On the Wings of a Butterfly

31 Tuesday Aug 2021

Posted by in Life, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Recalling the sadness with which my dad would report the passing of another old classmate, I began to identify somewhat, with those feelings. I had just read the obituary of yet another friend of my mother’s which saddened me, but more than that, it began to unfold a revelation about aging I have never felt before. (It isn’t about my being another year older or being nearer the end. Instead, it’s feeling the passing of life as I’ve known it. It’s the people who’ve left us behind, evolving morality, chivalry and such.) The lady who had died was an age right between my parents and me, so she considered Mama a friend, and me as well. We weren’t close, but I had respect for her and remembered fondly how she was a presence in our lives when I was a young child.

A couple days ago I came upon a colorful butterfly whose life had ended, and it suddenly returned to mind today. Each time I walked by it as it lay on the hot concrete, a few more particles of its lovely wings were etching away, as is the way of Mother Nature; by another day it was gone.

I wondered, are our lives just delicate wings, slowly crumbling off around the edges, dissolving like a mound of January snow? Well, actually yes, according to God’s word, our earthly lives are like the petals of a flower, dust in the wind. “All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of the grass. The grass withers, and its flower falls away. But the word of the Lord endures forever.” (I Peter 1:24) But God put something inside us that the dust and the butterflies do not have; a soul. I know the soul lives forever because God said He created us in His image, which is eternal. “Then God said, ‘Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness;’ (Genesis 1:26) I understand this; however, it’s the season we’re spending here with one another that I am pondering.

When dad mourned passing classmates, it was literally losing pieces of himself. I recall losing high school classmates not long after graduation and unlike the elderly, it was shocking, unusual and set apart from our own lives. However, as we grow older together, we are watching each other’s lives span out, grow, and come back together again. We find more things in common, along with our other acquaintances, woven throughout our own tapestry of life. So watching all these people from different periods of our lives begin to leave, is similar to watching the threads slowly unravel and slide out of the cloth, little by little, one friend, one relative, at a time. This we know is natural, neither shocking nor unusual, but as I’m just realizing, it is actually changing the landscape of my life, my world; a world created by the relationships we’ve made, the real stuff of our lives. It reminds me of enjoying a bowl of ice cream. You have your favorite flavor in your favorite bowl, the spoon that fits just right in your hand, and you knew the delicious treat wasn’t to keep, so as you enjoy it, bite by bite, you see it disappearing. Either you eat it or it melts; either way, it goes.

I realize these thoughts have the potential of being depressing, but it is not my intention to bring you down. Rather, you should know your life, whether a casual acquaintance, a relative, my best bud, or somewhere between, is being enjoyed like a bowl of Columbian coffee ice cream; worn in my life like the finest woven tapestry; and decorates my life like the blue speckles on the butterfly sipping at my zinnias. We are not put here to live unto ourselves. As we help and encourage each other, we are actually folding in the ingredients, weaving threads of gold and silver, into and throughout each other’s lives. Make it good, dear ones! When the tapestry is completely undone, will I be just another wing on the sidewalk? I like to think I may be a good memory to some, like that particular butterfly was to me, but more importantly, whatever makes me fly will live forever with my God.

Thankfully, I haven’t had to say goodbye to many of my own peers, but as I’m practically in the lap of being the older generation, I have just begun to understand. I found myself frantically searching my mind for someone who might be able to answer questions related to the life of the recently deceased. Finally I called a cousin who could fill in some of the blanks but the truth remains, there are fewer people left than I care to realize who can still answer questions about past memories. The memories are precious because of the souls connected to them. So hug them up tight; wrap them in fine quilts and serve them using the good dishes. Life just may be short, so enjoy the ice cream.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day.” (II Corinthians 4:16)

SHARING; Then and Now

02 Monday Aug 2021

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, Uncategorized

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Feeling quite pleased with the outcome of a project, I shared my efforts on Facebook. In anticipation of the much needed improvement, I had taken ‘before’ pictures to emphasize just how much our porches needed to be cleaned and sealed. As I was taking the ‘after’ pictures, the question came to mind as to why I felt the need to share this on social media. It wasn’t a benchmark thing, nothing rare or unusual; just a small accomplishment that gave me satisfaction. It’s really funny when you stop to think about it. I made it just fine for over sixty years without this strange activity of publicizing sunsets, sunflowers and sun-dried sheets. Millions of us do it, and frankly, I enjoy the giving and receiving of little snippets of our lives. So don’t misunderstand me; I’m not ‘dissing’ it as the kids used to say. But I did imagine some interesting scenarios in wondering what if there’d been social media and sharing of everyday life a generation and farther, ago. Can you imagine?

