Category Archives: Reflections

Thoughts on Visits, Rest and Mamas

28 Monday Jan 2019

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A Visit

I visited Mama this afternoon. Oh, it was so wonderful to see her looking so well; productive, happy, and in good health. We talked a bit and I helped her find the missing part of a small crib she had about finished putting together. She was holding a little baby and it was for that baby that she was assembling the crib. Someone who looked familiar walked through the house where she had lived on Miller Ave, called my name and left, and she was trying to tell me who it was. He wore a large black fireman’s hat. My husband walked through next, in a red jacket. (Yes, we do dream in color.) Then I woke up.

Needs:   I wanted to get this written down before I had time to forget this happy feeling I have from my dream. I no longer feel depressed like when I lay down for a nap this afternoon, nor do I feel quite as dissatisfied with myself as I did. Not normally a depressed person, I had chalked it up to mid-winter ho-hums, even though it was a beautiful sunny day. I wanted something; but couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt torn between funeral home, hospital, hospice and shut-ins, and a strong desire to sleep. Several people I know have passed away lately, and some others are hanging on the edge of eternity, so I felt sad about those situations. I think I wanted to be in so many different places at once, that I just crawled into the middle of it all and went to sleep. Or, maybe I just needed sleep. My sister says I’m a real mess when lack of sleep takes over.

Retreats:   Now, where was I going with this? Oh yes, sometimes we just have to retreat. Pull the quilt over it all and leave with Winkin, Blinkin and Nod. Life’s a battle as well as a journey. Scripture says the battle belongs to the Lord and that He has planned our journeys, but as we live it, effort and emotions can take their toll so God said rest. I admire those folks who seem to never wind down, energizer bunnies, who amazingly make it to every wake; visit, cook and care, spreading themselves among their communities tirelessly. God still said rest. I’m thinking those industrious people must know their own limits, though we can’t see it, and still make space for rest.

Rest For The Weary:    One of those who we’ve lost this week is Dr. Ron Wuest. He cared for his patients in body and spirit. My family and I have missed him very much since his illness forced him out of practice. Missing his wake and funeral, I felt like I had let him down. But I know he would be right in saying, “when you feel you need to rest, rest!” Another one gone is a friend’s mother, also a sister in Christ. Knowing they are saying goodbye to her is likely what triggered my dream. Besides those two, there is sweet Peggy Carraway, who decided her battle here is about done, and is now at the hospice house. She has a bright eternity to look forward to, and deserves a rest, but it is just one more reminder of the brevity of life. There are so many good friends suffering now in many ways, and I carry them in my heart. I pray for their peace, comfort and healing. In the past, when I carried a load of concerns I could always park it at my Mama’s house, and it would be much lighter when I picked it up to leave again. Now, with her gone, I forget now and then that I need to unload. I do pray, and always feel comfort there, knowing God hears and will answer. But sometimes there is that something else; God knew and I didn’t. I really needed my Mama lately and He gave me a beautiful dream – a visit and a rest. Indeed, I thanked Him for it when I awoke.

Now, if I get to helping myself to too much rest, I hope somebody will rescue me and put me back on my hamster wheel! Have a great week friends, and don’t forget to rest when needed.

WHERE DOES THE NEW YEAR FIND YOU?

01 Tuesday Jan 2019

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Ten fifteen P.M. on New Year’s Eve my date and I have finished a silly movie where Adam Sandler’s character babysits his niece and nephew and they sort of live out the bedtime stories they make up the night before. We have had our tray of cheese, crackers and olives, drank our Diet Coke, and I added on a brownie topped off by a cup of Christmas Wassail. Just the two of us. And our Yorkie. Oh so different from the New Year’s Eves of the past!

Looking back in time, mid 70’s I see us newly wed couples all getting together to bring in the new year. Well, usually we were home by midnight, but it was so much fun! Whether at the Murdock’s, the Doron’s, or others, we had a great group of friends for laughter, games, and food! I learned back then how to make the REAL chex mix, thanks to Debbie Rogers Doron. And Mississippi Mud cake, thanks to Becky Burkeen Nance. I think I usually took peanut butter balls, dipped in chocolate; yep, always love my chocolate! Especially Hazel Carson Morton’s brownies!

