Category Archives: Reflections

Friendships: Puppies and Porcupines

28 Wednesday Mar 2018

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Hello! Long time, no see. I’ve been a neglectful blogger lately. My writing time was used to expand one of my articles published previously by Christian Woman Magazine, and I used that to present a talk in a Ladies Retreat in West Virginia. My sister and daughter accompanied me there last weekend. We had a wonderful time of fellowship and fun; so many laughs, hugs and encouragement that I feel recharged and refreshed! I’m not sure we realize, as women in a busy world, that our souls need refilling and refueling on a regular basis. We certainly pour out of them on a regular basis, do we not? I like the slogan on the Alum Creek Ladies Retreat Facebook page, which is “You can’t pour from an empty cup”. That has me thinking about friendship.

There are of course several levels of friendship. There’s the ‘barely know ya’ Facebook ‘friending’ and the ‘so glad to reconnect’ social media friending; there are long-standing work/school/neighborhood relationships that became friendships probably due to simply being there and the frequency of spending time together. Then, there are those unique people from our past who we can see ever so seldom and always feel like we are just picking back up a conversation from only yesterday. You know the kind , who have their ‘only them’ places in your heart. Perhaps it’s the first childhood friend you made (mine is Sandy Perfilio Jordan); or perhaps your high school bestie (enter Janie Hughes Guizlo); and of course the one you lived with as you left home the first time for that adventure called college (Linda Stubblefield Pugh). A different kind of friendship that can only be cultivated through time is that of husband and wife as newly wed days turn into always. He always has my back.

The weekend held for me a buffet of friendships. From the acquaintances that immediately felt like good friends, to the life long cherished friendship that is much more like family. This is the Arthur family of a little place called Bancroft, West Virginia. The mom, Helen, was my baby sitter before my memories begin and the mutual love between her family and mine continues in spite of my mom’s passing and the 450 miles between us. Helen’s daughter Kimberly Holder is my sister in the spirit. We think a lot alike although she is much more thoughtful and humble than I am. I had the privilege of seeing her sister and brother-in-law (Vicki and Whitney Hess) give their live band performance at a little Italian restaurant.  Though I never thought Vicki and I to be anything alike with all her talents, I discovered we have one important thing in common: she was more nervous singing in front of her three friends from Kentucky than all the times she has performed before senators, governors, and such. I too, had just had a case of nervous nellies as I spoke before a group of about 170 gals just like myself – living our seasons, doing our best to make each day count. My sister, my daughter and I were treated like royalty. That’s hospitable friendship.

Speaking of sis and daughter, this is another kind of friendship. Kathy, my sister and Stephanie, my daughter are the most supportive loving people you could ever ask for; more than I ever deserve! These close family members are people you can argue with and still come out friends. We must have those with whom we can share tears and confidences, knowing that it goes no further than them. That’s called trust.

My Mama told me once that to have a friend, you have to be a friend. I believe she got that from Proverbs in the bible, where it says “if a man is to have friends, he must show himself friendly”, and it was her answer to a question I asked.  I sat down at her kitchen table one morning in the months before her passing and said, “Mama, I don’t know what I’ll do without you. You are my best friend; and I don’t make friends the way you do.” That’s when she said how to be a friend. Hers was a sacrificial, wise and true love friendship.

I enjoy a large church congregation full of friends, many of whom I have no doubt would do anything they could if I needed help. Even there, there are always those two or three with whom you share a special bond. One shares a love for writing and has the most beautiful spirit. Another was a labor patient whose baby I was blessed to catch as he entered the world, making two friends of one! A couple of others whose newborns came at the end of an overtime shift where much bonding takes place are dear to my heart. Camaraderie at its best!

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the very special friendship we have in our pets. Pets, especially puppies, bring out a gentleness in us that we start losing at about five years old. I think a three or four-year old would pet a porcupine and sweet talk it if given the chance. I want to be that kind of friend – the one who can love another in spite of the prickly days, the days when you need to be told you are special and not be reminded that it’s due to the quills. Like my puppy, who is always glad to see me come back home, I want to have open arms and heart for those in distress, or with regrets. I think that’s a Jesus kind of love and friendship.

I was blessed today with a visit from my old college roommate. The two of us shared memories and todays’ struggles and brunch. Hers is a non-judgmental kind of friendship, where we can openly discuss family matters and controversial issues with that trust I mentioned earlier. Along with the past weekend, today refilled my cup; I’m refreshed, renewed and refilled. That’s friendship.