When my mother’s elderly aunt threatened her cow with a wheat straw, it made family news and the account of it was handed down through three generations so far, bringing much laughter. Had that been a Facebook video, it may have gotten a few chuckles, and then become buried beneath a deluge of other posts. However, as it had only word of mouth, being heard over and over by people who loved one another, the tale has lived on. 

Can you imagine seeing a post of a little burr-headed boy, seven or eight years old, driving a two-ton truck as he stretched to see between the dashboard and the steering wheel? Well there is no photo to post because my husband was alone, trying to hold it between the ditches of a hilly gravel road and keep up with his dad driving something ahead of him. Now, a share like that one might have gained the attention of the law! And judging by the reaction his aunt had when she saw the activity, I’m sure she would’ve liked a route for ranting! But other than the remembrance for the boy, and his aunt,  it went unnoticed. Talk about kids growing up too soon! It was the norm back then.

How about those hundreds of quarts or so of green beans your grandma canned? Can you imagine her stopping to take a picture to post? I recall my mother indicating if we stopped to so much as go to the bathroom, we might hinder a jar from sealing. 

As my sister pointed out recently, her dozen ears of corn made good eating and conversation, but she remembered the 1,000 (or so it seemed) ears of corn on a sheet under a tree waiting to be ‘worked up’ by our mother and her sister.  What they shared was time, togetherness and sticky aprons as they commented on whose knife was sharper. It was hard enough to get willing participants, so I doubt they thought non-players would be interested. Anyway, they were just doing what every other family was doing. The best sharing then was in a large glass bowl about four months later with country ham and biscuits.

Imagine ole’ Bess about to give birth in the barn. The farmer cries out, “hold on, don’t calve just yet, I forgot my phone! The world’s just gotta see this!” 

I think the world was so small then for folks, they just couldn’t imagine anything they saw or did as being unusual. They felt like maybe everyone else had or did the same, pretty much. Hydrangeas growing by the house had been transplanted all over the county so everyone had one; they all had seen a thousand too many baby chicks; and nobody wanted their picture made on hog killing day! They got together on Sunday afternoon, shared their stories, and made memories enough for years. But as the world has expanded, allowing us to be a part of a much larger community, we know there are people special to us who will never see us in our “natural habitat” nor will we see them in person encountering special moments. I’m thinking of the vacation posts by others, places I’ll never see, so experiencing it through your eyes is the next best thing! Sharing is good that way. Too, we have more time on our hands with modern conveniences and life IS more varied and exciting, maybe… and yet I can’t begin to imagine what a star studded night over Kentucky looked like without the outdoor lights interfering. I can’t imagine how a family of ten or so sounded when they all sat down to the supper table at once, because that’s the only way they did it. As I watch a goldfinch picking at a matching Black-eyed Susan, I wonder what  posts my mother would have made as she loved her flowers and birds! I can’t imagine what  her face looked like when she first held us kids in her arms. They just didn’t take pictures like that then, much less share them with strangers. But I’d love to see a real-life post – just a few anyway – from those times. 

“The more things change, the more they stay the same” we have heard. I wonder if my great aunt Treva would’ve posted her amazing Four O’clocks on social media. She shared the seed with me about 35 years ago and I want to share the beauty and fragrance each year as they envelope our porch! No, somehow I doubt she would; she had cows to milk, strawberries to work, grandchildren to feed and hug and a hundred other chores of farm life. So, no, she wouldn’t take the time. I’m so thankful she took the time to share her flower seed with me so a part of her lives on in my life.

  • 4 O’Clocks from Treva Darnell

The little brown rabbit munching clover outside my window tempts me to grab a pic and share it, because a picture is worth a thousand words, they say. But again, why do I even think of that? It seems social media has invaded even our paths of thought. I have no point to make. I just think it’s interesting; both the rabbit and the notion of sharing such a common thing. Now, some have said posting of our personal lives is just bragging. I say phooey to those nay-sayers!

We’ve been taught (or at least should have been) to share since we were babies. Even as the tune “It’s a small small world” hums through my head, I feel the world has actually grown larger and larger until it has required a new way to share. There aren’t enough minutes in a day nor days in a week to share all our happenings with everyone we know. So here we are, sharing on social media outlets. Silly as it may seem at times, it’s fun, if everyone remembers the golden rule. Obviously we share what is important to us, so please don’t be offended when I share my love for our Creator God, the power of Jesus Christ and Holy Spirit. My intentions are to encourage and I hope they are received as such. I loved a post recently by Terra Weber sharing how her girlfriends pitched in and helped her in a pinch. I call that share-worthy; my rabbit, not so much (smile). If not for the encouragement from Cindy Lassiter’s garden posts, I might have given up and quit doing a thing that makes me feel so alive! At seeing Judith Darnell’s post of her rhododendrons, I thought, You go girl!

