Category Archives: The unexpected

It’s The Little Things

21 Monday Apr 2025

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Standing cross-armed beside the small hummingbird feeder, I watched my Yorkie walk through the grass to do what little doggies do. Suddenly a faint buzzing blew past me and the owner of it hovered at the feeder. Not even an arm’s-length away, a ruby-throated male hummingbird began stabbing the plastic blossoms, drinking the nectar inside, and holding me captive – and captivated. It probably lasted no more than a minute, but it was a nice long southern minute, and I enjoyed it immensely. As they say, “it’s the little things”.

Inside an old weathered wooden bluebird box, are five little helpless baby bluebirds. I watched the parent birds build their neat little nest; then I soon counted one, two, three, four, and then five beautiful little aqua blue eggs, one egg per day. Fifteen days later, I raised the door to look inside, finding five scrawny fuzzy little heads barely bobbing about. Since then, I’ve looked inside to find tiny beaks wide open, awaiting the anticipated meals delivered so faithfully by the parents. They are too near fledging time for me to look inside now, for fear of causing premature fledging; but I feel pretty sure we will see an empty nest soon, and the world will be blessed with five little beauties looking for their place in the wild. I cannot keep myself from sending up a little prayer for their safety. It’s the little things, you know.

My husband has been on a frenzied mission lately. With an old badminton racket in hand – sometimes a battery-powered insect swatter – he is determined to get the carpenter bees before they riddle the framework of his outdoor buildings. Sitting on the front porch where the little buggers have tunneled through my swing, he is totally distracted from all else by these little things. I hope he wins. I like my swing. Little things – some good, some not so good.

It is only the end of April and I am about to start thinking all is not well with springtime. Just before a rain, during the rain, and after the rainfall, a trail of misery finds its way into the kitchen. By way of the minuscule crack where woodwork meets the wall, or under the baseboards, the tiny black crawling invasion makes its way onto any surface attached to the floor. The dog dishes are the first to be attacked; next, the countertop becomes their goal. Ant traps, spray cans, and constant cleaning seem to occupy way too much of our time. It is, sometimes, the little things that bother us most.

We enjoyed a lovely Easter weekend. I kept thinking of the big things – our daughter and son being near enough to spend the time with us; the table full of food and the ability to prepare it; the big-beyond-words sacrifice God made in allowing His perfect son Jesus to be the atonement for our sins; and ultimately, the enormous and wonderful morning of resurrection, making eternal life possible for all. “He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the pace where the Lord lay” (Matthew 28:6) NKJV. For all this, I am truly thankful. The big things genuinely are amazing. But what I found myself commenting on most, was the beautiful weather – a seemingly little thing. Rain had been forecast for the weekend; what we got was sunshine and a good breeze. Something unexpected – even something small – can be such a pleasure that we just can’t stop mentioning it. I guess it’s the little things that keep us pacified and occupied, while the big things – the strong important things – hold us up and carry us through. Could be, we are all just a bunch of little kids, being pacified and occupied; and God looked lovingly at us, and said, “It’s the little things that count.”

Have a great week! Watch for the fascinating little things.

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Standing In The Gaps of Broken Hearts

05 Thursday Jan 2023

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I knew this week would be hard but I just didn’t dream how hard. The gaps in my broken heart haven’t healed and with the light God shines through them, there also seeps tears and doubts. I dreaded the anniversary of my little brother’s passing one year today, the fifth of January. Regrets are mean spiteful things; yet we hang onto them even though God tells us to let go and let Him heal. I worried about my little sister, my nieces and nephew, and I was concerned that I, myself, would hibernate to Kathy’s couch to sob into my grief. But life had other ideas. The sudden passing of the young and vibrant Mandi Murdock whose husband and his family have been a part of our life since, well, forever, has bolted me upright. My heart is so broken for the Murdock and Darnall families that it dried up my tears before they could fall for my own losses. Well, that is, other than the moments the radio was accidentally shifted to Spa station this morning and started playing “Before The Gates of Heaven” ( an instrumental, but wow, what a title!); then later “Last Date” was drifting off the piano keys of Kent Hewitt (I think) similar to Floyd Cramer. And that’s a whole other story I can’t get into now. So I called Janette DeWitt to check on her but instead, I just blubbered how I need not listen to the radio on edgy days and how heavy my heart was. She understood. So well. She listened. She stood in the gap where I had lost it, until God put it back. That’s what friends do.

Earlier today there was also the visitation and funeral for a lady who was the caregiver for her husband, a friend to many and seemed to always have a smile ready. She will be missed greatly by her family. Many were there to stand in the gap for Carolyn Hargrove’s loved ones and make the burden of goodbye somewhat lighter.