After that decade, we were raising children, juggling debts, and working. And working. And working. Sounds like a stuck record? It felt like one too. New Year wishes were a bit more solemn for some of us; we began to be distanced from our friends of younger years. However, I was blessed with the sweetest kids I could have ever imagined having, as well as a fun-loving mother, so new years eve parties were always about family. I recall hubby and I hosting one year when my brother’s wife was expecting their first child. He was serving with the Marines in Desert Storm, and Julie, his wife, was staying with Mama. Julie really enjoyed the food I served, so her abdominal discomfort was at first thought to be the result of my food. The birth of my niece on New Year’s Day proved that theory incorrect!

The 90’s started out no better in the work realm, but by mid decade I had earned my BSN, and began working as an RN so my husband began to feel a bit more relaxed in the bread-winner chair. Still, with my schedule, and our having been out of the socializing habit for so long, we just never again had a group of friends where we felt that ‘couples camaraderie’. That’s probably true for many families; but on New Year’s Eve, I missed the festivities. I grew up in a house where the midnight hour was celebrated, even if my parents were away from home and we were with a babysitter, so I guess the notion carried over. Anyway, other than a few years when the kids and I were part of a church’s food and games evening, we were at home. I recall dropping by Mama’s one year on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, and her house was decorated so beautifully complete with candles and wonderful refreshments. She was prepared for her ‘girls’ to come over for games and laughs. Those ladies hold important places in my heart. Barbara Ramsey, Jean Bird, Betty Hassell, Frances Hargrove, all such loved friends of my mother’s. I don’t know who all came that night to help her celebrate another year, but those four were almost always in the mix.

Turn of the century! New Year’s Eve 1999, my sister Kathy invited us to her and her husband’s party! We had little plastic ‘champagne glasses’ with sparkling grape juice, some assortment of noise makers and I happily watched a new century drape the calendar in the midst of good people and good fun! Nineteen years later, I am happier than I ever believed I could be, without a party, without noise makers, at home. Just the two of us. Happy NYE texts to our loved ones, from the safety and warmth of our own home, be it ever so humble. By the way, do you younger ones see how fast another decade passed in this paragraph? Well, that’s life. Faster than a speeding bullet!

Forty five years of marriage has seen many changes, good times and not so good times, like most folks. But for the life of me, I can’t think of one bad thing that overrides the joy of watching our kids grow up; working side by side to pay for our home and farm; celebrating our loved ones’ accomplishments and learning daily to praise God together for every day of every year. I guess all that work was good for me; my doctor tells me every year how healthy I am in spite of a few (well several) pounds over weight and arthritis. My ‘unparty’ hubby is right beside me about to fall asleep, and always has been. Our empty nest holds no grandchildren, but we have the sweetest dog in the world that was dropped right into my lap by a couple of high school friends. (Thanks again Janie Hughes Guizlo and Gwen Russell Hymer!) And both our kids are exceptionally attentive to our well-being; but that’s mutual of course!

Ten minutes before midnight now, and I didn’t know where this was going when I sat down to write, or even if I would post it. I think maybe that the movie we watched tonight has a faint connection – our lives are somewhat played out by the stories we tell ourselves. We may not know exactly what we are asking for when we make our plans, but for my life anyway, there seems to have been a master storyteller, (thank you God) watching and listening, knowing where my heart was and here I am. There really is no place like home! Happy New Year Friends!

 

 

IT’S OVER

28 Friday Dec 2018

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When is Christmas over for you? I’ve heard several say it’s as soon as December 25 darkens, when the tree and trimmings come down. Others, like myself, enjoy the wake of it all by keeping the tree lights aglow until the New Year’s celebration is over. Even though I relish the reminiscing, the warm glow of the dust settling, and all the left over goodies, I’ll have to say Christmas is over when the kids go home. That’s what it’s been about, celebrating the Son of God, by having our son and daughter with us more than usual. That sounds selfish after I’ve said it, but it is the truth. As I sit here in the early morning dark, our daughter is now on the road home, having had nearly a week with us. Tight hugs, laughter and gratitude, and a bag of homemade goodies accompanied her departure. Her fur baby was SO  excited to be loading the car that he didn’t even look back to say ‘bye’ and just escaped my touch as I reached out to give him a tootle-loo pat. He was headed home!

