In A Moment

23 Saturday May 2026

Posted by in In Memory, Life, Reflections

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

It’s been a moment or two since we met here. My moments have not easily shared with the computer lately, but today I am prompted by how quickly time alters the very ground we walk on. Your shaky ground may be as simple as waiting in line with the cramps and a crying baby. Or, it may be of the magnitude that leaves your life never the same. Whatever the moment holds, remember it will change, and with all the good moments to help, you will survive. I read in a book by Martha W. Hickman, (and I wish I could find the exact quotation) that the interruptions into what we thought was our life, are not interruptions at all, but are indeed our life. The moments, all of them, become the life we are living, and how we survive them, is most likely, who we are.

You know, the moments we live, can drag on like cold molasses, or they can vanish, literally in a breath. One example is that as I write, my daughter is awaiting twice-delayed departure times from an airport (slow moments); then suddenly the plane that was late arrived, boarded, and in the blink of an eye she will be hundreds of miles away (fast moments). These moments come and go quickly, even if we are waiting impatiently in a very long line; and breath by breath, we are passing them one by one. Moments, and the people who live them, are what tickle my writer’s yen. Because every one of them matter, we do well to take notice of not only how we are using them, but also, how the world around us is faring through their moments. We both know some moments are mere inconveniences, while others have grabbed you by the shoulders and spun you around and you may still be spinning. Either way, they are your moments, and they are important. Today, I’m just focused on our surviving them. One thing about moments I have noticed, is that they are always shared. Because I believe in the eternal all-knowing God of the universe, I know our moments are not alone.

All spring I have been concerned about the drought; crops, water levels, and trees with too little water in the soil. Now, as we are in our — what, third or fourth day of rain this week — should I worry about them all sliding downhill, or toppling over with soggy roots and heavy tops? Nothing stays the same. But this time, I wasn’t worried. After fifty plus years of farming, we learned to enjoy the good, and wait a moment, for God will take care of us through the bad.

I met a new organism last week; one I do not care to ever encounter again, because apparently rhinovirus enjoys hanging around and creating havoc, but my body does not share the enthusiasm. I have formed all sorts of immune responses along with medical community assistance, but one lobe of a lung is still harboring resentment. A whole week of moments, gone — and like my lung — I resent it. This is life however, and I’ll take it, even with the bugs. And the prednisone and rest — wow, I had forgotten how good it could feel to walk without pain.

Pain — What a multilayered word! In a moment last weekend, a young wife and four children lost their hero. I did not know him personally, but the wife grew up with my daughter, and these are good people. How can we be going about our routine, and suddenly find ourselves scrambling for our footing and gasping for breath? In a moment. So much changes so quickly. My heart hurts for that family and I pray for their strength, and the courage to keep walking moment by moment into their changed future.

More recently, my daddy’s brother passed away this week. At 84 years old, he lived a full, busy, satisfying life; seeing his son grow up to care for him and his own family, and having an adoring wife and many relatives who care deeply for him. Uncle Glenn had a work ethic that escapes most of our generation and those who follow ours. He has had what most would call more than his fair share of suffering, but he would not complain for long. Instead, he would be right back out in the cow pasture, or the garden (gardens quite large enough to feed a community), or pulling something around somewhere with a tractor. And this was just in retirement. Before retirement, he was a dedicated employee and manager in a physically strenuous job, and still did all these other things, filling his moments completely and, in my opinion, not wasting a one. He took many years of moments on and off, to go to his happy place in Calico Rock, Arkansas. There he was able to share moments of fishing and nature with friends and family. I would love to have seen him in that surrounding, but it was not to be in the moments for me. I’m happy to know he got to do what he loved to do, fill so many moments with positive energy, and enjoy telling about it.

We have to wonder why; why are some lives made of many moments and others so few. We wonder why — and it is natural to wonder because God gave us the ability to do so — why do the moments for some last only two years, but for others, 84 and more. You won’t hear me say things like, “God took good old aunt Flossie…” because I know God is not a taker. While Job said “the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh”, for me this was his euphemism for life ain’t always grand folks so watch who you’re pointing at. And Job said it first — the Lord gives. How can we blame a being Who gave us the amazing people in our lives in the first place, knowing all our moments will finally run out someday. The same God who put in all the wonderful, is present with us through our awful, loving, tragic, exciting, depressing, ecstatic and dull moments in life, and gave us all kinds of people to live them with us. He promises strength for our fallen times; encouragement for our depressing times; and life-long moments of love and memories and people, to bind up our broken hearts. Recall Isaiah’s promise from God; not that God would spare His people from waters, rivers, fire and flame, but that He would walk us through it all. (Isaiah 43:2)

God does allow us all kinds of wonderful, from watching a day awaken in blazing sunrise, to watching our aged loved ones in peace, at last, close their eyes. There is no denying He allows us to live through some terrible things brought on by the very real demon of this world, but — oh my friend! Never forget, God is the arm holding you up when you don’t know how. He is the bird’s morning call singing you survived. He is the friend’s flowers, the parents’ touch, the young child’s laughter, and the sunrise and sunset you will experience again, in your moments He has granted you. His grace will sustain your moments until, as His child, you will have the never-ending moments of eternity where all mysteries are known, and you get to live with the love of all love, bigger than all the bad moments we could ever know.

Please be assured, I am not at all making small of big problems. Since the world began, there has been disaster at all levels. I only want to share that God is bigger than all the disasters, all problems, all disappointments. He is the fixing of the problems; He is the coming together of solutions; and He is the giver of all life and the moments within.