Tomorrow, as Kyle says his final goodbye for this life, to the other half of himself; as Luke tries to imagine life without his mother, as he so recently had to do with his big sister, I try myself to understand what we are supposed to think and do when we want so desperately to help, but cannot make sense of it. When Mandi was abruptly separated from her family, from earth ties, from lesson plans; when a young son grapples for understanding, along with grandparents who are trying to take in air that must feel stifling with palpable grief, we who know and love them want to help. We know full well words cannot explain our sorrow, nor heal. So we hover; we collectively stand in the gap – share the grief – stand even from our own homes in silent respect, kneeling in prayer, sitting in a search of God’s word for answers. That’s when it came to me; we hover, gathered together in spirit, surrounding these beautiful people to fill a gap; a gap created by life situations and one that the evil one will take advantage of if left open. Loved ones surround us, quite unlike the gap in the city’s wall of Ezekiel’s time where no man would stand in the gap, and so the city was not saved. We stand with each other, with this family, so that hopelessness cannot take over. We hold up the Holy Spirit, brought by our hearts filled with Him, to comfort and keep hope alive for better days and a future alive with hope for eternity. Filling the gaps where God is working through us to keep mourning souls from despair; so grief will not overtake them. My prayer Lord is, use us as we stand physically and in spirit surrounding the Murdock and Darnall families, knowing nothing of our own ability can get them through, but allowing Your power of hope and healing to be magnified through us as we stand in the gaps. Keep the circle of faithful friends strong, where faith, hope and love will be standing, and doubt, despair and darkness will be shut out. As You ready them to face the days ahead, though their gaps will never be filled, the love of the Lord and those standing in the gaps, will keep them safe. Amen.

Memories of Kenzie and of Mandi, and her presence with the Lord where her daughter is, will also stand in the gaps for all who knew and loved them. That’s how I see it. Love, Trisha

What You Make of It

28 Monday Nov 2022

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“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)

Walking my dog through the gray fog, I spotted an oak leaf, brown and dry, standing upright upon its stem in the brittle grass, waving in the breeze of this cool November Saturday morning. Returning to our driveway, I see the friendly leaf still there, still waving, and I smile – at the leaf, at the gift of a day, at the sky over it.

More than three hours later, a walk to the mailbox found my leaf friend waiting, keeping her stance in the cool damp grass. She reminds me of a little brown Christmas tree. With points so perfectly shaped and pointing outward and upward, I was drawn over for a closer look. I bent to her and measured the height from my fingertip to eleven inches above, where she reached from the grass where she stood to her farthest point; eleven inches long. From my more critical inspection, I could see flaws in the shiny surface, and one tip wasn’t pointing as well as the others. What an interesting visitor to bring a smile. And I thought, isn’t that just life in general? It is what we make of it. To you, it’s just a leaf, no big deal. But beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. I can make what I will of it. Not that wishing can change a thing, but attitude can change the effect of a thing. Moving the thermostat from dismal to grateful, changes the air, not the room.

The flaws in my little leaf made it no less impressive, important, nor influential. In fact, her flaws made her more endearing, with marks of time inflicted upon her as she came this far through life. Gloom and glitches can either change our outlook, or our outlook can prevent the tragedy of rippling effects due to disappointment and dismay altering the way we see. Grief for something lost, or something missed; anger and angst for plans that turned brown and dried up; or unrelenting regrets, to name a few, can dominate our life. Or, with God’s grace and great girlfriends, we can use the grief or ill situation to gain gratitude for all the gifts in life. God does not make bad things happen. He gives us the support and the gifts to make each day count in spite of it all.

Even the ordinary and mundane can transform a dreary day into a gift. A brown leaf that strayed into my lawn with its imperfections, became a waving friend, or a tiny tree; a day changer. It is what you make of it. Be the leaf. Or be the one who appreciates the leaf. Either way, it’s a gift.

Have a great week, Trisha

Looking Back With 2020 Vision

21 Sunday Mar 2021

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    Good Sunday afternoon to you! The weekend found me at my old sunroom desk, enjoying sunshine and the song of birds as they declared their hope and cheer.  I was thinking how it’s been a year since I realized COVID 19 would infiltrate every nook and cranny of this country along with the rest of the world. The Murray Ledger & Times reported last week was the one-year anniversary for the first diagnosed case of the coronavirus in Calloway County. Like everyone else, I am thinking back over the year, weighing the lessons and difficulties we have all faced. Part of me wants to just move on and never look back, with gratitude for the vaccination process and for another decrease in cases. The other part of me actually needs to look back and hope the year counted for something. It’s always best to count our gains – always count your blessings – but somehow acknowledging the losses, the trials we’ve lived through and survived, makes us feel stronger and actually hopeful. Hopeful that ills can be healed, lies can be disproven, and I can get out of my pajamas before noon. (Didn’t want this to get too serious!  It’s a beautiful day.)