A quick devotional with our cup of peppermint mocha before our girl took off, was from “Mornings With the Holy Spirit”, day December 28. Titled ‘Be the Friend that I am to You’, it was a good send off for her because she really is a wonderful friend. Not only to us, but also to her friends, and those she serves in her role in human resources as well. Her desire to make us feel loved and appreciated is matched by her warmth and humor to extended family. Loyal to her friends and work, even the four a.m. phone call during the weekend was taken with an ‘all in the job’ attitude, and no complaining. (A friend loves at all times, Proverbs 17:17 NKJV) How wonderful to have had her hanging with the folks in her vacation time! And how wonderful that God provides an even greater friend to all! The Holy Spirit is that comforter whom Jesus left with His followers. In God we have a Father, a brother in Jesus Christ, and a friend who sticks closer than a brother in Holy Spirit. What a wonderful thing to know. When all the world is down on life; when a friend betrays you; when the cut-throat society steps on you; all is well, because we have a friend like no other, who will never betray nor fail us. “And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever” (John 14:16).

So, after our generous-hearted son spent the day with us yesterday, and our loving daughter hit the road today, it is over. Time to clean, organize, and get back to work. What a joy to be able to pause in whatever span of time you have, with good friends, and say goodbye to a year of blessings as we look forward to a new one. May your new year be full of joy, peace that passes all understanding, and the love of great friends!  Especially the friend Jesus. Happy New Year friends! “Ointment and perfume delight the heart, and the sweetness of a man’s friend gives delight by hearty counsel” (Proverbs 27:9).

Eternally His, Trisha

 

NEW YORK CITY: The Trip is Over, What A Time We Had!

10 Monday Dec 2018

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, Reflections, The unexpected

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As much as I would like to report on all the fabulous fun we had (and I will in coming weeks) on a recent trip to NYC, there is one topic that is squeezing its way through first – just like New Yorkers do! Or were those the tourists??? I have so many interesting things to talk about, and this week’s blog is a serious one;  the one I’ve thought about most, so I begin with a foggy, misty Sunday afternoon, Dec 2, 2018. It is a bit long, but trust me, the boat will reach the harbor, and I believe it will be a thought-provoking ride.

LIBERTY SHROUDED IN A FOG OF MISUNDERSTANDING

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One week ago I had the privilege of being on board a boat that shuttles tourists through  upper New York Bay to visit Ellis Island, where stands the former chief United States immigration station. Knowing we would be passing Liberty Island and viewing that grand old crowned lady with her torch extended to the world, gave me goosebumps! I could hardly wait, straining my neck and eyes for the first glimpse of her immense presence. As we approached a body of land shrouded in a fog, I began to realize that our day of rainy weather would indeed dampen my long-awaited experience. In the distance I could barely see a pedestal similar to the pictures I had seen of that upon which stands the statue named Liberty Enlightening the World, or, the Statue of Liberty. The nearer we moved toward Ellis Island, and coming alongside Liberty Island, the clearer her outline became, until at last from her back side we were able to see the green of her bronze and the light within her torch. The crown on her head was not as clear but oh, how excited I was just to see that torch! Mixed feelings flooded my heart about immigration, homeland, and liberty.

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Once inside Ellis Island’s station, I felt almost transmigrated myself into another time and person. The steamer trunks, instruments of medical examination, and articles of interrogation were just plain foreign to me. As I listened to the recordings, and imagined myself in those immigrants’ places, I felt so much sympathy for their sufferings and fears that I cannot adequately put it into words. The statue in her misty fog made a striking symbol that day of some of the emotions and happenings of those days. “Liberty shrouded in a fog of misunderstanding” came from my mouth as I had my first glimpse of Liberty. Little did I know that I would feel even more so after learning more of the immigration experiences.

I keep wondering who was so forgetful of his own or his ancestors’ infancy to the new world, that he could exert what we today deem cruel and unusual treatment of those who followed. The closest I’ve ever come  (and it doesn’t even compare really) to what they may have felt as they entered the great hall of importation, is the shoulder to shoulder crowd on the New York sidewalks with a din of foreign languages, taxi horns blaring, and the sun so hidden by towering buildings that I couldn’t tell east from west. People who know where they are going run over you who may pause, to wonder where you are going. If not with friends and a fearless leader, what could I have seen?Confusion. Fear. Misunderstanding. Those were the three big realities when people looking for a life of liberty, were met with the very opposite of liberty. “The ability or opportunity to act in accordance with one’s own wishes or without repression or restraint by authority.” That is one of several definitions for ‘liberty’ in Funk & Wagnalls Standard College Dictionary. The fog of misunderstanding that filled those halls cloaked the immigrants’ hope in a shroud of fear, rejection for some, pain, hunger and loneliness rather than the liberty and freedom they desired. One woman’s story was that she and her siblings came to America with their mother who had always had one black fingernail. She said “my mother had raised all of us and was never ill and had always had that black fingernail; we’d thought nothing of it!” Due to that one black fingernail, the mother was rejected and sent back to her country of origin, parted from her children, and the voice of that one telling her story quivered after all those years, with sorrow of growing up without her momma.