Love, Trisha

Mother’s Day

10 Sunday May 2026

Posted by in In Memory, Life

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , ,

“Honor your father and mother,” which is the first commandment with promise. (Ephesians 6:2)

Mother’s Day, (no matter how wonderful and love-filled it is with our children, friends, and relatives), has a little blue cloud in it if you aren’t able to talk to your mother. You may have had a mom, momma, mother, grandmother, or some other title of selfless love; I had Mama. My sister, brother, and I were blessed to have our Mama until she was just short of her 78th birthday. We’d have kept her forever, but for her sake, God gave her a blessed rest.

My own children generously spent their time, and their money, to give me a sweet and fun-filled weekend of togetherness. I couldn’t ask for more. They tell me with their words and actions how much they love and appreciate me, so there is in no way, anything missing in my Mother’s Day pleasure — it’s my mother’s Mother’s Day that I miss; that has a little blue in it.

I miss her tattered old housecoat. I miss her glistening eyes as she tried to make me understand how much she loved us. I miss her asking for “just a little bitty bite of that”. I miss her grand roast beef, carrots, potatoes and chocolate pie. I miss the beautiful impatiens she invested way too much money and energy in each spring. I miss the way she leaned nearer me in church to hear me sing even though I gave her that look that said, don’t embarrass me. I would give a pretty to have her there leaning near me again. I miss her one and only tone-deaf tune as she sang her lullaby Bye-oh Baby Bye-oh, as she rocked her grandbabies. I miss the genuine, from-the-heart advice, given because she cared more than anyone in the world could care. I miss, oh how I miss, seeing her drive up the driveway, knowing that whatever she saw, heard or sensed, she was going to say something positive and encouraging, and make us believe we were the best thing since sliced bread. I want so badly to tell her how loved and missed she is. But then, I feel quite sure she knew it already.

If we had the perfect life, with a thousand top-notch children, friends and relatives, and not a thing missing, except our mother, we would without a doubt, feel the missing part. Because we only get one — the one and only — Mama.

If you are fortunate enough to still have your mom in your life, cherish her. Enjoy every opportunity to spend with her, and give yourself the gift of her life-earned wisdom. If you have seen her pass to the next life, live to honor her memory. Live life with all the joy and love that she would want you to.

Have a wonderful week. Trisha

Oh What a Gift!

27 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, Nature

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Who doesn’t enjoy a gift? No one; we all like receiving gifts. “Just what I always wanted”, or “Oh what a nice surprise!”, or “now, that’s different”, might be our comments upon opening a present, or a gift. The best gifts may not be wrapped at all. As my husband has prayed, “thank you Father for the air we breathe”, among other things we tend to take for granted. And sometimes — just sometimes — a whole day is one big gift. Such was today, Saturday, April 25, 2026, with a flawless blue sky, gentle breezes, and short sleeve comfort without being hot. As the day unwrapped itself, I figured out why gifts are sometimes called presents; to be fully present in a moment, we are able to see the gift in it.

For the previous 24 hours, I had the sinking feeling something had happened to our Eastern bluebird couple who are incubating six beautiful blue eggs in a box at the back of our lawn. First thing this morning, I waded the dew to check the box and found it still egg-filled, but no parents, just like my last box check last evening, and throughout the day yesterday. As I peered into the nest this morning, I heard a faint snap, snap, snap…but could see no birds nearby who might have given the warning snap. I carefully closed the box, and retreated to the patio to watch. As I sat down, I saw the beautiful blue-feathered friends perched on the electric lines over my potting shed. Relief washed over me as I looked upward whispering thank you, and found even my coffee tasted better without the thought of six orphaned eggs. Then, Mr. Bluebird flew to their box, looked in, then leaned in, and satisfied all was good, he backed out and flew to a nearby perch, and seemed to give a nod. Mama bluebird then took her cue and entered the box to sit with her soon-to-be family. I noticed daddy bird sat for a moment or two longer, then flew out of sight. What a gift to know nothing had happened to them, and moreover, to witness the careful attention they give to their nesting duties. The way he scans the area, and gives her the “all clear,” is a treat to witness.

Soon the air was filled with our Purple Martin colony as they began their winged feeding and demonstrating their unique aerial skills. Their calling is like a multi-syllable song that begins and ends with tapping and an alien-type clicking from the movie Signs. I have no better way to describe it. They are fascinating, and this year all 18 of our gourds are hosting these black beauties, thanks to my husband’s diligent efforts to fend off the offending house sparrows; not to mention 12 new and improved gourds that are easier to view and tend. Breakfast and a show!

A beautiful song directed my attention to the tip top of our Brandywine maple tree, where a Baltimore Oriole was perched, singing his morning melody. What a treat just to see and hear this one. I did have to look online to be sure of his identity as I had only seen him once the day before — and in the exact same spot. By this time, I was joined by my husband who has caught my birdwatching addiction. Nearer to where we sat, is a Hawthorne tree whose branches hold a wren house covered by a bent license plate. The hardworking wren (which I believe is a common house wren) had finally gotten a taker on his nest of twigs and he was singing his little lungs out. She (I have to suppose, because the male and female wrens look alike) flew in and out of the little house so quickly I couldn’t decide if she was feeding young, or adding her touch to his nest-building skills. These small quick birds make up for their size with their loud voices and tenacity. Other visitors to the back yard this morning were: song sparrows, two brown thrashers, a pair of goldfinches, a cardinal, the resident mocking birds, a cedar waxwing (versus a tufted titmouse, not sure), and a male house sparrow whose attempts at setting up housekeeping nearby were thwarted by the tenacity I just mentioned, of our wrens. For a bird watcher, these visitors were a gift in themselves, only to be topped later in the day by the king of birds.