    Most of us have had plenty of time to ponder plans for this new year, to clean out cabinets and cobwebs, and to just be still without feeling guilty. I’ve gotten really good at that last one. In fact, I may have to put it on my negative list because I am literally afraid I’ll never again be as productive as I was. It’s probably best I’ll never know if it was just my age, or the fault of COVID 19. 

    I like seeing some of the “lessons I’ve learned” and “people I admire” lists that came out of the extremely weird year. It wasn’t just the coronavirus. From February tornados to scary diagnoses and odd occurrences, it has been anything but dull since late January 2020. Obviously, there has been true tragedy and deeper grieving for many to endure over the past twelve months; my sympathy to all. For today though, I am thinking of lessons learned over the course of Covid. As I’m in the minority who didn’t deal with home schooling, my woes will be different from yours, and yours different from someone else as well. I’d love to see your lists of 2020 pros and cons. Here are a few of mine.

    The first few weeks we were learning to adjust while trying not to feel different; also learning ‘normal’ cannot be overrated. Get up, get dressed, get out; hmmmm, where would we go? OK, get up, get dressed, stay in. Eventually necessity drove us out and I became the designated driver, so to speak, to run the required errands for two households. Noticing all the other helpful hands and wheels enforced my belief that Calloway County is a great place to live – the best! I learned that making 20 or 30 masks for a children’s hospital and for family, was easier than sitting down to make one or two for myself. I discovered keeping spare masks in my purse, glove box, and coat pockets did nothing to prevent my panic each time I almost walked into a store without one.  I learned through YouTube videos that ‘easy’ is a subjective word! No wonder folks were paying six dollars for a fifty cent piece of fabric and elastic! Then proudly displaying them on rearview mirrors.

    I also learned: the real important stuff in life I took for granted; like toilet tissue,  hand sanitizer, canning lids and visits from my children. Especially those visits!

    I need to spend more money on pjs.

    I don’t need to eat breakfast each time I wake up throughout the day. 

    I am not the “one-way-arrow-on-Kroger’s-floor” police. 

    I have absolutely no barber skills!

     I will never again wonder why a generation turned so violent; have you paid much attention to Gunsmoke? Would a duel between Matt Dillon and Frank Barone be out of line? 

    I feel like, for the first time ever, I know our Governor personally. 

    I cannot blame a lack of time for unfinished projects; I simply start too many of them. And a fresh coat of paint is a miracle worker.

    Online shopping and grocery pickup is addictive.

    Good coffee is worth whatever it costs.

    Most people are real; real people are good.

    Life is too short to be fake.

    Some things I missed most: hugs from my great nieces and nephews; hugs at church;  Thursday morning breakfasts out. Bunco.

    What I’ve accepted:  I am a home-body; I like it, always did, always will.

    Home cooking is worth the trouble and I’m a pretty good cook.

    I can’t fix the world’s ills but I can pray for them and crying is good for the soul.

    I will never forget: the importance of people to one another. Social distancing has its place, but isolation can be worse than the threat of a virus. 

    Even home-bodies love and need phone-friends.

    2020 certainly wasn’t perfect, but it may very well have improved our vision!

    My Valentine

    14 Sunday Feb 2021

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    Twelve degrees, snow flurries covering a three-day-old layer of ice on the driveway, and it’s Sunday morning, February 14. Reluctant to disturb him from a warm quilt cocoon, I sipped my coffee and listened to the forecast of even lower temperatures, and placed my mass-produced Valentine card near my husband’s head. Oh I had taken time to select a card I thought was warm and sincere in expressing my affection, but compared to what lay ahead today, my signature and six bucks was not much after all.

    Eventually he came to life, and with a long look out the window, asked if we intended to go to our place of worship today. I said that I’d really like to. “Okay then, I’ll need to go get old Rose” he said, indicating the four-wheel drive SUV that he had wisely parked out of the weather in a farm shed several hundred yards down the road. Eyeing his red envelope, he sheepishly noted he didn’t buy me anything, but sure appreciated my card. Without breakfast, he was out swapping vehicles while I showered and dressed in the warmth of gas heat and hot water. With time running short, he skipped the slow paced morning most men would have loved today and headed for the shower himself. Shower on; toilet flushed, water running; then water off – all by itself. No water. No shower. What in the world! If you’ve been outdoors in frigid temperatures you know it takes effort to bundle up. Add to that the fact our well and pump are in the field next to our lawn, so there’s that. He checked it out and said the this or that was something or other. I do not speak plumbese. While I stood asking what do we do, what do we do, he made the call to our local well and pump caretakers, on an emergency only day. Cha-ching!