Winter Ghosts

13 Saturday Jan 2018

Posted by in Nature, Reflections

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As I sit over a cup of Keurig Peppermint Bark, I am bewitched by the scene through the kitchen window. Snow ghosts, stirred by the gusts of wind, are dancing across the quiet field that once held lush growing soybeans, and a disruptive marestail here and there. The morning sunshine reflected off that frozen pallet is hypnotizing me. I am remembering snowfalls of many years, and I am so thankful for the comforts of home. I hear the laughter and shrieks of children now grown, as they would come inside, leaving their crooked little snowman in the trampled snow of our yard. I remember my brown-eyed boy begging to stay out longer, and our pigtailed girl throwing off the wet mittens and heading for the comfort of our large gas stove. I sigh and pray “thank you” recalling the four-wheel drives into work through ice and snow.

From my childhood, I hear the stomping boots of the rabbit hunters coming in half frozen. Images cross my mind of deserted cedar trees that once held the jewels of Christmas, cast out, bare and lying on snowy banks. I shiver with the ghost of a blizzard my husband and I once drove through to take down a load of dark-fired tobacco from an old one room barn.   I hear an occasional eerie moan of the ghosts from undone plans, as they bring my attention to the present day skeletons still standing in my garden; a stripped sunflower stalk, and tomato vines that cling to the few stakes I never got around to moving. That garden spot is now one with the open field it joins, as if it could never be made a garden again.

A small dry oak leaf scampers across the snow with a life of its own. It looks like the hummingbirds of only a few months ago flitting from one feeder to another. The thoughts of garden and bird almost make me ready for warm weather; but first, I want to enjoy the beauty of this ghostly quiet, peaceful snow day that kind of insulates me from the routine. It is good to be still, and know…and remember the Creator of all this – the snow, the birds, our memories that warm us in the cold days of life – and so much more! Only a blanket of snow can transform a dark stripped landscape into a thing of beauty overnight. “Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” Psalm 46:10

Stay warm friends

A Time to Suit Yourself

14 Wednesday Jun 2017

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Betty Ann put down her glass of iced tea and said “As I’ve grown older, I find I am arranging things in my house just to suit me”. Looking around my kitchen and dining areas in response to Paula’s comment about how I arrange things “just so”, I realized I do tend to group things by the way I like to see them. We three girls were enjoying an all too seldom visit early this spring, and I’d arranged the visit, not the house. On that day I didn’t feel worthy of it,  but I was happy for the compliment. The very old and the very new may sit side by side just because I like the colors together. Then again, the colors within a group may not be complimentary but the items remind me of an event or someone special; or I group items  just because I like the way they fill the space. (Kind of like the way we fill our lives with so many different kinds of people; all ages, and walks of life.) So yes, my house is full of stuff, just to suit me. At the same time, I know the arrangements will be seen by others, who may or may not share my decorating taste. Not to sound unkind, but, so what?  Problem is I’m a sentimental collector; a dangerous combination. Minimizing is attractive in theory, but to a collector who sees a memory or  a loved one in each cherished possession, letting it go is next to climbing Mt. Rushmore. So maybe my space is getting a bit cluttered. So is my mind, so I guess it’s a nice fit.

     I once looked at life as a buzzing busy bee,

     Or butterflies all aflutter.

     But as the days grow tired on me,

     I see it all as clutter.

 The down side of having a moment to look around the room, was that I saw so many things I didn’t do to prepare for guests, that I would have done a few years ago. There was a puppy pee pad on the floor across the room, and I didn’t get the floor mopped. I didn’t cut a bouquet of flowers, light a candle for fragrance, nor clean the windows. Yes, those are things I would have done a few years ago, along with moving and dusting under all those collector bric-a-brac just mentioned. Before you judge me, keep in mind that it was how I was raised. My mother may not have had the newest carpet, but it was clean; her windows were shining and the curtains were clean and ironed. God bless her sweet soul, she even cleaned the grooves in the linoleum flooring with a toothbrush when the floor wax built up there. My point is, we learn what we live. And I lived with a woman who loved her home, and her company. She wanted to present her very best. So do I. But like Betty Ann, my attitude has changed over the years. How I define my very best, now has more to do with conversation, time spent, food they’ll enjoy, and being rested  rather than frazzled. I settled for vacuumed without mopped; a good quiche and iced tea; gratitude for the people I was blessed to have in our home, laughter instead of being tired and sensitive (which is what I become when I lose sleep, and sleep is lost if I do all that other stuff). My nap the day before was a luxury I didn’t used to afford myself, but I was a better person afterwards.