All the plants, birds and time with children I enjoy sharing, demonstrate the wonders of life for me.  I have adopted the hashtag #encouragedbylife as my signature. (Do not look for me on Twitter; one outlet is all I can keep up with.) I hope others are encouraged to get out and experience more of nature after seeing posts from us nature lovers. If a little share here and there points someone to look for God in His creation, I am happy. If a shared post encourages a youngster to keep working hard and know he or she is loved, also great. What I hope we don’t forget is to keep sharing our actual, not virtual, lives. Giving of our time and resources to one another is the kind of sharing we never forget. A tree from Dana Bazzell, a hydrangea from Patsy Russell, Irises from my aunt Sue, and many other examples are real life shares. Retelling stories from the past keeps their sharing alive and reminds us there is really nothing new under the heavens. It’s just new to us, so share it if you like.  #encouragedbylife

  • Eastern Bluebird box in our backyard

I’ve Done It Again!

10 Thursday Jun 2021

Posted by in Nature, Through my window

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Each year I promise myself and anyone concerned, not to make myself one with the outdoor world as Spring turns into Summer. Spring has a gravitational pull like few others, and only becomes stronger as summer dawns. I truly intend each year to divide my time wisely between outdoor activity and indoor obligations. Just as surely as the sun rises earlier and earlier, I become more and more negligent of my pledge. Actually, ‘derelict’ may be a more adequate description of my summer self. To make things worse this year, our backyard population of House Wrens is captivating.

Now, I’m fully aware of one’s reality being one’s perception, so if for some inexplicable reason you aren’t fascinated by all this nature activity or if you do not hear the call of the wild, perhaps you can relate to some other distraction keeping you from being all you think you should be. You will likely think I am loony (and you’d be partly correct) but it’s kind of that trash and treasure idea – it’s all in our perception. My reality, I’m not getting any work done and it’s nature’s fault!

Thinking the rainy days would be my redemption time to clean, or write, or even squeeze in some extra reading, was folly. I refuse, however, to accept all the blame. April showers brought us amazing May flowers. Obviously the birds and bees thought so too, for I have been like a kid at Christmas watching our feathered friends. I go from fascination to frustration as I watch and defend them. My most recent angst has been a Sparrow Hawk who seems to think our Purple Martins came from Brazil just for his or her benefit. Judging by the tenacity, I’d say it’s a she, with a family of her own to feed. That’s beside the point. Aren’t there enough rodents out and about to feed a host of hawks?! Seriously, I’m about a shotgun shell away from committing a crime! On Sunday morning we witnessed said hawk taking an adult Martin down, in our backyard, from her own apartment house. I cried. The dirty bird better be glad it was Sunday! But I digress; I was about to tell you about the wrens, wasn’t I.

Six feet from my sunroom window hangs what remains of a wind chime. It is fashioned like a retro coffeepot, with a birdhouse door and a tiny little awning over the perch. The wrens found it desirable so I cut off the chimes and let them have it. This year it became the chosen one; of the dummy nests created by Mr. Wren, Mrs. Wren chose this one for real. I’ve been sitting in the window, rain or shine, watching them finish, fend off and feed. They are adorable. Other than one seeming a bit smaller than the other, the male and female are identical. They, and another couple near my rose garden, have sung their little hearts out all spring and still sing about anything from “here’s another bug my dear” to “oh what a beautiful morning”! As I write, one of the coffeepot residents has landed on a shepherd’s hook, looks into my window and sings WITH bug in beak, as if to say, “be sure you mention how hard I work”! As one waits for the other to feed their babies, his little wings are in a constant flutter, allowing him to hover a moment for his turn to hand off the groceries. Then he is off on another cross-country mission (across the soybean field to the fence row) for another haul.

From early spring until now, we have enjoyed, besides the swallows and wrens, a daily visit from geese and an occasional Great Blue Heron to our pond, so I get to see them from the sunroom too. We have had gold, purple and house finches; Robins, Mockingbirds, Bob Whites, Red-winged Blackbirds, Bluejays, Cardinals, Hummingbirds and the prettiest little Chipping Sparrows. My favorite is the Eastern Bluebird who has rights to a box I check and protect the best I can. These are the backyard guests that keep me spellbound.