    As we waited, we worshipped via laptop with our home congregation. Just after services began, I received an important long distance phone call and had to leave the room. While I was taking the call, this Valentine cupid followed me with the services found on his cell phone, having prepared the fruit of the vine and unleavened bread I had stored, and served communion for us as he knew how important a thing that is for me.

    Shortly after worship, a serviceman knocked at the door, stating he heated the pump switch, and that we should keep our water dripping now. Never mind how I was retorting “the water WAS running”; my husband held his tongue and thanked the guy most sincerely for getting out in the cold and I knew I was in the presence of a pretty wonderful Valentine.

    Next, I had to report that my commode was now running non-stop. So my Valentine tinkered with the thing-a-ma-bob inside the tank and took care of it. Could he rest now? No, now it was time to go pick up the groceries I ordered yesterday. We left an hour early to drop off a birthday card and gift to a friend, so with time to spend, he drove me to a six-car-wait line for my favorite coffee. Groceries gathered and home again, he gathered supplies and braved the elements once more to insulate the well pump switch just for added assurance. And it’s only 1:30 PM.

    Store bought valentines are fine, candy is a danger, and jewelry is for Christmas and anniversaries. What I received today, Valentines Day 2021, is the jewel of patience and kindness and a true sweetheart!! Little things mean so much!

    As I was proof-reading to publish, my thoughtful brother-in-law and sister dropped off part of the cheesecake he bought for her Valentines’s Day treat. Seems she and I have much to fill and warm our hearts on this very cold February day.

    Time-Out For You, Jonah!

    01 Wednesday Apr 2020

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    This post is longer than usual, but like you, my thoughts are boiling over lately. Plus, I have had more time to write, which is how I process things. As we look at our present dilemma intertwined with Jonah’s may you be encouraged  to remember “we are all in this together”.

    Even before “time-out” was a thing for preschoolers, I venture to say we all had our version of it. I counted to three, slowly, so my young’uns had a three-second time of reckoning  to decide if their chosen activity was worth it. Some used the “go to your room” or “sit in the corner”. Whatever the details, good parents gave their children time to reflect and reform. The first thing occurring to me at the onset of social distancing, was ‘did we need a time-out this badly’?

    As the news fills another day with Covid-19 reports, my heart stings with sympathy for the cities harboring large numbers of cases, even deaths, from this unruly virus. Our minds as well, are consumed with the growing numbers, questions, and the temptation to pull into ourselves or worse, ignore caution. Though I try to avoid seeing the news first thing each day,  I am glad to get daily updates from our Governor Beshear (4 PM daily, Kentuckians!) and his reminder that we will all get through this together.  Still, when I hear of the rapid invasion into our health and economy, my heart gets a squeeze of fear; a fear that our part of the country will, as the New York City mayor predicts, be hit just as they are. For a moment, I too, need a time-out.

    As I read encouraging posts and check on others, I am able to refocus and realign the outlook of doom.  I see well people staying well and spreading wellness from home, and it reminds me, God said, “Be ye kind, one to another”.  I fear for former co-workers, still on the frontlines caring for patients, and  I remember the Holy scripture, Philippians 4:6-7, so I pray for them with gratitude for everything they are doing.  I wonder how long we can hold out from hugs and handshakes, public assemblies and schools for our children.  And I remember we are just a speck in the timeline of history and this too shall pass. I am almost afraid to let others know that I wonder if God is allowing this time of uncertainty, and yes, fear too, so we will reflect on responsibilities and reform our priorities. It wouldn’t be the first time He used a bad situation for good. Nor would it be the first time people needed a time-out.

    Then I remember Jonah.Jonah_thrown_overboard_1130-673

    Jonah was told to go preach a message to another city; one that was doomed for destruction. That city was called Ninevah, but it could just as well be called Louisville, New York, Seattle, or Podunk. Jonah was not fond of the request. In fact, he flatly refused. Hiding out on a ship that went in the opposite direction from his calling, he brought his fear along with him in the form of a storm for the ship’s crew. That could just as well be our storm of fear, of hungry children, lonely elderly or a depressed brother or sister about to go down with the ship as we hunker down and hide; amid a sea of challenges that we could throw ourselves into to calm the storm.

