the "faux" barbeque pork in the trash.
The moral of this story is that "you get exactly what you pay for". And isn't that usually true in all of life? There are not many things -- or sometimes people -- in life that are just TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE. Whether it's 8 lbs. of pork that cost me $15 (that should have been my first clue) or meeting someone who appears to be the most wonderful human being on earth, caution is paramount.
Oh yes, I could write a book on the subject of "It's Just too Good to Be True". I dare say, there are others who could co-author with me. Have you met a person and think they are God's gift to humanity? Over time, you realize that he/she is just a bad "piece of pork". In the beginning, it was good. You invest time and energy into this person and no one is holding a gun to your head, you just do it because it feels good and makes you happy. Then, time passes and the flavor of the relationship begins to become a little "processed" and less tasty. The remedy is then to ADD some ingredients to the relationship with more of your valuable time, and even investing money, gifts, and commitment. Finally, it becomes apparent that the relationship is not fun, joy is gone, and ultimately a decision is made to end the relationship, i.e. take it to the garbage.
Fortunately, after knowing a few "bargain pork roasts" in my life, I have become more selective with the people I chose to be in a relationship. At my age, it's okay to decide early on that someone may not be good for me and to decide to just move on. And, this life lesson applies to men and women as this is not a male/female issue but a humanity issue. It is important to protect oneself from getting involved in destructive and life-sucking, joy-robbing relationships.
And, as usually is the case in self-evaluation, I eventually turn the table around and consider, AM I WHAT I PROJECT MYSELF TO BE? AM I ONE OF THOSE TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE TYPES? Am I someone who people deem worthy to be involved in a relationship? Do I take, take, take, and then suck the life out of my friends, family, and God forbid, my husband? That's a lot of questions!
I confess that, in the past, I have been "less than tasty" and probably should have been tossed out with the garbage. But, and here's the best thing about all this, in spite of my unsavory failures and selfish behavior there is One who can create in me a heart that is tender, joyful, not "faux" but the real deal. Opening my heart to Christ will allow Him to place me in healthy relationships and to be the kind and loving person that others want to know. I can never assume that "I am too good to be true" but I can strive, with God's help, to bring peace, love, and joy into all my relationships.
(April 9, 2015)
It's strange that an everyday experience can spark a moment to contemplate and re-evaluate the past and possibly the future. It all began last week as I was planning Easter lunch for my family. I really wanted it to be special and reflect the time and energy and love that would go into the meal. I created a simple menu with the star being a brisket. I went to a big chain store (which will remain nameless) to buy the meat and a few other items. While perusing the meat aisles, I stopped to sample pork which was being doled out by a nice lady in a white apron and hovering over an electric skillet. The pork smelled really good, looked good, and tasted equally as good. She convinced me that I could buy an 8 lb. pork roast, ask the butcher to cut 1/3 of it into a roast and the remainder into pork chops. I abandoned the brisket plan, opted for the pork, and was so pleased that I was not only a thrifty shopper but that I was going to impress my family with my culinary skills.
All was going as planned. I immediately went home and divided the pork chops into separate packets for freezing and I prepared the roast portion for the crock pot. It cooked all night and the next morning the house smelled wonderful. My family arrived for lunch, I served the pork roast, and we all enjoyed a lovely Easter Sunday.
Then, reality set in. After our company left, James told me he didn't particularly care for the pork. "Why not?", I demanded. He said that, to him, it tasted "processed" and bland. Well, not only was I disappointed but this is when my quandary began. What was I to do with all the leftover pork roast and pork chops? From this point, it all went downhill.
James suggested I make pulled pork sandwiches. So, the next night, I set out to salvage the leftover pork roast. I chopped, shredded, added barbeque sauce, Tabasco sauce, garlic powder, more barbeque sauce, and voila! -- the result was horrible. It looked and tasted disgusting. So, it went to the garbage. Now, I'm stuck with about a dozen 1" thick pork chops in my freezer which will eventually join the "faux" barbeque pork in the trash.
The moral of this story is that "you get exactly what you pay for". And isn't that usually true in all of life? There are not many things -- or sometimes people -- in life that are just TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE. Whether it's 8 lbs. of pork that cost me $15 (that should have been my first clue) or meeting someone who appears to be the most wonderful human being on earth, caution is paramount.