As the day went forward, I made a visit to a neighbor who was recuperating, where I was met cheerfully by her dog. Cheerful was good, because he was quite active and rather large; as my mother would say, he was as fat as a town dog. He was as slick as a seal and just as playful. Obeying his mama, he retired to his crate on the porch while we visited, but when I rose to leave, Haney (the dog) came out of his crate to walk me out, so to speak. He then left me, only to return quickly with a stick of about 12 inches long, and promptly held it up for me to take. I did so, and thanked him for the gift; then threw it for him and he did the fetch thing and brought it back and placed it at my feet. Just one gift after another! I mean, this day just kept becoming more and more in need of a large bow and scotch tape.

Just before sunset, I was invited by hubby to listen for a couple of owls he had been hearing throughout the day. The owl makes a tone out of my hearing range and the man continues trying to get me to hear them. As we sat in an area between his equipment shed and an old stock barn, we suddenly became aware of a large presence coming over us. Looking up, we were surprised to see an eagle soaring overhead, (the king of birds I mentioned earlier). It seemed to just barely glide above the tallest shed, but you know how the memory exaggerates the contents of a surprise. He was, however, closer than I had ever been to an eagle for sure. Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, westward and away. Giving up on the hooting of owls, we turned toward our house, to see a parade of deer sauntering along the back of the field, toward our pond behind the house. We eased up the driveway and onto the patio to spend our sunset watching the deer. A group of four, we determined, and we watched as they took turns stepping up onto the pond bank, then downward out of sight to get a drink, and back up again. As the first one returned to her herd, the second one repeated her actions. Our attention was diverted by the evening birds on the lawn, as well as the eagle returning, and hiding itself in the oaks beyond our pond. We were feeling quite blessed by a day of many gifts, not the least of which is health good enough to be out and about, and the beauty of the day wrapped around us. But then — just as I was looking back out to the deer — I saw them startle and jump away from the pond bank. I looked in the direction they were looking. At that moment we had the joy of seeing the eagle mount up triumphantly from the pond with a fish, large enough we could see it in his talons. Carrying its supper away, it left my husband and me just open-mouthed in awe. Now, for many frequent lake-goers, this would not be a spectacular experience, but for an old farm couple in Hazel, Kentucky, who had only been spotting bald eagles high up and away for very few recent years, this was a thrilling evening. Sunset found us giddy with excitement — excited about life, and just being present in the day — a day of gifts!

More than ever, I felt the truth I had been hearing about being in the moment. I had experienced it the evening before as I walked my fur baby, letting him meander the roadside, and taking the time myself to touch, smell, and name as many of the wild plants as I could. In full bloom were honeysuckle, wild privet, and what I hope are blackberry vines. The cedar is laden with tiny light blue berries I enjoy seeing each year. None of this was new; it was new in a different way, as I forgot about hurrying back, or any other concerns. I didn’t even concern myself with the need to walk for exercise, as my guilty conscience usually thwarts the pleasure of any evening stroll. No, I just looked at each thing in our path with eyes only for that moment. There were scents of sweet, lemony, and evergreen; and a dozen different shades of green; with a symphony of calls and croaks. (Yes, I did taste the honeysuckle nectar. Several times. As sweet as ever!) Inhaling, seeing and listening — all those gifts of the senses God gave us — using them to appreciate the other gifts from Him, were helping me be present in the moment. This is the way to approach God’s word as well. I plan to be much more in the moment as I listen to God speak from His word — no distractions, just holding each phrase with an open heart, looking at it in it’s context, without trying to prove or disprove anything, and letting it connect me with God’s own heart.

In Gary Chapman’s book, The One Year Love Language Minute Devotional, he states, “Giving gifts as an expression of love is universal. A gift is a visible token that says, ‘I was thinking about you’ “. He points out that some people speak the language of gifts as they express their love. I can believe that, because the One in whose image we are made, gave and continues to give the very best gifts! “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning” (James 1:17).

Have a wonderful week! Perhaps we will have the gift of rain without a great deal of storm damage. Remember to be present in your moments. Trisha

Havens, Hideouts, and Heart of a Child

20 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in Encouragement, Faith, MONDAY MUSINGS

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , ,

(I began these thoughts on havens last year as the field corn was growing tall, enclosing our lawn and giving us a feeling of seclusion. The rains had been generous. So, this weekend’s wonderful rain reminded me to bring out the draft and finish it.)

He calms the storm,
So that its waves are still.
30 Then they are glad because they are quiet;
So He guides them to their desired haven.
31 Oh, that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness,
And for His wonderful works to the children of men! Psalm 107:29-31

Often our memories from childhood can be evoked by a fragrance, or perhaps a glimpse of a thing, as well as by certain feelings. Sometimes just the smell of freshly mown grass can transport me to the Brunswick home of a young couple and their little girl. I am that little girl, and though I was less than five years old, I have a spot in my memory of a little green back yard, with a rabbit cage holding my white bunny, situated between our small white frame house and a wooded area. Sandwiched there between the back wall of that house and the woods, I was secure and happy, a memory so dim it’s actually only a feeling — safe, private, and mine. A haven is a haven, not because of how it’s constructed, but because of the shelter (real or metaphoric) that it provides, and the feeling associated with it.