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After moving from room to room, being told via the audio equipment about hundreds of experiences,  I returned to the great hall, and rested on the very benches where immigrants sat long ago in a state of anticipation, inside a bubble of disorientation. Oh, by the way, if one had a “dazed and disoriented” look, he or she would be sent for a psychiatric evaluation,  having just come through the fog of travel into an unknown future, quizzed by someone who didn’t speak the same language, and answering through an interpreter. Dazed? I’d say so!

Well, not all was lost, of course. There were also some stories of unusually kind social workers, nurses, and an occasional immigration official who extended courtesy. Many were successfully poked and prodded into the world of progress, America by name. As President John F. Kennedy said, “Everywhere immigrants have enriched and strengthened the fabric of American life.”  How often do we stop to think,  would I be here at all if not for the immigration of some ancestors who made this their home, met another, and here I am – a little Irish, a lot English, and like everyone else, I like to think I am a fraction Native American too. That makes us feel a little less like intruders. Would those ancestors say it was worth it? I can’t imagine. But to go through the trauma, even today, of transferring your life into the face of another culture must be daunting to say the least; so what they are running from, well, must be pretty bad.

We’ve heard it said that with freedom comes responsibility. Parents love to recite that to their children, and for good reason. At no time has liberty been free. There are prices to pay. I mentioned earlier that I have mixed feelings about immigration. I’m just being honest here; not politically correct. I see both sides of the issue. As a Christian I can’t support shutting anyone out of a better life. On the other hand, I do not enjoy knowing our country is becoming more crowded every day; I am insulted by some of the attitudes and changes being etched into, or should I say eroding, our country’s standards; and I do wonder why people flee their own homes rather than staying to band together and make home a better place to live. That’s because I have never worn their shoes. Newcomers to this country were willing to dig in and make a living, shoulder the responsibilities of making a great nation, and earned the privilege of being an American. Somewhere along the line, we stopped holding that view. I do not know if I am shrouded by that fog of misunderstanding, or if immigrants-to-be are blinded by the word ‘liberty’ so that they do not understand the responsibility on leaders of a nation to protect its people. There must be some governing laws, or criteria by which immigration does not compromise the safety of a people. I believe God, the creator of the universe, teaches open arms. But also He teaches that once we escape the oppression of sin, we are not to return to the same. Likewise, if people are able to escape the oppression of one country, they must not become slaves to the oppressions of dependency, hatred and crime. I pray that those who are greeted by the Statue of Liberty, or any harbor of the USA, find people who are willing to teach, listen, and work together. In nursing, we sometimes say, “see one, do one, teach one” so that all are brought on board as equals. No one cares if your brass has tarnished, nor whether your crown shines, as long as you’re extending a torch of welcome, lighting the way.

It was enlightening for sure to learn of the past immigration process which, like our country, has evolved over time. I did not take time to tour the evolution of that process, because I couldn’t pull myself away from the history of it.  What I came away with however, was more important. That is, to be aware of the fog we can enter which may obscure our vision, be informed, be kind, and be responsible in our liberties.

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PRECIOUS MEMORIES

09 Sunday Dec 2018

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I sat on the couch holding an old boot box full of smaller boxes and precious ornaments for our Christmas tree. Among those were three small white crocheted ornaments – two snowflakes and a stocking – made by my Aunt Sue who is no longer with us;  a flat round ceramic picture of Mama given to me by my sister Kathy the year our mother passed away;  and 13 precious Hallmark Keepsake ornaments given to me by Tiffany Shemwell, (now Clayton) one at a time every year that she was in school, kindergarten through 12th grade. Of course, Tiffany’s mom, Terese had to have started the tradition for her sweet daughter, but as Tiffany grew, so did my pleasure at seeing what her selection each year would be. Just like Tiffany, each one was unique, usually dainty, and adorable! The tradition began because I drove Tiffany to school and home again on a big yellow school bus. I only drove nine years after which, I was in nursing school, and then working as a nurse, but the little Christmas surprises continued to show up on my front porch until she graduated from high school. Five of the last six were little nurse animals – a mouse with a stethoscope, a koala with a hot water bottle, and so on.