Oh yes, I could write a book on the subject of "It's Just too Good to Be True". I dare say, there are others who could co-author with me. Have you met a person and think they are God's gift to humanity? Over time, you realize that he/she is just a bad "piece of pork". In the beginning, it was good. You invest time and energy into this person and no one is holding a gun to your head, you just do it because it feels good and makes you happy. Then, time passes and the flavor of the relationship begins to become a little "processed" and less tasty. The remedy is then to ADD some ingredients to the relationship with more of your valuable time, and even investing money, gifts, and commitment. Finally, it becomes apparent that the relationship is not fun, joy is gone, and ultimately a decision is made to end the relationship, i.e. take it to the garbage.
Fortunately, after knowing a few "bargain pork roasts" in my life, I have become more selective with the people I chose to be in a relationship. At my age, it's okay to decide early on that someone may not be good for me and to decide to just move on. And, this life lesson applies to men and women as this is not a male/female issue but a humanity issue. It is important to protect oneself from getting involved in destructive and life-sucking, joy-robbing relationships.
And, as usually is the case in self-evaluation, I eventually turn the table around and consider, AM I WHAT I PROJECT MYSELF TO BE? AM I ONE OF THOSE TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE TYPES? Am I someone who people deem worthy to be involved in a relationship? Do I take, take, take, and then suck the life out of my friends, family, and God forbid, my husband? That's a lot of questions!
I confess that, in the past, I have been "less than tasty" and probably should have been tossed out with the garbage. But, and here's the best thing about all this, in spite of my unsavory failures and selfish behavior there is One who can create in me a heart that is tender, joyful, not "faux" but the real deal. Opening my heart to Christ will allow Him to place me in healthy relationships and to be the kind and loving person that others want to know. I can never assume that "I am too good to be true" but I can strive, with God's help, to bring peace, love, and joy into all my relationships.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Sexy and Sixty
There are definitely some advantages to being a 60-year-old woman. Only recently have I finally declared an end to my “I’m as old as dirt” pity party and have embraced my years of experience, my mistakes and my successes, and am now enjoying the best time of my life! I have found the love of my life, I’m in reasonably good health, I’m at the end of a satisfying career, and I must say that I’m living the life I always dreamed about. And it feels good to finally have the freedom to be who I am and not really care if everyone approves.
If you had asked me when I was in my 20's what my life would look like as a 60-year-old woman, I’m sure I would have envisioned a gray haired grandma crocheting an afghan in a rocking chair. Needless to say, that is not me! I am a grandmother but I don’t feel like one (thanks to my hairdresser and Spanx) and I never was very good at crocheting. I much prefer a glass of wine over a dose of Metamucil and, given a choice, I listen to Bob Marley, Jimmy Buffett, and The Black Eyed Peas. I ride a pink bicycle, make killer martinis (shaken, not stirred), and love to wear lots of eye makeup.
James and I are having so much fun. Oh, we have obligations and we occasionally have to make adult decisions but, most of the time, we just have fun. We play, we talk a lot, we laugh, sometimes we argue but the make-up sex is great, and we really like each other’s company. There are no inhibitions, no “right or wrong” ways – as long as we both agree – and lots of sexting, touching, hugging, kissing, and well...you know. And really, who cares if there is a little flab in the way or a few more wrinkles around the eyes, we both think the other is sexy and we are in love.
And at 60 years old, I can actually write this and not feel guilty or ashamed for thinking it or saying it. There is freedom in having a few decades in the rearview mirror. I’m actually learning to embrace the past, not to dwell on it, but just accept it and know that it is what made me into the woman I am today.
I often think of the last words my mother spoke to my daddy as he was on his death bed. She leaned over him and whispered, “We sure had us some fun, didn’t we?” Isn’t that what life should be? A happy life, filled with good times, fun, love, and laughter. And if we’re lucky, some really good sex – even at sixty!
If you had asked me when I was in my 20's what my life would look like as a 60-year-old woman, I’m sure I would have envisioned a gray haired grandma crocheting an afghan in a rocking chair. Needless to say, that is not me! I am a grandmother but I don’t feel like one (thanks to my hairdresser and Spanx) and I never was very good at crocheting. I much prefer a glass of wine over a dose of Metamucil and, given a choice, I listen to Bob Marley, Jimmy Buffett, and The Black Eyed Peas. I ride a pink bicycle, make killer martinis (shaken, not stirred), and love to wear lots of eye makeup.
James and I are having so much fun. Oh, we have obligations and we occasionally have to make adult decisions but, most of the time, we just have fun. We play, we talk a lot, we laugh, sometimes we argue but the make-up sex is great, and we really like each other’s company. There are no inhibitions, no “right or wrong” ways – as long as we both agree – and lots of sexting, touching, hugging, kissing, and well...you know. And really, who cares if there is a little flab in the way or a few more wrinkles around the eyes, we both think the other is sexy and we are in love.