There was a chigger weed in my iris beds, maybe more. But the irises were beautiful. There was laundry piled up because we’d been fighting our washer, but the laundry room door slid shut nicely. The hardwood floors didn’t shine like they once did, but there’s a bathed and pampered puppy to enjoy instead. Our once grassy lawn was a weedy bog, but on it stands a home that I hope and pray extends hospitality and love. Anyway, I’m working on it. Perhaps one day, I will look around and see all the beauty of a wonderful visit without seeing these undone things.  So, if you are tempted to give your house a “spit-polish shine” before I come to see you, don’t do it. Take a nap instead, have a cup of coffee ready, and let us enjoy a time “arranged just to suit ourselves”!

 

Memorial Day

30 Tuesday May 2017

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Today was Memorial Day 2017, sunny and warm. Warm not only with sunshine, but with memories; and warmed with the family and friends who are not memories, but present blessings. Like my dad who called with a convincing offer to peel and cut up my peaches for me. Yes sir-ree I hauled that box of Georgia peaches into town and left them for him and his wife to work up. They already “had a system going” he said, as they were working up their own peaches too. Daddy always has had a system, an organized way of doing anything. I believe he would plan ahead exactly which shoe he would tie first and which direction the string would wind around the loop!

After a morning of caring for our visiting ‘granddog ‘, as well as our own puppy recovering from his first bout of stomach bug, and the usual Monday mundane chores, we joined our son for a good Zaxby’s meal. Following the required weekly trek through Wal-Mart, we drove to the edge of town to Murray Memorial Gardens where my mother and father-in- law, and my own mother are buried. We parked under a tree for shade, and walked back to the place where my husband’s parents had selected for their vault. Names on a wall are all there is to see of them. I chose to honor them by naming aloud something I remember about each one, and for the others we were about to visit.

For Maxine, my mother-in-law, I said, “the best turkey ever – nobody has ever cooked one better!” I can almost smell that aroma now. I added, “And a simple country dinner plate on a summer work day with a glass of iced tea so sweet I could have diluted it into 3 glasses”. I think she would be happy with my memory.  Pointing to my father-in-law’s name, I said “Hundred dollar bills” and smiled because of the way he had occasionally dropped one into our hands and was offended if I resisted, saying there was no reason for him to do that. He replied, “because I want to, and it’s mine to give”; kind of the way Carvis Sanders handed out gum at church when I was a kid. Except he was more consistent with a piece of Juicy Fruit every Sunday.

Walking past grave markers that had little American flags standing beside them, I said aloud, “thank you for your service”. I didn’t know any of those people to remember something about them, but I remember what I have read and heard about war, and I shudder. I remember what so many of them were fighting for and I am grateful.

As I approached my mother’s burial-place, I was pleased to see her Mother’s Day flowers were still intact, pretty purple blooms in the one provided urn that memorial gardens allow. The spot is atop a rise and overlooks a pretty pond, shade trees, and a white fence. It also overlooks the place we’ve selected for our remains, and most of the other burial sites. I like that it reminds me of how my mother stood at least a head taller than most, making her pretty white hair easy to spot in a crowd. Like the day I passed the cardiac rehab room on my way into work  in the winter of 2008-09, and there was my mama on a stationary bike dressed in a beautiful purple outfit with an Angora type sweater, not work out clothes, and her white hair shining. She was doing more panting than pedaling, but she was doing what she could. On her grave marker today lay a single white silk rose that had come off of a nearby arrangement and  I laughingly said, “Mama, have you been picking somebody else’s flowers?” She sure loved and successfully grew beautiful flowers. She also was known to pick a few  elsewhere. I took the bloom back to its intended recipient and nestled it into the bouquet. Next I said “Could I have just a little bitty bite of that?” and my husband and  I laughed because we teased her a lot for saying that  if you were eating something that she was not. Next I said, quoting her,  “Trisha, that hospital is gonna be there when you’re dead and gone!” followed by “I lived up to it Mama, I left it”, and then as I was turning to go, I said “I love you muchy muchy!” as that was the way she had started saying goodbye in the last few months of her life. So, my memories aloud to her were of sharing (both directions), concern for her children, and much love.

As we drove away, the radio was playing “Gentle On My Mind”. I love remembering good things about people no matter how many wheat fields and back roads pass between us. Those memories keep them gentle on our minds.

I got a call from a neighbor later this evening about an incident with her husband who is dealing with cancer and the gazillion treatments for that. As we were taping up some scrapes on his arm together, we small talked and laughed. He recalled that his mother grew zinnias in her garden and it helped to keep the bugs off the vegetables. Before I left, she gave me a pretty bird feeder that was a gift in memory of my husband’s dad. I felt like Memorial Day had come full circle.