Sitting there with our tree partially decorated, I found it difficult to begin opening the cherished Hallmark boxes. You see, tomorrow will be Tiffany’s funeral. Having fought a long battle with brain cancer never took the sweetness and sparkle out of that little girl! All who knew her were impressed with her bravery, as well as devastated that she and her family were being harassed with the cruelty of this disease, not once but twice. Now at 35 years old, she won’t have to fight that battle any longer. So, it just didn’t feel right to be opening and enjoying these memories while being so sad about her passing. However, through tears, I began to realize that Tiffany would be so sad if I didn’t enjoy them as I have every year and so I finally found my way to opening and hanging Tiffany’s ornaments. Gingerly I opened each box, imagined what she may have liked about each one, and gave them their usual prominent positions on the branches. I always save the last one for last, and reread the note that she included with it. This one is a little blond angel named Marguerite, holding a rabbit, and was 13th in the Mary’s Angel Series. It was also the 13th year of Tiffany’s ornaments, though the only angel from her, as well as the first time in those last 6 years that she didn’t select a nurse, but an angel. On the box is stamped the following:

“Bunny thinks it’s awfully sweet to snuggle up to Marguerite. They drift around the Christmas sky and watch the angels flying by.”   I’ll let you roll that around in your own heart, just as I am wondering how much intuition a 17 or 18-year-old would have.

Even better, is what Tiffany wrote to me on the gift tag she attached to it.  I share it now as just one more testament to how sweet and thoughtful she was. Precious memories!!

Merry Christmas Ms. Ward! This is the last one to complete your set, since I graduate this year. May they all bring you lots of joy every Christmas season. Love you lots, Tiffany

Thank God, Even When the ‘Maters are Mashed

20 Thursday Sep 2018

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“Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good! For His mercy endures forever.” Psalm 107:1

Oh yes! He has given us all we need. Above all, peace (John 14:27); even on a tearful morning when the carnal mind is trying to “mash my ‘maters” with thoughts of earthly things that the world says are important, to cloud over the amazing brilliance of all that God has given. People don’t mean to sit on your tomatoes. They’re just grabbing a seat, living life the same way you want to. Sure, there are things we want in life – in fact, God tells us to pour out our longings to Him – but the level of happiness they bring, rides on an elevator of circumstances. However, the peace, joy and mercy from God aren’t dependent on those things. Physical blessings come and go, but the spiritual blessings are for keeps, unless, of course, we walk into darkness and lose them. Even then they can be restored. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take Your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and uphold me by your generous Spirit.” Psalm 51:10-12

Life is fragile; it comes and goes. But the joy that it brings, and leaves with us, stays. There is a joy in knowing the Giver of that life continues to care, more than we know how to. He sees when we are struggling with gaps in our faith, with holes in our blankets, with pain and quicksands in life.

Sept. 20, 2018. So much life has happened this week. My niece is holding her newborn son today. A dear friend buried her 57-year-old husband yesterday, a sudden loss for the world of lives he touched. Bill however, entered an eternity of peace and joy on Sunday. My baby girl turned 39 today; I don’t feel old, just left behind, sort of. How much of what I meant to do and didn’t is important? We started our farm harvest this week – a reminder of how short seasons really are – and you better start them out right! Lastly, I’ll be attending the wedding of a good friend’s daughter on Saturday. All this in a week! Birth, birthday celebration, wedding, death, and gratitude for a good harvest.

As I sit here by the pond, pondering all this, my husband is running the combine some 50 acres or so north as is a neighbor to my south. Life, work, pleasures and sorrows all go on and on. Sometimes you get the pink one, sometimes the blue.Some days you win, some days you lose. Thank God for each new day woven in peace, for the spiritual joy in the heart He relieves.

Take a journal and start writing; make a list of your blessings. If you compare a list of “what I have” with a list of “what I have not”, you will find the “haves” far exceed the longings. For at the top of the “have” list is God’s son, and you can’t top that!

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Pondering

 

 

TC, OUR FEARLESS LEADER

02 Sunday Sep 2018

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“Oh, well, it’s gonna be all right…” with a shrug of his shoulders, and a dynamite grin; then he would proclaim “God is good, all the time; all the time, God is good!” A word or two with some airport staff member, and in his easy way, our fearless leader made it all right, again. Perhaps if I could just have one more of his hugs this too would be all right. The last time I saw him was at church – was it just two weeks ago? He was at the welcome center and as I came through the front door, he turned, grinned and waved. Why oh why didn’t I go on over to him for that one last shoulder squeeze? I may have thought he would always be here; he had already endured so much! So I hope you will understand as I add one more tribute to our sweet brother in Christ.