Last summer, the feeling of a cozy, secluded haven or hideout returned to me in our open backyard; the kind of cozy you had with quilts stretched over the kitchen table where you lived under it in a tent… well at least until supper time. Time and place for feeling that kind of cozy, are few and far between in adulthood, but with a child’s heart, sitting in our backyard, I found memories creeping over me of clubhouses, tree houses, and a closet in my aunt’s house. It was a large closet, the size two six-year-old girls could stretch out in and color in their coloring books, with a cigar box full of old crayons and a new box of 64 Crayola crayons that made me about as happy as a little girl can be. With a wall of coats and clothing hanging over the perimeter, and the door closed, our little hideout became an artist’s gallery, or a spelling bee, and often a dueling arena as my cousin and I settled differences of opinions. My haven was in a house where I found acceptance, love and safety. Fast-forward to our backyard last summer, surrounded entirely by the lushly growing corn crop, where again I experienced the feeling of a private clubhouse, a haven, or an adult-sized coloring closet.

A ripened corn field, when it is dark and fragrant, is a magical place, surrounded by tall jade-green walls and a roof of blond tassels. Visited by members only — a deer who seems surprised to find anyone else in the clearing he had found; our resident rabbit who scampers from under the potting shed into an emerald room, and disappears into the walls. Music playing is that of the Purple Martins, a wren, the lonely call of a Bobwhite, and the chatter of the bluebirds. Someone forgot to turn on the climate control for this hideaway, so my stay is brief this day, but my temporary clubhouse would continue to entertain me each morning and each evening until the walls would come down in the autumn. It is a peaceful sanctuary, a private place, and it is a gift. A haven from the din and dilemmas of today’s world, it reminds me of the haven the Lord God promises as He quiets our storms and stills the waves of uncertainty. There — in God’s haven — we find a place of peace (John 14:27), a personal relationship with the Lord (Psalm 139:1-6), and a gift (Acts 2:38).

The evening before, after mowing clean our verdant clubhouse, the plan was to tend our adjoining garden, with a rototiller. Before the tiller came three steps out of the garage, a large cloudburst soaked the garden, again. The tantrum I could have had, was blown away by a gentle cooling breeze, and the freshly washed green of the backyard haven’s walls, their blond roof waving softly with praise for the welcome water. Weeks later, as we try to visit this magical place, a warm wet blanket wraps our faces after the sun penetrates our emerald clubhouse. But during the earliest morning hours, we would be entranced for a little while, reverting to a pleasant childhood frame of heart, and meditate.

In the Psalms, the writer by inspiration of God, reveals to us the haven of peace and security our souls have in the Lord. He reminds us there will be storms of strife and winds of hardship in the world; but that He is not of this world. He abides in that Haven of all havens, where evil cannot invade, and from where He sees all, and works in all — all of this world’s wet blankets — to provide a reprieve and safety in His arms for His children. When I humble myself as a little child; when I follow the Shepherd’s call of safety; when I allow the Savior to pilot my ship to calm water, I find the haven of peace and security. There I clearly see the difference between the wrestling of the world, and the haven of God’s heart.

May you find your own place of peace and quiet this week, for meditation and refreshing from the ways of the world. If you already have that little hideout, then you know what I mean.

Have an emerald week! Trisha

CHASING SPARROWS

13 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, The unexpected

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Do you ever get to thinking you’re chasing sparrows, more than accomplishing anything? I’ll tell you, I sometimes feel I spend half my life chasing down something I mislaid. The other half of the time, I’m chasing intentions and feeling hopelessly unaccomplished. As Saturday opened its front door of potential, I felt sure we would enjoy a quick breakfast in town, pick up a couple items and get a set amount of work done before enjoying some relaxing moments in the backyard. Ha! We spent the day chasing sparrows — sparrows of one kind or another.

It seems our lives consist primarily of our own interests, and more importantly, the interests of those precious blessings we call family and friends. The other elements in our lives come from the pop-in experiences, or the happenstance — some like the pair of welcome hummingbirds who just zoomed through; and some like sparrows. They (the sparrows) are not what we call desirable pop-ins; but as sure as life, they are there, and must either be ignored, or become a part and parcel of what we do.

My husband and I have been blessed with retirement years at home together; albeit, strewn with physical ailments of one sort or another. All in all, we get to enjoy some pretty good things. Some of those good things in our lives have been a backyard of beautiful and melodious feathered friends. I think God created these just for me (wink); well, for sure for people who aren’t chasing little league, or tournaments, or bucket lists, and such as that. Though we aren’t the best of landlords for the birds, we take great pleasure in providing good housing and we are learning as we go. They, in turn, provide great entertainment for us. I’d say the highlight of our day was a scene at the back corner where two young apple trees are blooming. In one, perched two goldfinches; in the other, a male bluebird. Wow! What striking colors! So, instead of chasing things to do and buy and want, we chase sparrows. Literally. If you know, you know.