    Before long the ship’s crew realized they had a cast away, and reluctantly threw Jonah overboard to save themselves. Jonah’s honesty in the midst of the storm allowed the mariners a good look at the true God, with the result of their seeking Him and sacrificing to Him in gratitude for salvation. Ironically, their salvation from the storm was due to obedience in fear of the God Who brought the storm to Jonah. Maybe a little fear goes a long way. It is a natural reaction that causes us to seek safety.

    Now, we know God is always a step ahead, and He knew then too, that Jonah was about to perish before he could carry out God’s orders. God prepared a great fish to be a sort of holding place, saving Jonah from drowning and giving him a time-out. Where is my time-out? Anytime my usual activities come to a halt; anytime circumstances incite me to look inward and upward. Am I listening to the Spirit when I read the Word, hearing what my Creator is telling me to do; or am I just reading words, checking a to-do list and hiding from the things I do not want to do?  I’m so happy to not be on a ship of irate mariners, for I too, am guilty. I hide for many reasons from the command to “go”.

    gray whale

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    Am I in the belly of my fish,  with time to meditate on God’s commands? It most likely is not to go preach, in my case. But I bet it is something like “feed my sheep” with food for the hungry, education for former children of war in Uganda and Congo (check out Exile International); or it could be with a phone call to a lonely shut-in. Kim Holder, an executive assistant, is the best at sending cards, her mission to carry out encouragement and send hope. Kathy Hargrove, retired teacher, is conducting school at home for grandchildren, babysitting as well, and praying big. My former co-workers are providing nursing care when they no doubt would rather be bunkered in at home. Ministers are seeking ways to spread good messages and serve the needs of people with errands, food and supplies. In recent years, Bethany and Matthew Williams have led a life-giving mission to the people of Africa. Last week, Judith Darnell, a retired hair stylist with her own health issues,  made a quilt for a friend facing an uncertain diagnosis. Cindy Lassiter, retired teacher, gives many hours every week to bring happiness to residents of a nursing home. Diana Darnell, hair stylist,  began sewing masks at home in effort to help prevent the spread of Covid-19. These are only a tiny sample of all the efforts that make me swell with pride in people; yet feel so small, showing me up on the days I feel like being selfish and hiding down in the ship. Thank you people for inspiring others and fueling hope.

    Jonah’s story did not end in the belly of the great fish.  In time-out, his heart was changed, and God told the host to evict Jonah onto the shore. You might think Jonah hopped up and cheerfully ran to Ninevah to proclaim his story. He did go, but only said what God gave him to say, “Yet forty days and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” The people believed God (Jonah 3:4-5 NKJV). God saw their repentance and turned his wrath away, saving the whole city of 120,000 people. It’s an interesting story, how even with a bad start in life, even if with a bad attitude, we can carry the message effectively if we tell it like it is – according to God’s word.

    The book of Jonah ends in uncertainty as far as Jonah is concerned, sitting in the heat with a dead gourd, grumbling about the unworthiness of others. But the message he was given to deliver was about God, His wrath; repentance and forgiveness; not about Jonah. We each will decide how to use this time-out, courtesy of Covid-19.  The difference is that God sent that storm to let Jonah know you can’t hide from God.  But God doesn’t send storms directly on us in this dispensation, or time of history. He already did all that to prove His power and spread His word all over the world. Then He sent His only begotten Son to seal His promise of saving us from our sins if we will believe and obey.

    I can be grouchy and moody, sitting with my dead gourd, wondering why the things I think important aren’t everybody’s priority. God says there is a whole world of people, all important to Him; including me. I have to say, although I am so sorry for the illness and the overtaxed health care system,  I am thankful for a time-out to enjoy a slower pace; more time to reconsider priorities;  daily chats with family; and getting in touch with important biblical messages instead of unimportant chores. Funny how some things just aren’t that big a deal anymore. Oh yes, I am still standing on my head in the flower beds, but that’s a stress reliever and a hobby, not simply a chore.

    I remember the promise that my earthly existence will be like the blink of an eye, the life of a flower, and then an eternal life. Whatever the world throws at me, it is nothing in comparison to eternity and spending it in praise, in the presence of the Creator of life! My prayer is “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, oh Lord, my strength and my Redeemer.” (Psalm 19:14)

    Stay home; when you do leave by necessity, remember 6 ft distance, wash hands at least 20 sec, and leave some toilet tissue for the rest of us. ♥

    Social Distancing 101: On the Lighter Side

    23 Monday Mar 2020

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    The basic rule of social distancing is stay home; next step,

    measurement-millimeter-centimeter-meter-162500.jpeg

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    stay at least six feet away from people; thirdly, wash wash wash your hands.

    person washing hands

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    This would be the plan with the goal of blocking transmission when sneaky aggressive invaders lurk about, too small to be seen. It can be an aggravation, but it can be a life saver. Also, social distancing can become depressing after a while.