And at 60 years old, I can actually write this and not feel guilty or ashamed for thinking it or saying it. There is freedom in having a few decades in the rearview mirror. I’m actually learning to embrace the past, not to dwell on it, but just accept it and know that it is what made me into the woman I am today.
I often think of the last words my mother spoke to my daddy as he was on his death bed. She leaned over him and whispered, “We sure had us some fun, didn’t we?” Isn’t that what life should be? A happy life, filled with good times, fun, love, and laughter. And if we’re lucky, some really good sex – even at sixty!
Back to Nature
When I think I've heard or seen just about everything there is to know about Oklahoma, I am quickly reminded that there is a lot yet to discover about my beloved home state. In a recent edition of my local newspaper, I perused "A Connection Back to the Earth" by Graham Lee Brewer. His article was my introduction to 'wildcrafting' which is foraging through fields for wild food. Yes, that includes edible weeds, flowers, and roots. I'm not quite ready to jump on the band wagon to learn this ancient food source but, nonetheless, I am very intrigued.
According to the article, Jackie Dill, a silver-haired Cherokee woman, learned wildcrafting from her grandmother and is referred to as the Oklahoma queen of foraging. She said (and this is the part that really spoke to me), "...the closer you are to this earth, the better you are at being a human being." I believe this lady expressed, in just a few words, a treasure trove of wisdom.
Spending time outdoors is something I thoroughly enjoy. Whether it's on my hands and knees digging in my flower beds or hiking on a secluded mountain trail, I feel close to God and at peace with the world when I am in nature. Working alone in my garden, I have plenty of time to think about my life and commune with God. Walking among tall trees and on a narrow trail, reminds me of how small I am and dependent I am on a trail map and a Spiritual Guide.
Of course, there are thousands of ways for people to become closer to this earth. My husband enjoys cycling and running in the early morning hours, my cousins enjoy fishing the beautiful Colorado lakes, many folks love to be on a golf course, and my dad and Grandma Minnie spent hours tending their vegetable gardens. I daresay they are (or were) all better people for being outside and enjoying God's vast and diverse creation.
The bottom line is that I want to be a better person, and at my age and with my experiences, I pretty much know what it takes. As I sit in church or as I commute to work and home in my car, I often consider the areas of my life that need work. But, I really like the idea of figuring it all out with dirt under my fingernails or as I push myself to climb a difficult trail up the side of a mountain. And with that in mind, I think I'll go for a walk and get a little closer to this earth and as I do, maybe I'll find a tasty plant to snack on!
According to the article, Jackie Dill, a silver-haired Cherokee woman, learned wildcrafting from her grandmother and is referred to as the Oklahoma queen of foraging. She said (and this is the part that really spoke to me), "...the closer you are to this earth, the better you are at being a human being." I believe this lady expressed, in just a few words, a treasure trove of wisdom.
Spending time outdoors is something I thoroughly enjoy. Whether it's on my hands and knees digging in my flower beds or hiking on a secluded mountain trail, I feel close to God and at peace with the world when I am in nature. Working alone in my garden, I have plenty of time to think about my life and commune with God. Walking among tall trees and on a narrow trail, reminds me of how small I am and dependent I am on a trail map and a Spiritual Guide.
Of course, there are thousands of ways for people to become closer to this earth. My husband enjoys cycling and running in the early morning hours, my cousins enjoy fishing the beautiful Colorado lakes, many folks love to be on a golf course, and my dad and Grandma Minnie spent hours tending their vegetable gardens. I daresay they are (or were) all better people for being outside and enjoying God's vast and diverse creation.
The bottom line is that I want to be a better person, and at my age and with my experiences, I pretty much know what it takes. As I sit in church or as I commute to work and home in my car, I often consider the areas of my life that need work. But, I really like the idea of figuring it all out with dirt under my fingernails or as I push myself to climb a difficult trail up the side of a mountain. And with that in mind, I think I'll go for a walk and get a little closer to this earth and as I do, maybe I'll find a tasty plant to snack on!
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Pie Ala Mode
I can think of nothing much better than a piece of warm apple pie with a big dollop of vanilla ice cream on top. It is the quintessential American dessert that evokes images of Uncle Sam and Old Glory waving in the breeze. At this very moment, I would love to savor every bite of apple swimming in cinnamon and syrupy sugar, a perfect homemade pie crust, and rivers of melting ice cream flooding the bowl. Oh, how I love pie!