I have had several successful years of chasing away the house sparrows from my bluebird boxes by hanging a shredded shopping bag over the box as soon as they have lain the first or second egg. Not too attractive, but it works. Two years ago we had 14 fledglings total, to successfully leave the nests. The bluebird parents will not allow a flapping plastic bag (called a sparrow spooker) to stop them from finishing their family. Whereas, the sparrows, persistent and tenacious as they are, do not yet have the family attachment to the box, and are frightened away from invading the nest as they are otherwise prone to do. Yesterday I discovered, sadly, this will not work against the wrens. In the past, I have had enough wren housing to keep them occupied. This year, I missed the mark — forgot the wren houses and the rest is too sad to relate. So, I am on a chase: watch for the next bluebird egg in whichever box they choose, hang a spooker, and count incubation days; watch the two wren houses I just repaired and hung where they’ve nested in previous years; and help my husband, who is working feverishly to keep the sparrows chased out of his Purple Martin gourds! We have torn out at least eight house sparrow messy nests since the martins arrived in mid-March. This will be a never-ending cycle because you CAN. NOT. STOP. NATURE. Thank Goodness; and I wonder if we have lost the good sense He gave us, for even trying.

As a matter of fact, should anyone have driven past our peaceful little patch of earth today, they’d have seen a woman in her pajamas, being hoisted up in a backhoe loader, taking a messy nest out of a gourd, with a flock of fussing martins soaring back and forth waiting for their territory to be vacated of its intruders. Such is the life of a sparrow chaser. In hardly any time at all, we will be chasing European starlings, and hawks, as we strive to protect the future Purple Martin young. There is a balancing act in knowing how much to get involved and when to stay out of their business. Not so different from interacting with the rest of the world, is it?

Like many other pop-up or pop-in facets of our lives, the house sparrows make an awful mess. Not only do they invade and destroy young song birds, they build in rafters and make a mess all over your vehicles. And so, we chase. Very few of these sparrows will meet any demise so not to worry, but perhaps we will have aggravated them enough and chased them enough that they will end up in your neck of the woods. Not likely.

All this chasing causes me to stop and ponder — does God approve of our chase? Is my chase benefitting anyone or anything; or am I spinning my wheels in the dust of deadwood? Can I better use the time and talents given me? It all depends. Moderation in all things is highly recommended. If I can pursue a beloved hobby, and continue to use my resources to help another; if I can work in my life’s objectives, and stop to appreciate the blessings; if I can indeed enjoy those blessings and still stop to praise the Creator and Giver of it all, then surely I will have His approval. Lately, I have been tempted to go over-board (if only I could just get through the landscaping ONCE) so I needed the pop-in aggravations of the day to remind me not be too focused on my own agenda. To my own interests, I need to add those of another, and be keenly aware of priorities.

As one example of too much chasing, take this small writing table — full of writer’s paraphernalia, such as my journals, pens and pencils, dictionary, bibles, an Instant Facts book, and a laptop. Also by my laptop, is the sun visor and pair of gloves I used in landscaping yesterday. A bag of dog treats for one very important part of my life is accompanied by a plant, rooting in a jar of water, just begging to be transplanted. So much to do! Hopefully, I will see the cards hanging above the table from sweet friends, so I am reminded to be thankful for them. Also, there’s a box of cards I might use more often for jotting down notes to those needing encouragement. At hand too, is the study bible and devotional books just for a daily walk with Jesus. Life gets messy, and it’s important to keep the resources nearby to deal with it fruitfully.

As for our Saturday plans: the breakfast, a bust. The errands, one took forever and the other, no-go. The few jobs, still to be done. Some days are like that, and we just keep chasing. Someone once said, life isn’t interrupted by the unexpected; life IS the interruptions. I agree. I hope I can keep chasing the sparrows out of our loved ones’ lives, and keep finding a better and better me as I run along.

“to knowledge (add) self-control, to self-control perseverance, to perseverance godliness, to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness love. For if these things are yours and abound, you will be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.” 2 Peter 1:6-8

Have a beautiful fruitful week! Trisha

Southern Brick Wall

28 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by in Encouragement

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

I gazed longingly at my old flip-flops abandoned in a corner of the sunroom. I knew it would be a while before my fur baby and I could run out quickly in pjs and flip-flops, he without his doggy sweater. Seven inches of snow and sleet with temperatures in the single digits and teens, assured me this would be with us more than a moment. With gratitude for a warm house, running water, food in the freezer, and hot coffee, I am content — until I see the worn out flip-flops; and I wish I were wearing them now. Life has a way of yanking us back and forth from sighs of gratitude, to collisions of complaining, to relief of respite. Please, if I complain about the heat next July, just slap me!

Still, the sheen of sunshine over a pristine blanket of snow is a sight hard not to appreciate. But what if we were without electricity as many of our southern neighbors are. Oh, I know what if…we have been there before — feeding fuel into a portable generator, packing coolers of water into the house, flushing toilets with gallon jugs of water, and gathering by the gas logs while the generator rests. I recall in our former house, which was over 90 years old, opening the cabinet doors and leaving the water dripping even with electricity, and then keeping the hair dryer ready to start thawing the pipes anyway! Oh yes, I know how quickly the beautiful, playful snow and sparkling ice diamonds can become a pain in the neck. And yet, I am content to watch the season play itself out, appreciate the beauty, and be prepared for the beast. Life is as unpredictable as our state of heart.