I came home feeling so thankful for every day God has given me to enjoy family, friends, nature, and memories. As Garry Evans reminded us yesterday, we all have One in common to remember today and every Lord’s Day; the one who gave the ultimate gift, His life for us.

The Pressure’s On – A Challenge For You

21 Friday Apr 2017

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Our next celebrated day, I believe, would be Mother’s Day, coming up in about three weeks. With that in mind, I’m wondering how many of you have interesting memories to share about your mom and her cooking. Whether your actual mother, or the grandmother, aunt, or friend who stands in your memory at the stove concocting the dishes of your dreams, someone filled you up in more ways than one.  Tell about it!! Don’t say you can’t write – there is no wrong or right way to relate your favorite memories. Just start thinking about it, let your thoughts roll down your arm and into your pen (or keyboard). A line or a page, whatever it is, those cooks are worth the honor of your remembering.  I hope I get to see some of the resulting stories.

In our part of the country, food served up more than nutrition. From earliest childhood, it delivered delicious comfort, security, and just plain fun. It gave us ties to our heritage and opportunity to experience other cultures. Today, it still does much of the same, although I think the world is so full of distractions and convenience food, that cooking has lost a link to life that it once enjoyed.  As many great meals as my mother served up, one of the strongest memory provokers is a method rather than a particular dish. When the weather is cool and rainy, and there are ample indoor chores to be done, I have flashbacks of pressure cookers sputtering away in the kitchen, with steamed up windows, and loads of laundry coming through to be folded. Mama always had a pressure cooker and used it often, I’m sure because of her busy life and the need to have 3 squares on the table every day. I had one for a while, and after the rubber seal lost its stretch, it was overshadowed by the microwave. Fast, but certainly no substitute! Who can parboil a rabbit in a microwave?! I do however, have a pressure canner, and when I hear that pressure control jiggling and shimmying out the steam I think of hot meals that made my parents happy. Whether rabbits my dad brought home from a hunt at Granddaddy’s, or the pigs-in-a-blanket (aka stuffed cabbage rolls) that she learned to make while in Cleveland, Ohio, it always smelled like love. I’d just about welcome some homework to do at the kitchen table if I could just have one of my mama’s meals, cooked under pressure, of one sort or another! With 60’s music playing from the radio, I’m not sure how much homework I actually did, but what a great memory, being warmed, fed, and taught in my Mama’s kitchen!

Thank you God for our food, for the women and men who provided and taught us how to prepare it, and for your Word, our bread of life. Jesus said “I am the bread of life.” (John 6:58)

“Who can find a virtuous wife?…She also rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household…Her children rise up and call her blessed;” Proverbs 31: 10,15,28 (a)

An early “Happy Mother’s Day” to you all! Whether you are a mom or not, you have or have had a mother, and I am wishing you a day of happy memories in that!

“Back to the Future” – and Back Again

09 Saturday Jul 2016

Posted by in inspiration, Life, Reflections

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Remember when you ran to change into pj’s, brush your teeth and wash your face while the tape was re-winding? I did that tonight. Again. Thanks to Chad Ward, who knew I wanted a VCR to watch old movies we have. He bought one at an auction (at this time I will say a sarcastic thank you to whoever put their tape-eating VCR out there for sale, and it was worth the $3.00 we paid to throw away your stuff); HOWEVER, it was a good thing. Those cables that were labeled (a sincere thank you this time) with silk tape and hand printed ‘video out’, ‘right’, ‘left’, etc, kept telling me something. So, I tried again to connect our old (very very old) VCR to a little Magnavox TV we bought in 2004 to use in the camper. Remember those fine 10 months of camper living? Yes, well I digress…. So, connecting the way the cables were labeled, I have a functioning VCR that I had been meaning to throw away. Never once did I consider selling or unloading my junk on….never mind. Anyway, I am thrilled and so thankful to my son for finding the cables that directed my success! Tonight I watched Stargate. Two nights ago I watched Walt Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Next, I plan to start on our Back to the Future set. I am a child at heart for sure.