    Almost sliding into a funk, I found my partner in crime pulling me back before I reached the edge. Today was about to become the second day with no shower, and no to-do list in action. Still in my oldest unmatched pj’s, I was contemplating a third cup of coffee and a nap at nearly eleven o’clock, because, hey, it’s also the second day without making my bed. He had been talking to someone by phone about a tractor an hour and a half away. Would I go with him to look at it? Well, that would mean actually getting out of my chair and doing something besides Facebook and texting.  Add Messenger into the mix and there seemed plenty to do. This is not like me at all. What was happening to me?

    For over a week now, I have been cooking and sharing food, running window-drop off-errands for us and my dad, conducting the business of appointment cancellations and rescheduling by phone, sanitizing and keeping the house neat, and repeating it all over again. Basically, avoiding as much human contact as possible. Suddenly I saw the cloud of monotony trying to shadow the shine of productivity. I was in a funk. Shaking the cobwebs from my head I realized I have been willing to do whatever I could for anyone else, but I couldn’t even get dressed, look human and take a ride with my husband? So thoughtful of me.  I took my rugrat self to him and said, fine, I’ll go.

    Showered, trimmed and coifed, I was feeling much better. Jeans and a boyfriend shirt finished the job. Whew! That was close. As we headed out the door, I grabbed crossword puzzles, laptop and my Yorkie. Water for all and a small snack assured we wouldn’t have to break our social distancing by stopping at a country store or truck stop along the way. Road trips always make me hungry.

    About 120 miles later, we arrived our destination and as he left the car to look at the tractor, I leaned out the door calling, “remember social distancing” adding a smile so the Tennessean wouldn’t think my husband had a lunatic passenger. I finished off the 2nd crossword, put the dog down for a nap and looked through a new Better Homes and Gardens. All was well until we started home. “I need a hand wipe” my dearest said. Okay…I hesitated to ask, but the look on his face made me. “You didn’t get close did you?” Just cleaning his hands from the tractor, I hoped. The answer he gave was, “Well, he stepped up to the door of the cab while I was in it. What was I gonna do?” This man is in solitary confinement. I mean it. I warned him.

    Well, we are going to hope the tractor guy has been the hermit type long enough that we are safe, but really, now we see the wisdom of staying home, even in a funk. I will be following him around with the disinfectant spray. I will be getting back into my dorm pants and old T-shirts, and for a while now I will extend myself the grace of some down time without the guilt. After all, he will be waiting on himself for the next 14 days.  Home really is sweet.  

    It’s Gone Viral!

    22 Sunday Mar 2020

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    Someone said, “Well we were praying for our nation’s leaders to stop arguing and do something useful” and “we wanted world powers to work together in peace”.  A thought many have expressed is, perhaps God is answering those very prayers by working good out of bad. We are finding time to spend with immediate family that we all too often put off doing. I dare say more have been turning to God lately in prayer than ever. I was sent a virtual hug in Messenger this morning just after I was telling my children that a hug is the first thing I want when all this is over. Those are just a few little ripples from the “This” that’s is so world wide, so fluid in today’s lingo, that I am sure I don’t even have to explain. Covid-19 is famous; a virus gone viral. (Groan) That is, no doubt, a pun that has been grossly overused the past few weeks.

    In our home, we’ve adjusted by use of a home haircut; cooking new things and some old favorites to keep it interesting; daily phone calls to Dad and our adult children just to sure they’re OK. We’ve wiped down, locked up and pondered over. We have prayed more, loved much and started our own tomato and cabbage seed pods. We have reassured ourselves in God’s Word that this too shall pass; and if it doesn’t, God is still Lord of our lives.