Yesterday the temperature was 15 degrees after the sun had shone half the day, and as I watched my little Auggie scamper around on the frozen surface, I reached out and placed my hand on the southern-facing brick wall of the garage. I could feel warmth through my glove. “Surely”, I thought, “this wall cannot be warm on a day like today”.  Other days, yes; but how can this frigid air not stand between my wall and the sun? With a glove removed, I reached out, and sure enough, the wall was warm. Just as I had experienced in cold — but not as cold of weather — my southern brick wall was still soaking up and sharing the warmth of the winter sun living in the southern sky. We all need a Southern Brick Wall. When the bad comes in blizzards, and the coldness of the world reaches out to chill our hearts, we need a warm brick wall. Standing between us and the howling winds of heartache and harm, they absorb the warm rays of the Lord, penetrating even the coldest of days.

Someone who can be your southern brick wall, is someone who faces God, as the wall faces the south; looking to God for the warmth of His love and the truth of His word, that he or she may exude the same upon you in your days of chill and change. Our southern brick wall holds a heart of warmth where we can lean for the support and respite we need to continue on, and not be rocked off our feet by a blast of bitterness. Our southern brick wall will not allow the world’s attractions to cause her to abandon us. Most importantly, our southern brick wall will tell you she is not perfect. She too, can crumble, and become unintentionally cold with her own shadows, but will always point you toward the Son, Who never changes. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning” (James 1:17 NKJV). “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever” (Isaiah 40:8).

Change is impossible to avoid, and as we await the mush of spring thaws, we can also watch for the daffodil shoots and look forward to the freshness of their aroma. We will be aware of the likelihood of spring storms, but we also know where our southern brick walls are. Look for that person in your life who knows how to stand strong for you; who has strengthened themselves on the riches of God’s word and can help you walk through the worst. Better yet, soak up the love of the Lord yourself that you may stand ready when someone you know needs a strong, warm, southern brick wall. 

LEFTOVERS

01 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by in Celebrating, Reflections

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

Give to the Lord the glory due His name; bring an offering, and come into His courts. (Psalms 96:8) NKJV

On this beautiful first day of 2026, I find myself thinking more about things left over from previous years, and how to make them work for good in time to come. Like almost everyone, I began wishing you a happy new year, just before Christmas. I’ve enjoyed reading a few posts concerning hopes for 2026 and comments on closing of the old year. My heart is full of more good memories and love, but my refrigerator is full; just full. As for past years’ happy and woeful, time has moved so quickly for me that I can’t recall what was going on in what year, but have instead, begun calling things, “some time ago”, and “currently”. It’s safer that way.

On the day after Christmas, I started thinking about several leftovers. One was the decorated trees in our home, and the ornaments left from previous years. How I love holding each one and, with leftover memories, recite to myself the occasion or person responsible for each ornament being on our tree. Thankfully, many have the date written or else they would all be from the same time — some time ago! Much to the horror of those gone on before me, our trees are still up on January 1, and may be for several more days. The leftover fatigue of preparation may be partly to blame, but mostly I just like the time now for me to enjoy the sparkle and warmth of our decorations. However, this led me to realize the leftover intentions I never fulfilled. We also call these “what I forgot”. On the years my extended family meets at our house for Christmas, I have small ornaments they sign, date, and hang on our tree. Once or twice it was small bright red apples. Another, it was plain white balls; and a couple others, they signed red jingle bells. This year, I forgot my own tradition. And as always, the pickle was not even mentioned, so it hung in the sunroom tree until my daughter thought of it days afterward. Now, I have the leftover task of taking new bells, or balls, or whatever I can find, to each household and having them sign for Christmas 2025. Ah, leftovers!

The next leftovers that came to mind, are relationships. We all have them. People we thought we would stay in touch with but as time washes all the days together, we lose touch. Not that we don’t care about them or they us, but in healthy normal lifestyles, we meet new people, or form new relationships due to the paths our lives take, and before you know it a year has gone by and those important associations whom we love dearly, have faded into their own busy lives. Like good memories, they dangle just out of reach. We miss them, and we care about them, but (maybe because I am older) there are only so many minutes in a day and when some of those minutes take hours, well, it is just hard to keep up with a fast-paced world. You get it, right? I firmly believe in this quote my mother taught me: “Make new friends and keep the old; one is silver and the other is gold”. Cherish your leftovers and new ones alike.

You likely thought of food the instant you read the title of today’s blog. It is certainly an issue for this house. Why DO we prepare for legions of people when we are expecting 23 including tots and babies? As we ate leftovers (again) yesterday, I knew the line was drawing near, over which the left over food could become dangerous. Even partly cleaned out, our refrigerator is over-stuffed. We are a blessed people, but teetering on foolish, I’m afraid. Now, in my mind, Southern Living and Better Homes and Gardens were written to whet the appetite for cooking, not eating. I try new recipes, but cling to those left over from the — oh, some time ago — when I began collecting recipes from family and friends. So, the time honored traditions continue and are joined by the tempting new concoctions, filling my kitchen with hope, aroma, and yes, leftovers. There is a tin of Fantasy Fudge tempting me now from its place on the counter. I mean, what woman worth the salt in her bread doesn’t make Christmas fudge? I have a box in the freezer to refill this tin, if and when it is needed, which it isn’t. If any of you want fantasy fudge (delicious), please contact me and it is yours. Seems everyone is watching their weight and/or glucose levels, except me. And I should be. Okay, friends, it is a new year, so it is time to feed the trash can or freezer with your Christmas leftovers.

My left over resolution from years ago was to not make new year resolutions. It still stands. I hate to make promises I cannot keep, even to myself. There are however, some things I do try to get right for the new year, repeatedly. Some I have been successful with, like finally getting Gifts From the Garden written. I also began a more diligent study of biblical subjects, and I still need and plan to do more studying. I have been a teeny bit better with time management by letting social media rest more.