I met Tommy’s reputation and heart before I met Tommy. A sure and strong influence on my brother-in-law becoming a Christian, I saw how he and my little sister were loved into fellowship with Christ. Tommy and his “Peg” opened their home too many times to count and taught a fellowship and love for others that will always be remembered. His “Simper Fi” (“young married who aren’t so young anymore but wouldn’t leave their teacher” class) and his fellow mission team members were just some of those blessed by that home. Thomas Carraway; TC as he was nicknamed; friend, brother, Christ follower, many have repeated his name and his well-known quote since Friday. August 31, 2018, a day Tommy knew was coming and was well prepared for, he breathed his last labored breath, and passed into peace. I know a little part of many many hearts went with him. All the wonderful comments and tears among friends and family encircle his memory like a wreath, and like a cushion, makes our pain of loss more bearable. Some lives leave a footprint; some leave a crater.

Sitting near Tommy in worship services, we witnessed his warmth and his completely unpretentious way of letting others know he cared. From his dear friend who never had to sit alone in church after losing her husband, to the hundreds, no, thousands of Guyanese lives touched by Tommy’s love for sharing God’s love, many walk closer to Jesus than we would have without Tommy. My sister and I first began our Guyana missions together, under the leadership of our Tommy. After we returned from the first of those medical missions, Tommy confessed to me that he had predicted I might be “kinda needy” but trusted it to work out. He was happy to say he had been wrong, and encouraged me to keep going back; best of all, he always thanked us for loving the people of Guyana. What a Leader! It has been shared with me that on several onsets of mission trips, knowing his health wasn’t the best, Tommy said that he would be perfectly happy to die right there in Guyana, doing what he loved. Fearless! Tommy put others first – just ask a rookie mission team member – he loaned her his prized Reba t-shirt when her luggage didn’t make it to Guyana with us! Selfless! Little samples of the big love he lived.

So many of us are better people for having known Tommy Carraway, because he wanted us to know Jesus. And what I think he would want us to do now, is to go out and live every day in such a way that those around you can see that you live what you believe – and that is that God and His love are absolutely enough!

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” 2 Timothy 4:7 NKJV

Age, You Do Not Scare Me!

09 Thursday Aug 2018

Posted by in Celebrating, Faith, Life, Reflections, Uncategorized

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First week of August: It’s hard to be mad at the grass growing in the flower beds when theres a hummingbird sipping on the blue salvia and a bluebird on tbe clothesline pole. Finches are flitting through the blackeyed susans, and a bobwhite calls from the fields. Too much good to dwell on the ungood.
I turn 65 this month, seems like I should be saying that about my parents, not me. But the year of birth verifies it. Its really me. Sitting here on the patio as the sun finds a place to rest, I am overwhelmed with God’s grace. I’ve done nothing to deserve this peace.
Jesus said He gives us peace. Not as the world gives, does He give. And it IS a whole different peace. Though several circumstances could be rewritten if my world were ideal, its that peace that passes all understanding that comes with being in Christ, in spite of the less than idealic. The hummingbird can’t receive life sustenance by being nearby the salvia and feeders, admiring them, talking about them; but must contact that necter, get into it. Well, neither can we receive the peace and grace of Christ”s without contacting Him thru His life giving blood. On the outside looking in just isn’t where He wants us to be. I hear Him beckoning, “Come nearer to me, lean in, feel the peace and protection I promised when you became my child”. Age does not scare me.

It’s All About the Journey

19 Saturday May 2018

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They say it’s not the destination that counts, but the journey getting there. I agree – to a point. For without a clear destination, a person can get lost. Even with the best planning, however, there are still the unexpected treasures or displeasure to encounter. So, trophy or tragedy, more living goes into the trip than the ‘there’ (except, in my opinion, if it happens to be the Grand Canyon!) Are we there yet?

Yes, it’s the unexpected detours, the rough spots in the road, or a picturesque roadside for a picnic; the outrageous drivers, or fellow companions’ moods; and even the body of the transport that make it interesting; and proves your skill at travel – or living the journey.