    We’ve sure seen some unexpected ‘firsts’ for our 21st century, like empty grocery shelves with no impending storms; medical appointments being rescheduled for their patients’ safety; NCAA tournament cancelled (way worse than empty store shelves to my kids and me!) Also there have been alterations in how we do what we can still do, such as exchanging boxed meals for empty tables at Soup For The Soul, where people once met for sit-down meals; no indoor dining in restaurants, with take-out or delivery only; elbow bumping instead of hand shakes, and now keeping six feet apart instead of the elbow bumping. Distancing from others and hoarding necessities sound like subjects for a sermon on selfishness instead of survival. But the one change that has me distressed is the absence of public worship. For the first time in my life, and even most likely in my parents’ lives, there was no public assembly to attend today. I have so many thoughts on that, that I cannot even put them all into one post; plus I would lose you dear reader in the dust of a lengthy one-gal-opinion thesis.  With a former career in nursing, I certainly understand the wisdom in blocking transmission; but it makes me sad. I cannot help wondering what God thinks of it. Hang with me now – I make no judgements either way; I am just processing thoughts.  The scriptures on assembling and fear, such as Hebrews 10:24-25, Psalm 27:1 and Matthew 10:28 come to mind as clearly as the verses on grace, mercy and Matthew 12:3-8. I especially needed to be reminded of the last one. God is looking for the heart, not the house; fulfilling needs, not a law. It has been good for me to meditate on these things, realizing how much I depend on organized religion to do my part in my own Christian responsibility.

    Thank you elders, for providing the means to see and hear lessons from God’s Word from home. Thank you preachers for the diligence in study and presenting those lessons. Thank you to my brother-in-law for remembering the Lord’s Supper components for communion at home.  But I already miss my church family. I miss the organized song and prayer service. I miss the freshness of children’s faces and the preacher’s bow tie. I miss passing gum to the pew behind me. I miss the satisfaction after worship time that I see on my husbands’s face; a peace that he never got to have as a youngster. Thank you Father God for the opportunities all my life for worshipping freely and abundantly; and for this opportunity to see what it might be like if that were taken from me.

    After fighting a virus, the body can become stronger, gaining more resistance to infection and earning itself new immunities. I pray that God will guide us safely through to shut this virus down, and find a cure or immunization against Covid-19. May we use this time to “go viral” with similar qualities at heart – strength, resilience and the capacity to find new blessings every day. Wash your hands!

    “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28 NKJV)

    Roses Are Red, Pansies Are Yellow; I Get to Do Life With a Mighty Fine Fellow.

    14 Friday Feb 2020

    Posted by in Family, Life, The unexpected

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    Valentine’s Day at 46 years of marriage looks a great deal different from those first few years and before. Today went like this, at 8 AM:

    • G: “Aww, you got me again!”
    • Me: “Well it’s just a card, and you asked me so many times what I wanted, how could I forget?”
    • G: “Well you said ‘I don’t want anything’ “.
    • Me: “I said I didn’t want you spending on stuff I can’t keep and if you brought candy, I’d crown you with it!”
    • G: “I’m sorry.”
    • Me: “You have nothing to be sorry about; you always go overboard on Christmas and gave me my valentine, birthday, Christmas and Mother’s Day gifts at one time. So hush.”

    Out for breakfast, back home, took my doggie out and back in to find hubby, feet up in his recliner. I thought, no way can I listen to another episode of Gunsmoke! So, off to a nap. I have the luxury of that today, which is better than a whole truckload of gifts. Fast forward, post-nap, house is empty, sun is shining, I’m feeling pretty good, planning a little supper hubby will like – by the way, where is he?

    Three PM, door bell rings. There stands G., holding a single red rose in a lovely vase of greenery, and said “delivery for my girlfriend.”  Zing! Boom!

    You just can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Suddenly I remembered that I had started a blog post a few years back, Old Roses and Whine; I don’t think I ever finished it. In it I mention that I have a jar full of old rose petals from occasions I have forgotten. The point being that it is the intent of the heart that matters when it comes to men; not the timing, nor the gift; the heart.

    Forty years ago I’d have thought the setting of the sun depended on my getting a valentine or not. It did not; and I did not. Watching all those sun ups and sun downs for forty plus years was the real gift! Those years taught me that the heart expecting something is nowhere near as happy as the heart that does not expect, but is grateful for what already is.

    When the center of your heart belongs to God, and you already have Him, the rest is just fluff. Really nice fluff, for sure, but still just fluff.

     

     

    THE SANDBOX – Rant and Recover: The Road is Coming Through

    04 Monday Nov 2019

    Posted by in Encouragement, The unexpected

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    little boy playing in the sand

    Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

    Most likely you have observed kids in a sandbox, or on a playground, building their “spot” and having to move over for a sandbox bully. I recall the neat sandbox my daddy built for us surrounding a maple tree in our back yard. I was a bit too old to claim my own turf there, but enjoyed watching my little sister and brother playing with neighborhood kids. Unfortunately, the kittens that managed to escape the neighborhood dogs, car engines and tires, would also move in on the sand to – um,  sort of claim their territory…yes, I know, yuck. But the little kids didn’t mind. In fact, as a rule kids will concede after a sidewise look or mild resistance (just to be sure) when a more dominate personality moves in and wants that spot for himself. In the sandboxes of life, the bully has more weight, more money, or just more presence. At the least, it is inconvenient; at the most, it is life-changing.