It seemed even the bluebirds knew it was the start of a new year this morning, as their excited chattering greeted me at the back door. As it turned out, a cheeping house sparrow had taken a shine to one of the bluebird houses, and the resident blues were quite in a tizzy as they flew in and out of the other empty houses and the magnolia tree, chattering away. Come to think of it, this too, is a leftover — an on-going rivalry over nesting sites. Who knew they’d start so soon? This leads me to some leftovers which are NOT desirable, as ornaments, relationships, and food are.

Can we try to let bygones be bygones, instead of leftovers? I wish I could teach the house sparrows this, so they would stop making trouble for hard working, peaceful songbirds. Let go of resentments and rivalries; move on to more pleasant matters.

Could I put my “money where my mouth is” and begin living out the life Christ has shown me to live? God really does not want the leftovers. I shouldn’t be willing to give Him the leftovers of my time and resources any more than I’d have served family week-old left over food on Christmas. “Honor the Lord with your possessions, and with the first fruits of all your increase;” (Proverbs 3:9) NKJV

Finally, I would like to be true to myself in what I hope to accomplish. Leftover intentions are a burden to carry year after year. This isn’t my first rodeo as they say, so why do I live like I have decades to get it right? I need to literally sit down and print out the things most important to me — things for the good of others, for the glory of God, and for the inner peace of myself. I hope to let go of ideas and thoughts I’ve had so long they’ve grown like bunions. Staying focused on what is “enough”, (as my sister would quote our late brother in Christ, Tommy Carraway), will be easier when I stop being distracted by shoulda/woulda/coulda.

Deciding what leftovers to keep and which to toss, will be my focus after I allow myself the relishing time I need. I feel a bit of purging coming down the pike; and I don’t mean food only. No resolutions; just determination to make this coming year count for good. If anyone has advice for making this easier, I am all ears.

I love you, sweet friends. If January 1 passes and you haven’t made some change you need to, it’s okay! With God, every day is a new year, a new opportunity, and the perfect time to turn leftovers into something spectacular. Happy new year! Trisha

Notifications

15 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by in Reflections, Through my window

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

Friday, 11/14/25

I recall (not so long ago) when a little red notification dot, or bell, or whatever symbols lived in my phone and computer, were welcomed reminders that I had mail. Or news. Or an appointment. Or a friend had news of interest. Although I reluctantly embraced the modern technology routes of e-mail, smart phones, and Facebook, I still use and enjoy our snail mail, and the daily local newspaper. Deciding I would not rely solely on these, nor on local television broadcasting, nor NPR, as I once did, has been a double edged sword. Truth is, my respect grows for each of those in their intended purpose; not so much for some more modern modes. However, my favorite source of modern media became the blog site where I may type my heart out with no real expectations. As I have not yet mastered the inner workings of this platform, my social media realm stops here. Recently, I have been toying with the idea of detaching from most of the aforesaid communication mediums. Why, you ask? The answer is simply, commercialism.

Ironically, the very thing which supports and brings us practically any media, is also that which has ruined it. Commercials, which bring us television shows, cannot be selected as the networks and scheduling can be; many are beyond repulsive and smell of propaganda more than profit. Comparatively, the cost of a postage stamp seems small — thank you U.S. Postal Service. I appreciate the notification by way of first class postage, as to whether or not it’s legitimate mail. Although I worry about all the trees involved in junk mail, my first stop from the mailbox, is the trash can. Ad-free music can be had, if you want to pay the fee. And I do. But I am getting off my intended subject.

Notifications — the ones that say “you’ve got mail” and so forth — have begun to seem like little liars. Very few of my notifications serve any purpose beyond commercialism. The most aggravating of these come from Facebook. Most of my — what do you call it, the profile stream, or activity — anyway, posts visible to me, are ads, AI, and anything other than my friends’ posts. I am, as they say, over it! When I realized all the ads my blog readers were subjected to as well when visiting there, I forked over the money for a site in which you may read without having to hopscotch over unwanted solicitation.

E-mail has become for me a dread! The more I unsubscribe, the more I have awaiting me to push out of the way — just in case any of the hundreds of weekly e-mails are actually important. Several of them are, and I have missed a few just because of all the junk! Oh, that’s not even counting the scuds of spam and junk in their own folders!

However, not all media is high on the complaint scale. As for the local paper, I suppose we would have to wade through many pages of advertisements if not for the price we pay (and still a pretty good deal) for a subscription. Thanks, Murray Ledger and Times. The last time I checked NPR, there were very few ads, but we are a spoiled society for variety, so there’s that. Still, when I want classical music and straightforward news, I enjoy public radio.

I did mention smart phones, and my experience there, is that pleasure or pain are directly in proportion to the amount of social media and apps I choose to install, download, upload, or otherwise clutter up my phone. Those lying little notification symbols that tell me I need to open my phone, keep me patting my hip pocket like a former smoker would his shirt pocket. I mean, what would I do if I lost my phone?? Our lives are in those fibbing little voracious eaters of our time.

As I type, my attention is caught by a couple of deer in the field outside my window. The afternoon sun warms the room as a slight breeze tickles the air, encouraging my recent tendency to unplug. I find myself envious of those deer, who roam and do whatever is their daily purpose, without so much as a nod to technology. My initial reaction is to grab my phone, take a picture and post it. As if my friends hadn’t had a million of those moments already! My friends, we are hooked. Each time I try to detach from something, I find it would leave a dangling thread – OH, that is the word I was searching for, our Facebook thread!