Back to this very old VCR. It is an Emerson that was owned, if my memory serves me, in 1980’s by my Uncle Wade Holley. Sometime in the 1990 era, maybe even before (Jan Middleton, do you recall?) it left Tenn and we came to have it in our possession, through my mother, I think. Next, it left Kentucky, going with our daughter Steffy when she left home and moved to Illinois. After she became modernized to DVDs it came back to us where we did occasionally use it. But then we also moved into the convenience of no re-wind, and I decided to move the VCR to an end table-slash-video center.  I had it pictured  – TV monitor on top, VCR beneath on a shelf, remote in the drawer – like the teachers used to roll around the room, to the classes’ dread or delight. For several years now I thought it coincidentally malfunctioned at that time, because when I connected the TV cables to it, nothing. Nothing. The color coded cables looked like it was hooked up right. So, the TV went back into the closet, and the VCR has been sitting first, under an entertainment center; then under a bed; and finally on a straight chair in the garage. Each time I looked at it to throw it away, I felt  a melancholy plink on my heart-strings. Because it was Uncle Wade’s, and because it had been a family member for so long, moving around with us. Now I think that little plink was an inner voice that doubted the assumed death of our device. And who has time to mess with malfunctioning equipment anyway? I call our Dish selling agent anytime our TV even bats an eye, and either he or our internet carrier has to tell me (AGAIN) to just unplug it. That resets everything and life is back on track. How often do we unplug from our problems so that we can be reconnected to life?

Thinking about those properly labeled cables, I was reminded of how often we go about life thinking we are connected to God, but for some reason, we just aren’t “getting anything out of it”.  As the saying goes, “the lights are on but nobody’s home” when it comes to faith. I don’t claim to be an expert on faith, but I do know I’ve grown as I’ve studied God’s Word, and the growing has been good beyond description. I’m thinking I, and many others like me, just needed to adjust the cables. Following our own way, or the world’s suggestions, it may look like the plugs are in the right ports, but would likely leave us with a screen of dancing geometric designs and an ear full of static. Reading God’s instructions, like the labels on the cables, makes all the difference in our connection. I’ve always said that I know God didn’t just make us, wind us up, and then turn us loose to go hither-skither without direction or purpose. He gave us a manual, and in many cases, an instructional video. “Folly is joy to him who is destitute of discernment, but a man of understanding walks uprightly. Without counsel, plans go awry, but in the multitude of counselors they are established.” (Proverb 15:21-22) At times, I still have to recheck the connection. My cables may pull loose if I move too far away from God’s Word for a bit. My cables could become frayed if I let the waves of life knock me around too fiercely because I wasn’t keeping my eyes on the Lighthouse. “But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind.” (James 1:6)  If I forgot to tap into His power with daily prayer my cables would surely lose their  connection. “Pray without ceasing.”(I Thessalonians 5:17) Clearly, if I want the big picture, I need proper connection.

Connecting the VCR to the television screen, there were three separate plugs on each end of a single unified cable. I saw those three standing for prayer (audio output), studying the word of God (video input) and sharing the wonderful message of His love made perfect in Christ (video output). Using these allows us to enjoy the connection God intended us to have, giving us the most magnificent view of life as it happens.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)

Of course, I could also see those three plugs as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, all making up the single unified Godhead. But that would be for another blogging day.

Meanwhile, I shall enjoy returning now and then to a piece of the past; reliving some great times when our kids were young and one of their favorite weekend activities was to go to the video store, rent a VCR and pick out a couple of movies to take home. As long as we stayed in the sections rated PG we felt pretty safe about what we’d see or hear on those movies. How I wish that were the case today!  Wouldn’t it be sadly ironic if I got so wrapped up in watching old movies that I stole time away from my studies in God’s word? I promise I’ll try to keep my cables straight.

If I don’t close and get some sleep, it will take more than a pot of coffee to get me going in the morning! May we go to God, the source of our faith, to plug into His power through his word, daily study and meditation, and prayer. Dear Father, please bless these words to bring glory to You, and bless any who read this, to be fully connected to You through Jesus Your Son. In His name, amen.

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Good morning from my happy place. Now I think I’ll have another cup.

In Reply to Ms. Jordan’s Valentine Prayer

15 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Life, Prayer Life, Reflections

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In anticipation of of our calendar’s Valentine’s Day, Rebecca Barlow Jordan wrote “A Valentine Prayer Letter to My Husband” for Crosswalk.com, dated Feb.9, 2016. One of the comments in response stated feeling it was too wordy because men are too “simple” to absorb it all in one letter. Also that it may sound like a writer of such a letter is elevating herself above her husband in spirituality. Normally if I even read comments, I am not moved to rely to a reply. I recognize the comment was not an attack, but rather, suggestions. These have prompted an opinion from me, and I just feel I must respond.