    Kids are truthful, humble and often helpless, powerless.  It’s when we feel the powers moving our world that the kid in us wants to come out. We want to stomp and cry; but the adult in us knows better. We know that the playing field isn’t always level.

    Growing up, the playground expands, with more at stake, like perhaps class standing, career positions or potential spouses. Still dealing with competition, someone trying to go”one-up”, it’s common to still be finding ourselves or our positions in life. In those younger years the sand boxes are more plentiful and there are more fish in the sea. After a time, you think it’s all worked out; your bullies have found other callings, and peers have come to understand or accept each other’s turn and place in line. Comradery forms and you find enjoyment rooting for each other. Then. Then, someone drops in from another planet, plowing a new furrow, blasting your turf, only now the sand castles are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and roots are growing with families involved instead of just you. It is more. Much more than someone moving your furniture in the night, it’s more like they’ve moved your house – literally – right out from under you.  These bullies invading your sandbox aren’t just flexing muscle. They are pushing, kicking mounds, telling you to go with it or get thrown into the gulley, you and  your bicycle. They have machismo and money.  These playing fields are the real thing, making the childhood days seem of little importance. In reality though, if you’re the child whose tear streaked face endured the bully’s slap, and the terror of losing your sand castle, then you know the significance at any stage of life. It is a fact of life indeed, that all playing fields are not level.

    As adults, we eventually come face to face with those uneven levels. Our adult sized sandbox where we’re just minding our business and doing life, paying taxes, raising responsible citizens, living up to the motto of leaving a place better than we found it – these places we have invested blood, sweat and tears into –  are Just. A. Speck. A dot on a map in the universe, it is property of a republic; a republic in which we’ve been proud to be a part. That playground we thought belonged to our kindergarten class until we grew up to be second graders and learned differently, is only ours for a moment of eternity. A speck; a moment in the whole scope of world events.

    You wake up one day and realize there are bullies in the republic too, who seem not to have regard for “by the people, for the people”.  Of course, that depends on which people you are. You begin to realize once again how small you and your sand castles are; helpless once again, you must find a new sandbox. Until two or three, again, want to, oh let’s say, build a road through your playing field. That’s when it is SO important to know – and HERE is our consolation – that they all eventually get their ‘come uppings’. Not for the sake of revenge at all, but that eventually the playing field IS even. There is one sovereign boss to whom we will all answer; and what He has in store for those who are His, well, in the whole scope of world events, our plights just shrink; not less important to us, but of less priority. Then we must ask ourselves: one, does this affect my relationship with the Father, the Creator of my sandbox and all others? Only if I allow it to change me. Then, secondly, does this change who I am (without my permission) or Who God is? Most assuredly not!

    Friends, neighbors, our hearts are with you. Many of us have lived under the shadow of threat from year to year, not knowing exactly how to plan and proceed. Dodging the bullet once doesn’t mean it’s our playground for keeps. As long as there’s life, there’s change. And eventually my cheese will be moved; so hopefully I will not trust in the cheese, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name, and I shall not be moved. My sandbox and my friends and foes will all move in and out; I may relocate, but I – who I am, a child of the King, will not change. For HIS eternal kingdom, is not on an earthly ground, but a spiritual one. All the powers of earth and beyond cannot uproot the Kingdom, the Spirit nor the love of God.

    When we get to go in for supper with our big brother, Jesus, we won’t even remember the sandbox. The feast and the mansion where it’s served will be awesome beyond words, and I have the Boss’ word on it. God sees His kids in the sandbox, dries their tears and lovingly assures them they will be fine; that they will recover and perhaps even greater things are in store for them. Greater and better things may indeed await where you next fill your sand pail.

    The writer of Hebrews was inspired to tell us “For this One has been counted worthy of more glory than Moses, inasmuch as He who built the house has more honor than the house. For every house is built by someone, but He who built all things is God. …but Christ as a Son over His own house, whose house we are if we hold fast the confidence and the rejoicing of the hope firm to the end.” (Hebrews 3: 3-4, 6 NKJV) I think he meant there’s only one sandbox we need to be concerned about building in, because it belongs to Jesus Christ, and as the owner, He lets us stay until it’s time to go home.