So, the question becomes, where can I cut back to be less irritated? I cannot drop e-mail — there are too many important connections, and business that must transpire via AOL. I will not drop my blogging — where and to whom would I rant? (And share, and praise.) We certainly cannot let the smart phones go — we cut the landline cord! I cut out TV streaming and we are fine, until I feel the pangs of evening with no local news nor Wheel of Fortune. Local news on a smart phone is just not the same. So, for a fee, we see the same programming over and over. I even pay a fee for ad-free, which only works part of the time. What does that leave? Oh yes, Facebook, and as often as I’ve threatened myself with deleting it, myself has said, “what about keeping up with all the great stuff going on in friends’ and family’s lives?” I fear also I might get desperate for mutual admiration of all things gardened. Still, I must ask, does it really require the relentless pushing of products and propaganda; the tremendous volume of advertising?

I may indeed take a break, before I get to be a bitter old naysayer. My cell phone number hasn’t changed in years, and I like texts; although I imagine that will change, since I started getting spam there, too. For now, texts are about the only notification I am happy to see. If you believe you have been blocked from my phone, then you can be assured your number was spoofed, and (not recognizing it) I blocked it to avoid further solicitation. I’ve never understood how the FCC has allowed spoofing of phone numbers — the numbers you and I pay a great deal to own — so the spoofers can solicit us — WITHOUT a notification!

If I have offended anyone, oh do please NOTIFY me, one way or another. (I have picked up a bit of sarcasm via notifications.)

I am going out to watch the deer and birds play, and feel the blood pressure drop with the beautiful sunset I expect to see. I’ll send you a pic, lol.

Saturday, 11/15/25. After starting the day with fresh ground coffee beans, great- nephews’ basketball games, French toast with my son and my husband, and an afternoon of outings with a terrific seven-year-old named Jack, I felt a lesser need to post this Notifications than before. Amazing what the sunset last evening and the fresh air today did; how the laughter of a child lifts me; and how hearing from sweet friends sweetened my mood!! Still, it felt so good to type out my irritation over commercialism in our communication, I thought, “hey, I’ll indulge myself a bit more and actually post it” — commercial-free!

P.S. I realize that in the whole realm of world problems, commercialism sneaking into our private media sources is not the largest of them. My reaction to this and any other issue, is more important to my well-being, than the issue itself. If I cannot change it, I must choose to avoid it, or live with it, and control my own involvement. I’m not intelligent enough to get into the philosophy I’m teetering on here, so I will close with a beautiful verse from God’s word. “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord. For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, which spreads out its roots by the river, and will not fear when heat comes; but its leaf will be green, and will not be anxious in the year of drought, nor will cease from yielding fruit.” (Jeremiah 17:7-8) NKJV

September 16

16 Tuesday Sep 2025

Posted by in In Memory

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, 

IT'S your birthday again, 
     and I know what you'd say —
"Write a little poem for me;
     you know it makes my day."
You'd say my little poem 
     and the flowers were enough,
Since you knew there were times
     I couldn't buy fancy stuff.

YOU'D remind me that "to have a friend
     you need first to be a friend";
To get my answers all from God,
     for life's questions have no end.
You'd find delight
      in the simplest flowers,
 Yet smile on our lives
      with your finest hours.

THE grave cannot hold 
     the essence of mankind.
A mother's true worth
      is in what's left behind —
     the light of her smile and her gentle touch,
     her words of wisdom, and her acts of love.

Happy birthday Mama. Love, Trisha  9/16/2025


Something Good in All of Us

07 Sunday Sep 2025

Posted by in Encouragement, Life

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

“There is so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it ill behooves any of us to find fault with the rest of us.” James Truslow Adams

To look at these tired bug-eaten bean plants, you would not expect anything worthwhile to come from them. Do we ever look at people that way? Do we feel like giving up? Last week I was ready to pull up the vines, hoping to make a less withered-looking garden spot. But, in true bean-lover form, I thought I would take one more look. Hot dry weather, a gardener who lost her will to weed, time and bugs, have worked on them for sure. People, too, get beat down, worn out and tested, but God — how many times in scripture do we read “but God…” — made it better, or saved entirely, a dire situation. Example: “And the patriarchs, becoming envious, sold Joseph into Egypt. But God was with him. ( Acts 7:9)

Now look at that little one-gallon ice-cream bucket there beside the row. Beneath these spindly Blue Lake bushes, remained the little moisture and will to live, given by the Lord Himself. Underneath the bushes, I found long tender beans just waiting to be noticed.

As a gardener in a garden, God the Father plants us, waters and nourishes us with all good spiritual gifts, sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears for us, and prepares a table for His expected harvest. He did not give up on you or me nor all humanity. He sees. We search. He loves. We try again. “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.” (I Corinthians 15:58)

By the time I finished both rows, I had two of those little buckets full; and a heart full of resolution to look harder for the good in everyone, as well to surrender the “I’m too old to be useful” idea. Like Daddy’s little ice-cream buckets, we can be repurposed and useful as long as we last. I’m not pulling up those green bean plants. I saw several blooms and baby beans that, who knows, just might make it to another dinner table. I don’t see them giving up until we, or Jack Frost, tell them to.

Never give up — on yourself, or anyone else — while there is life there is hope. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)