At 42 years and counting of marriage, I have learned this about men: they want to know you have their backs, and that they have your hearts, wives. Just like any other valentine sent from first grade on up, this is a chance to say more than we normally would; to bare our hearts. Ms. Jordan’s valentine prayer letter is an example, and one can take out the parts that do not apply to them personally, or that do not speak the individual’s heart. I wish I had written it. It prays God’s word in a very personal way. Any man who is worth the salt in his bread is going to be moved by such heart felt words. It’s a private, loving and I think, unassuming way to say I love you so much more than what this world calls love. And remember, many men ARE less spiritual than their wives. An example from scripture, in I Peter 3:1-2, does back up what the commenter said about leading by example. I believe however, the verse does not indicate encouragement for a believer would only be silent example; Peter was addressing non-believers’ conversion. Conversation in this scripture means ‘way of life’, and I suggest that giving her husband such a grand love letter could clearly be a spiritual wife’s way of life. Nothing feels as comforting in this crazy world than knowing someone prayed for us today.

At this point in my writing this morning, my husband walked into the room. I read to him Ms. Jordan’s letter, and he was impressed for the good. I should add that he is very much a ‘gruffy’, not easily impressed. My gratitude to Rebecca B. Jordan for providing this opportunity to share with my husband some of the things that I pray daily for him.

Oh yes, about the comment ‘simple’; oh my my, a man is anything but simple!!! That Venus and Mars thing – just because they are different certainly should not be interpreted as either one being simple. The only simple thing about men, is that I simply can’t understand him at times, nor does he understand me, and all the more call for prayer! Amen?

Saying Goodbye, Saying Hello

07 Thursday Jan 2016

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“Why does everybody go eat a big meal after a funeral?”, I was asked. Seated among friends, relatives, and strangers who shared a common loss and sympathy, I replied, “So the family won’t have to be alone right now”. Until this moment, I had no words to describe feelings and events throughout the passing of this young woman’s health and life. Numbed by the eventual reality that she was not going to be one of the cancer survivors, I couldn’t think with my writer’s brain; only that I (like everyone else) wanted to be one of the strong helpful sort who are always good to have around during troubled times. “Like a bridge over troubled waters”, a band-aid, an encourager – those are what I want to be. But I didn’t want to write about illness, tough times of carrying on family life in the face of fear, nor the burdens that are shouldered in silence and the tears that are hidden. Maybe I was waiting to be inspired by a rosy glow, a happy account, to report that all the effort turned out exactly the results desired by all. I was not however, until today, inspired to write. Although this is not about me, in order to get back to my point of inspiration today, I must explain my viewpoint. I concede to the fact that I am most often good at carrying out a plan of action or suggestions from others rather than having the foresight to see the need and initiate a plan myself. I have a sister-in-law who is a champion at that – she can, as the saying goes, fly by the seat of her pants, see what needs to be done, and just simply grabs the proverbial bull by the horns and gets going. I guess those would be called the ring leaders. Without them, there would be uncertainty as to who could do what and when.

Then, there are those who watch. Standing by, ready if needed, they may be the security guards or the audience. Some watch critically I guess, or so it seems. Perhaps they are just observing life, like one watching a circus; after they’ve watched one ring a while, they simply turn toward another ring and watch there a while. They can be silent or enthusiastically applauding and only they know how much they are troubled by or enjoying the performance. Others watch with the anticipation of being called down to center ring as a volunteer to participate. Practically jumping out of their seats to help and running headlong down the aisle, they bolt over the hurdles that separate the ring from the audience. I love those people. They watch for the call, i.e. see a need, and off they go. Those are the ones who carry a family through tough times; the fund-raisers, the casseroles carriers, the transportation teams, on and on as the needs dictate. They don’t seem to even have time to think about it – they just DO! God bless them!

And there are the reporters. They announce the circus is coming and hope to get a large crowd interested for the best turnout. The thinkers, the praying. They are down on their knees reporting all the needs to God (who already knows) and asking on behalf of the troubled ones for help, healing and strength. Like a recording secretary, they are trying to keep all the facts together, as if organizing ‘how long its been’ and ‘how long until’ could make the healing quicker. They have that deep longing to write it all down so that they can write in a happy ending. Or at least to think of some profound thing to say that will give the hurting a great deal of hope and encouragement. We mean well. And all of these groups are necessary in life.

Most people are some combination of all of these; the thinker-feelers, the rush-in-and-doers, and the applauding supporters. Today as I looked around I saw all of these and more. There were relatives and friends who spoke encouraging words, with the wit and charm to keep the young and old smiling; there were the co-workers who spent tireless hours in support; the church family who prepared the meal; the immediate family who so lovingly cared for Jana and her children; and there was a cloud of witnesses – petitioners who begged God’s mercy and strength for Jana and her family. There before me I saw the rosy glow I’d searched for, in the faces of his long time school friends who were just there for the most important purpose of saying to Eddie, “we love you, you are not alone”.  I heard my happy ending as the preacher reminded us all of Jana’s victory over death as she truly deserves, perfect and whole now with Jesus her Lord. As we see time after time, in the good times and the bad, there was inspiration and encouragement from God’s Family that we sang about today. We sang also of Jana’s “Last Mile of the Way”; knowing that it only refers to the way of this earth and that her journey has now become one of peace, praise, and forever singing. I remember that she had a beautiful voice. I’ve heard it said that it’s not the destination, but the journey that is life. I’m not so sure we can separate those two. It has been Jana’s journey of life that brought her to her destination of life forever.  Her own three-ring circus, with its ups and downs; from the price of the tickets to the hoops she jumped through are all part of who she is and where she is.