Take our little road trip today for example. If you don’t mind the details, you’ll arrive at my intended destination.What was going to be an overnight stay in Hernando, MS to get an early start at the Como, MS auction, changed to “we’ll get an early morning start and save the hotel cost”. The more he looked at some other trucks on-line, the more he leaned toward stopping in Memphis to look at a truck, then on to Como. By the time we went to bed, he had decided we’d just forget the auction and look at two trucks in the Memphis area, Exit 60 and then Collierville. So, this way, we could get Auggie’s day started as usual (pee, poop, eat his breakfast) and settled in for our neighbor Karen to come in after noon to tend to him. Yes, clearly the little pudgy puffy ewok has taken the reins in our life . And what a nice detour he has been!!20180216_154935.jpg

My GPS is a tad bit old but trustworthy for the most part. Gary wants me to enter the destination’s address; he also has ‘farmer directions’ he obtained on the phone. The two rarely match! First stop, an unplanned strawberry farm in McKenzie, TN. So, we’re carrying fresh strawberries, in May, in a car, for all day. OK.

Next stop, a gas station for a large bottle of water to wash the berries. Travel makes one hungry!

Going against the GPS now,  I turned her off so her desperate attempts to make us go her way were thwarted. Exit 60: “We’re here”,  he tells the young man, who answered, “I thought you were calling before you got here. I’ll be ten minutes.” Third stop: road side, waiting 15 minutes for a three-minute drive to ‘the truck’. Or should I say, the piece of junk. Gary says it’s worth about $4,000 to stretch it out and put a something or other on it. Oh.  Off again, to the address he gave me, and GPS on again. Hey, this route is familiar – our son lived in Collierville a short while and the road off of I 40 is very scenic; calming and memorable.

Fourth stop: a truck parked on a lot, (a hot deserted lot) possibly wrecked before. The frame he thinks aloud, is out of line. “No”, I answered uncertainly, “I do not see it”. “What’s your impression?” he asks. Hmmm, an old used truck – what else could I see? Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.

So, it is my job now to decide where we can eat dinner (noon meal). My third call sounded like they understood the gluten question. Home cooking, 0.8 miles away. My phone GPS got us there and surprised us that it is in the Collierville town square. Very pretty, historic and well-preserved! The Silver Caboose proved a fine choice. Homecooking at it’s best with many choices; veggie plates prepared like home, but better! And, Perfect iced tea. 20180519_132630

When the waiter came to take our order, I said, “I’m torn between a salad, or a vegetable plate, because I can’t have wheat gluten”, and as I was adding “I don’t suppose you have a gluten-free bread?” he became very agitated and abrupt. I named my peas, beans and greens selections; Gary ordered, and I started to ask if I may order a piece of grilled chicken, but he was off and running – from me, no doubt. Gary said, “What did you want?” I told him and he motioned to the mannerless waiter, saying “she wants a piece of grilled chicken added to that”. Period. As I added “…if that’s possible…” he said, “be quiet” to me, and “that’s all” to the waiter. I looked a bit stunned because we women do not go for the cut and dry; we want explanation and courtesy, given and taken. Gary said to me, “You’ve got to be insertive to people like that” LOL. I said “you mean assertive?” But at the time, yes, I could have taken my foot and become ‘insertive’. Pardon me, please, you genteel of nature.:) But my man took care of me! The chicken was good.

He’d have liked for me to drive home. Actually he said, “you gonna drive back?” I said no of course, I had things to do, naps to take, uh, I mean notes to take.

Outskirts of Jackson, TN, our GPS says ‘this way’. Gary says ‘my way’. So, GPS is off again; we know the way home. But road construction is never-ending, so a left turn has two lanes unknown to Gary who took up both lanes as we made the turn..  Another car was trying to turn left too. The driver was not grace-full in his reaction. I couldn’t look! The explanation and courtesy thing again; not at all appreciated by my driver, nor the other man. Both should have been thankful there was no accident and driven on. So now we laugh at it and continue on our way.

Scripture repeatedly tells us we have a planner, a spiritual GPS so to speak, to keep us from getting lost. In our spiritual journey we need the same things as we need on a road trip. We need directions, food for growing and sustaining faith; grace and gifts. We make mistakes, and we need re-directing. And then with gratitude we find our way home.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. Isaiah 55: 8-9

“Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!  And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!” Psalm 139:23-24  (ESV)

Happy travels!

 

 

Balsamic Vinegar and Rosemary Olive Oil

22 Sunday Apr 2018

Posted by in Life, Reflections

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Why make the decisions we make? Purposeful, random, or eenie-meenie-miney-moe’d, something persuades or propels us in one direction or another.  Sometimes I just like the sound of a thing; like EVOO, or balsamic vinegar. I have a bottle of each on the kitchen counter, just because I like the looks and sounds of cooking with them. Over time, I’ve developed a real like for one; a little less for the other. I’ve obviously encountered a decision-making situation today or I wouldn’t be thinking  along that line. As we age we often take on sensitivities and intolerance to various foods and environments. Mine came to be wheat gluten, and over several years I’ve learned where gluten may be hiding and how embarrassing it is to question vendors, who only sell, not make the food. The frustration on their faces when we ask “does that have wheat in it?” is obvious. But it must be asked to make the decision.