However, there is an exception to my love affair with pie, one that I would gladly do without – and that is, “humble pie”. You know, the pie that is eaten after saying something entirely inappropriate or when you think you look really cute but, in fact, your sweater is on wrong-side out or you have shoes on that don’t match. Maybe it’s when you complain of a bad hair day to someone then find out they are in the middle of chemo treatment. That’s when it’s time to cut a big piece of humble pie and eat it very slowly.
Last week, I attended the last session of a four-week class at my church. It was a big class with about 100 people attending so we were instructed to divide into small groups with about 12 in each group. A young man arrived late and found the only seat available in my small group. In my estimation and judging from his appearance, I thought he looked more like a rapster than a choir boy. He strolled in wearing baggy pants, stud earrings, and chains. He sat across from me and didn’t speak to anyone and I thought he obviously had found his way into the wrong class and possibly the wrong church!
After a few minutes of discussion, our leader asked us to voluntarily pray in our small groups. Immediately, my heart began to beat fast and my face flushed because I didn’t feel comfortable praying in front of strangers. What would I say and if I did pray, would I make a fool of myself? Finally, a middle-aged man began to say a nice prayer. Obviously, he knew all the right words because his prayer was very good. When he said amen, I began to sweat and fidget. Who in our group would be brave and dare to utter a prayer after the middle-aged guy’s nice prayer? Surely Lord, not I!
Okay, you probably know where this is going. Suddenly, the rapster dude opened his mouth and began to pray. I had to look at him again just to make sure it was really the same young man with the baggy pants and chains. His words were bold, profound, passionate, and beautiful. I immediately felt ashamed and regretted making such a lousy judgment call about someone who obviously I knew nothing of. I silently asked God for forgiveness but I could not, as quickly, forget my mistake.
This week, I have thought a lot about that young man and the lesson I learned from him. Until this experience and especially considering my up-bringing, I have generally considered myself to be open-minded and strive very hard to be non-judgmental of others according to race, color, or creed. However, I was faced with the ugly truth about my shortcomings and I gladly reevaluated my heart and mind.
The humble pie I was forced to consume these past few days was actually quite good for me. It was somewhat bitter and I choked on it a little, but overall it was beneficial in helping me to become the person I truly want to be.
The best advice comes from the Old Testament. Samuel had serious misgivings about a teenage shepherd boy named David. In response, the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look at his appearance . . . For the Lord does not see as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
However, there is an exception to my love affair with pie, one that I would gladly do without – and that is, “humble pie”. You know, the pie that is eaten after saying something entirely inappropriate or when you think you look really cute but, in fact, your sweater is on wrong-side out or you have shoes on that don’t match. Maybe it’s when you complain of a bad hair day to someone then find out they are in the middle of chemo treatment. That’s when it’s time to cut a big piece of humble pie and eat it very slowly.
Last week, I attended the last session of a four-week class at my church. It was a big class with about 100 people attending so we were instructed to divide into small groups with about 12 in each group. A young man arrived late and found the only seat available in my small group. In my estimation and judging from his appearance, I thought he looked more like a rapster than a choir boy. He strolled in wearing baggy pants, stud earrings, and chains. He sat across from me and didn’t speak to anyone and I thought he obviously had found his way into the wrong class and possibly the wrong church!
After a few minutes of discussion, our leader asked us to voluntarily pray in our small groups. Immediately, my heart began to beat fast and my face flushed because I didn’t feel comfortable praying in front of strangers. What would I say and if I did pray, would I make a fool of myself? Finally, a middle-aged man began to say a nice prayer. Obviously, he knew all the right words because his prayer was very good. When he said amen, I began to sweat and fidget. Who in our group would be brave and dare to utter a prayer after the middle-aged guy’s nice prayer? Surely Lord, not I!
Okay, you probably know where this is going. Suddenly, the rapster dude opened his mouth and began to pray. I had to look at him again just to make sure it was really the same young man with the baggy pants and chains. His words were bold, profound, passionate, and beautiful. I immediately felt ashamed and regretted making such a lousy judgment call about someone who obviously I knew nothing of. I silently asked God for forgiveness but I could not, as quickly, forget my mistake.
This week, I have thought a lot about that young man and the lesson I learned from him. Until this experience and especially considering my up-bringing, I have generally considered myself to be open-minded and strive very hard to be non-judgmental of others according to race, color, or creed. However, I was faced with the ugly truth about my shortcomings and I gladly reevaluated my heart and mind.
The humble pie I was forced to consume these past few days was actually quite good for me. It was somewhat bitter and I choked on it a little, but overall it was beneficial in helping me to become the person I truly want to be.