We met Jana when she was five, our daughter was four, and “Ganna” as she called her became a household name. They attended church together from then until college, in each other’s homes frequently, were classmates from sixth through 12th grades, basketball teammates, sang in the high school chorus together, and later Jana married our nephew. I had the blessing of helping bring her firstborn into the world. Our lives took different directions from there, but being in the same community, I was able to see her poise and personality continue to bloom with grace.

Today, the young preacher so wisely said, “Jana was the real deal”. This is her reality, that she was a genuine Christian lady, soft-spoken, kind, brilliant, and had her priorities in place; clearly a credit to her upbringing. She had a shy Hollywood smile that said ‘don’t embarrass me by telling me how beautiful I am’, because she did not want attention brought to herself. She was one of those whose fruit bore witness of her heart. Her children’s beautiful trusting faces that say ‘its gonna be OK’ and the strength of her husband are the results of her influence.  She genuinely supported her husband and children,  putting their interests first. Her reality was a brutal disease but a gentle spirit; a daunting diagnosis but a very real hope in heaven; an immense knowledge that her children would likely finish growing up without her here, but that God would provide the strength for that to be done. How does a young woman face that and maintain a sweet and stoic smile? Only her innermost circle of loved ones knows how she said goodbye. But it is knowing we will say hello again that made it possible.

I don’t know that there is a ‘right’ thing to say when people are hurting. I do believe there are many roles to be filled in helping another bear his cross. I am not surprised, but truly amazed at the flexibility, strength, endurance and calm that have characterized Jana’s caregivers. I believe these are reflections of what they all saw in her. True strength is shown only when it is tested, and produces effects. Jana, you had a profound effect that will live on in the lives of your family, and community. I look forward to seeing you again someday so that I can tell you that I too have learned from your life. God gives his children what He sees they will need. I guess He knew Jana’s family and friends would need a surplus of smiles to pull out on dreary days, because Jana certainly gave a million away.

So, why dear, do we follow the survivors to the place where they last see their loved one’s body placed, and then on to share in a meal? To help them say goodbye, and to remind them they are not alone. To help them see the feast that awaits us on the other side of this time of preparation. And to assure them that we will be given the opportunity to again say hello.

Tranquility: Stillness to Experience More

16 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by in Faith, Nature, Reflections

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Sunday, September 13, 2015

Anyone in western Kentucky is enjoying one of those days that is simply indescribable. Worship, rest, play, visit, work – whatever we are doing today, is a notch better than usual due to the combination of warm sun and cool breeze. This is the time of year, as I’ve always said, when I come to life and my writing picks up a little. After church I made a small lunch and we hit the patio chairs for a sunny snooze. (Boy are we getting old or what?) After an hour or so – who’s counting? – my writer’s bug bit me, and here it is.

Monday, September 14, 2015:  OK, rather than remain seated yesterday to finish writing, I chose to call for a couple of bright-eyed fellow fun-lovers to finish off that scrumptuous slice of day. Knowing my younger great-niece wanted to learn to ride her bike without training wheels, I ended up with two giggling little girls and running a “keep up with the wobbly bike” marathon. I really didn’t think I could run any more than a few feet, but when a five-year old trusts you to catch her, you run along side for all you’re worth! It now comes to me that the rest and meditation earlier in the afternoon prepared me for the run of the day. Aha, Lord, I believe I see yet another everyday proof of your wisdom! The more we stop to meditate on your word, storing up your truth, donning the whole armor of God as in Ephesians 6: 10-20, the more we are able to withstand, persevere, and become ambassadors for the gospel of Christ in this race of life.

Perhaps, at this point I want to insert what I wrote Sunday as I sat with my husband after lunch.

I know I should be doing something, but I am completely mesmerized by this day.

I’ve watched the tufts of white clouds which appeared as hypnotized as I, slip magically away.

We’ve basked ourselves in the perfectly warm sun, and cooled under the umbrella, with the breeze.

I’ve listened to that first faint rustle of the drying pre-autumn leaves.

We watched the busy hummingbirds chase each other away, sip and chat loudly – proclaiming victory or daring others to play.