A year or two later:  I made a decision on this rainy day to have a small ‘skinny coconut latte’ and I may have found a new best friend to accompany me as I blog. I still like to say “balsamic vinegar”;  and “olive oil” just rolls off the tongue (double entendre unintentional, but I like it). Perhaps I began this post to address decisions. Picking it back up today however, I really do not recall that particular impending decision. But what I do see in it is this: sensitivity and intolerance! As I get older, I find I am less sensitive, but more intolerant. While that may sound conflicting, allow me to explain.  For food and environment, ‘sensitive’ and ‘intolerant’ are pretty much the same. With attitudes, each of those words can go its own way independent of the other one. In the years when I was overly sensitive, everything seemed personal. Comments, actions, attitudes, were perceived as directly pertaining to or because of me. Me. Really? Someone forgot to tell me that the world was not my mother and I would not be accountable to them all. What makes us think we – anyone – is important enough to cause others to have those ‘bird-flipping’ days? What could I have done to deepen another’s frown, or increase the grit in their growl? I truly was relieved to discover years ago that the world’s happiness does not hinge on me. In case you don’t recognize it, that would be called co-dependancy. I learned it in childhood and that’s another story for another day. Isn’t it liberating to know that people can snap at you, frown and scowl, and you can just smile back knowing it isn’t your fault? Now, of course if I have offended, and yes sometimes I do, then it is just as liberating to admit it and say “please forgive”.  But in the world of vinegar-dripping attitudes, just remember that even if it wasn’t our doing, we can still have a sweet effect on the vinegar, and not become acidic ourselves. Drop into their lives a little sugar, salt and pepper, chopped tomatoes, hot peppers and onions and that vinegar comes to life! We called that goulash where I came from.  “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.” (Proverbs 25:11)  Being less sensitive decreases worry and less worry opens the path to positive reactions.

Tolerance, however,  is another thing for me. When I was more sensitive, I was more tolerant in that I was prone to think maybe everybody is right, and I am not. Sensitivity for me, left me less clear about where I stood on a subject; therefore, I was more tolerant of the world’s junk.  I was afraid to make a stand even with a strong platform, so that I wouldn’t stir up some controversy that might be taken personally. This is reminding me of the “double minded man” of James 1, verses 8, 23, and 24 who is indecisive, doubting, and can’t even remember his own image!! I am happier being less tolerant of the things I know my Savior taught against, even though I am still  no fan of controversy! I will, in fact,  go to great lengths to avoid it. That’s just one reason I like to write; it gives me time to carefully phrase, and rephrase things to avoid being abrasive. Though I would never do that intentionally, it just seems that when the tongue gets going, it is usually way ahead of the reins. So, I write.

So then, being intolerant enables me to take a firm stand when I know a thing to be repulsive because now I can clearly separate the things I cannot tolerate, from the people who do them. The people are loved, the actions are not.  I learned recently that one reason the shepherd anoints the sheep’s head with oil is to cause an opponent’s head to slide off when he is butting heads in a challenge. Less damage is done. Another reason is to repel the flies that pester and fester. The Lord has anointed my head with oil, and it is so sweet. I can tolerate the pounding I may invite by being intolerant of what I want no part of.  And I can let insults slide right off!

Rosemary added to olive oil gives it a touch of sweetness, adding to the oil’s many other benefits. A wonderful emollient, it also is loaded with vitamins and antioxidants; and is flavorful alone or with added herbs. I choose basil and olive oil to change our age-old family recipe for goulash. I’m sure this would not be tolerated by my grandmothers, but I think my Mama would love it. She was much more tolerant of my decisions.

Then there is the vinegar I just can’t seem to totally avoid. You know, no matter what kind of vinegar I open, it still smells sharp and tastes acidic. As the Lord anoints my head with the oil of gladness, may the Holy Spirit continue to buffer me that I will not carry acrid sensitivity, but rather joyful certainty. If I have aligned myself with the good Shepherd, I can enjoy the oil, and avoid the vinegar. Maybe that is where this post was going from the start. We can make the decision to spew acrid vinegary attitudes all about, or we can pour the oil to smooth and enhance life for ourselves and others.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over.” Psalm 23:5