The best advice comes from the Old Testament. Samuel had serious misgivings about a teenage shepherd boy named David. In response, the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look at his appearance . . . For the Lord does not see as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Writer's Block
Writer's block. Analysis Paralysis. Writer's cramp. Whatever the label, it is frustrating and discouraging. I've been in a writing funk for quite some time and wondered if I would ever have another creative thought or think of anything worth putting into words again. What was about to happen was an extraordinary experience which turned my slump into an opportunity to write.
It was Good Friday and I was grocery shopping for our Easter lunch menu. I was dutifully filling my cart and had just placed a case of bottled water onto the lower portion of my basket. As I stood up, a beautiful young woman was standing near me with an empty cart. She said, "May I ask you a stupid question?" Knowing that there are rarely stupid questions, I replied, "Sure, go ahead." She asked, "Are you a writer?" I was stunned because I thought she was going to ask me which brand of water I preferred. I hesitated and then answered, "Amateur, at best."
Quickly, my mind raced to try and remember her face or recall from where I might know her. Nothing. She was a stranger to me. I had no idea where this conversation was going but I was definitely intrigued. She then told me something that amazed me. "I thought so," she explained. "I felt God prompting me to ask you that question. I want to speak a blessing over that and encourage you."
I was shocked beyond words! I laughed and told her that I was glad that she sensed a "writer's aura" around me of all people, and that I would definitely write about this. She smiled and then began to push her cart down the aisle. As I turned to continue my shopping, I looked over my shoulder and called out to her, "Happy Easter!" She sweetly smiled again and responded, "Happy Easter to you, too!".
I worked my way through the store and looked for the beautiful stranger. As I stood in the checkout line, I looked for her in the other lines. In the parking lot, I glanced about hoping to catch a glimpse of her loading groceries into her car. I did not see her again.
For days afterwards, I pondered my brief yet powerful conversation with the beautiful lady. Who was she? Isn't it odd that her cart was empty even though we were near the back of the store? And then the strangest thought came across my mind. Could she be an angel sent to give me a special message? Not me! What an absurd and arrogant notion to think that God would send someone to me! What have I done to deserve such a miracle?
Of course, the answer is that I had done nothing to earn this unmerited favor. All that is required of me is to receive this Divine gift and, as I had promised the woman, to write my story and share it with anyone who will read it.
Romans 8:28 states, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." God cares about me and you and He longs to give us our hearts' desires. Even if it's only a small thing, such as writing a short story, God can use it to bring peace and joy into our lives.
It was Good Friday and I was grocery shopping for our Easter lunch menu. I was dutifully filling my cart and had just placed a case of bottled water onto the lower portion of my basket. As I stood up, a beautiful young woman was standing near me with an empty cart. She said, "May I ask you a stupid question?" Knowing that there are rarely stupid questions, I replied, "Sure, go ahead." She asked, "Are you a writer?" I was stunned because I thought she was going to ask me which brand of water I preferred. I hesitated and then answered, "Amateur, at best."
Quickly, my mind raced to try and remember her face or recall from where I might know her. Nothing. She was a stranger to me. I had no idea where this conversation was going but I was definitely intrigued. She then told me something that amazed me. "I thought so," she explained. "I felt God prompting me to ask you that question. I want to speak a blessing over that and encourage you."
I was shocked beyond words! I laughed and told her that I was glad that she sensed a "writer's aura" around me of all people, and that I would definitely write about this. She smiled and then began to push her cart down the aisle. As I turned to continue my shopping, I looked over my shoulder and called out to her, "Happy Easter!" She sweetly smiled again and responded, "Happy Easter to you, too!".
I worked my way through the store and looked for the beautiful stranger. As I stood in the checkout line, I looked for her in the other lines. In the parking lot, I glanced about hoping to catch a glimpse of her loading groceries into her car. I did not see her again.
For days afterwards, I pondered my brief yet powerful conversation with the beautiful lady. Who was she? Isn't it odd that her cart was empty even though we were near the back of the store? And then the strangest thought came across my mind. Could she be an angel sent to give me a special message? Not me! What an absurd and arrogant notion to think that God would send someone to me! What have I done to deserve such a miracle?
Of course, the answer is that I had done nothing to earn this unmerited favor. All that is required of me is to receive this Divine gift and, as I had promised the woman, to write my story and share it with anyone who will read it.
Romans 8:28 states, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." God cares about me and you and He longs to give us our hearts' desires. Even if it's only a small thing, such as writing a short story, God can use it to bring peace and joy into our lives.
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