The cat is just as contented as I to merely watch the butterflies ; and I hear my husband whisper ‘thank you Lord’ resting body, mind and eyes.

So, a deep breath again, I enjoy the aroma of a distant tobacco barn in the sweet cool September air,

As I watch a little brown and yellow moth explore my hand, test and taste without a care.

He now perches on my pen as I dawdle, and then write (for that is what I do);

And I think to myself, for all of this and so much more, Heavenly Father I thank you!

 The cat now ready to do life again pounces on a grasshopper, and I’m entertained by the two.

My husband, now strengthened from his rest, gone to whatever he had to do.

Like the Lord’s sabbath and His will for us so still to be

and know that He is God, must be why He provided such a day of tranquility.

“Be still and know that I am God;” Psalms 46:10

“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight oh Lord my strength and my Redeemer.” Psalms 19:14 (emphasis mine)

“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork…” Psalms 19:1

Wednesday, September 16, 2015    Today would have been my Mama’s 84th birthday. She had a bitter-sweet taste for these beautiful days of Fall. She had loved this time of year so much, then she lost her daddy in October and later her mother and sweet sister in two years of Septembers. Fall took on a cloak of sadness for her; although she still was comforted by the beauty in it. So today Mama, I know you feel the warmth and bliss that you once did on days like this; when you were young, full of faith and hope. But now young forever, knowing now the one in whom your faith took hold, and all your hopes now live fulfilled. I’m so blessed to be your daughter, and a daughter of the King who created all this that is good.

COFFEE ON THE WESTSIDE

25 Monday May 2015

Posted by in Nature, Reflections

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A deer crosses our field of young soybeans just about 20 yards from where I sit drinking an evening cup of Maxwell House, watching what is left of the sunset and a hummingbird taking one last drink. He’s in no hurry nor am I in a hurry to see the day end. I realize the cicadas have gone to sleep or whatever cicadas do when they quiet down. I feel a nice peaceful wrap sliding around my shoulders, with a bit of a chill in the evening air. It is late May, and the weather is damp and cool, more so than we expect at this time of year. The evening birds sound louder than they do when the day life is busily competing for attention. A frog of some sort croaking just beneath the porch rail  where I sit startled me, and I giggled as he and another farther out took turns calling back and forth.

This is Memorial Day, and I have been mindful today of the sacrifices made by the many men and women, and their families, to promote peace and freedom in our country. Without them in our ever-changing history, it is doubtful that I would have the luxury of taking in this evening in such a way. Thank you so very, very much. My heart is prayerful for all who have and are now serving our country.

Since the weather reminds me of the cool rainy season we normally have in April, my mind turns to an April day several years ago when I was riding with my husband on one of his ventures for farm equipment. He likes the company and help with maps and such, and I like the time to write, or read, or work crossword puzzles; so many are the times we’ve struck out on excursions looking for some truck or piece of farm machinery he has found in a publication or online. Anyway, one day in particular stands out in memory because of the striking glow of redbud trees in the wooded countryside. I recall writing a silly little poem about the portrait of Spring. Nature is the most poem-triggering inspiration for me.

It is dark now, my coffee cup is empty and the birds have also gone to nest I suppose for I cannot hear anything but frogs and other night sounds whose names I don’t know. I am going inside to relinquish another day, and to look for that old poem.

Found it, fiddled around with it a bit, and here it is:

PORTRAIT OF SPRING

Redbuds, popping out in vibrant lilac splashes,

on a quiet wooded, expectant canvas,

Soon to be joined by fancy whites and fresh new green

worked into the portrait of another Spring.

Redbuds, with humble unfrilled ease

pull the eye to the blur of late winter trees.

A glow at the edge of a dark rainy day –

They’re waiting for Dogwoods to come out and play.

Dogwood, a name for lacy young ladies in pink and white

who’ll come into their own over cool April nights.

Dogwoods, spreading their arms, hands joined in games

are allowed a short time for song and play

under thickening green mesh arbors of home

until they have leaves and shade of their own.

Redbuds and Dogwoods in unison sing,

“we’re the prettiest part in the picture of Spring”.

My mind with its business and day-to-day run,

stops in awe at what the Artist has done.

And as the years slip by with their speedy endeavor

I look forward to their portraits more eagerly than ever.     P.Ward

Suddenly I’m a girl of 9 or 10 years old again, joining hands in circle with the other girl scouts in my troop. I hear us singing, “Day is done, gone the sun, from the hills, from the (trees?) from the sky. All is well, safe at rest, God is nigh”.  I haven’t heard that song in way too long…Good night friends.