I hate the English house sparrow so much that I will make no further mention of its name. Starlings have been less of a pest this year, but still do some damage. And now the hawk. But isn’t that life? We each see and strive to meet our own needs. Why oh why can’t we all be the gentle melodious Bluebird who just takes care of his own, instead of the screaming predator who kills and maims members of its own class. I know, I know, it’s nature. Not even Mother Nature can please everyone every time. Still, given the pleasures versus the pain, I think she is quite a lovely lady, our Mother Nature!

As I close, a Goldfinch whistling “hey you, hey you”, has joined our wrens in the Crepe Myrtle that shades and protects the coffeepot house. They are completely at peace with each other and my heart swoons. It is nearly noon, and my floors are tracked with tennis shoe prints and dry grass clippings; the furniture is dusty and I have no meal planned. The lawn needs mowing today so there is a multitude of clover and dandelion blooms making happy bees out there. Blame it on the rain. Oh no! An EHS just attempted to enter the wren’s abode! Just as I ran to knock on the window to scare it off, a beautiful blaze of blue swooped down and did the job for me. After a few minutes of peering out her port hole, Mrs. Wren escapes to continue doing what she does, safe and sound. Bluebird, you are my hero!!

Thursdays used to be my productive days. I’m afraid I’ve done it again! Happy watching!

Broken Teacup Lids and Thoughts Of Mother’s Day

08 Saturday May 2021

Posted by in Family, Friendship, Life

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The Thought Pixie brought along the Regret Rascal, arriving just in time to block the Sandman and so I began one of those nights. You know the kind, when every debate you had put away, comes back out to play. Good thoughts, bad thoughts, hopes, regrets; doesn’t matter because once they get on a roll, sleep just doesn’t have a chance. My solution is a cup of Sleepytime tea and a pen in my hand. You know, if you give those random thoughts free range, there’s no telling how long they will romp and stomp. I’ve found intentional thinking by reading or writing will either chase away, or corral them to a manageable level. Even though I am still awake, the effort seems to bring the brain to the point of resting sooner than lying there fighting demons in the dark. The writing usually brings me around to some point where most of those thoughts are connected. Such was this night, two days prior to Mother’s Day.

As if by an unseen force, my hand reached for Mama’s old Hallmark tea mug with a matching lid for steeping. It lives on a shelf, at eye level, where I can see it, but never use it for fear I’ll finish breaking what I started years ago when I dropped the lid. It broke in half, and is glued together with a dark scar, but I treasure it for a couple reasons. First just because it was Mama’s and it was given to her by one of her friends. I can just see her dipping the tea bag up and down in the hot water, then placing the cover to steep the tea and finally, placing the bag to dry on the upturned lid while she sipped her Earl Gray. Rarely ever did I visit her kitchen or den without seeing a dried tea bag where she left it. Secondly, the message written on the cup would probably have been her motto had you asked her. “Life’s truest happiness is found in the friendships we make along the way.” So, in anticipation of this Mother’s Day, I drank my herbal tea from the little blue friendship mug as I wrote to Mama.

Even good things can be broken. Good broken things can be repaired if we care enough to do so. God uses broken things; why shouldn’t we? Although they probably will never be the same, they may be even better – like this tea cup lid. It’s better because it has a new purpose: to remind me that broken is not always forever. It reminds me that people too, are breakable, repairable, and often better than new.

Hearts, relationships, a promise or teacup 
once broken, will leave a scar.
Will one see light shine through the cracks
Or will one see a mar?
Finding hope or substance to patch, stitch or mend
Will prove the thing to have been worthy
When love comes peeking in.

Thank you Mama for being my friend, and for teaching us how to find friendship in life. Happy Mother’s Day to all the amazing women we call sisters, daughters, mothers and friends! Trisha

Looking Back With 2020 Vision

21 Sunday Mar 2021

Posted by in Life, The unexpected

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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!

    Coffee Breaks

    20 Saturday Feb 2021

    Posted by in Reflections, Through my window

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    Trishascoffeebreak began at a time when coffee breaks were at a premium. Over the years the blog has covered many subjects, but usually from a current vantage point in life, mostly in bits of nature where the author felt safe walking through blessings and scattering encouragement along the way. It seems a more fitting title for my blog now would be “Coffee With a View”, since the breaks are more leisurely taken, and I get to actually finish the coffee before it’s cold, perhaps staring out my window the whole time at whatever the seasons bring to view. Today my view took a backward look at the time when coffee breaks were few and cherished; the arena of life that has stayed off my keyboard because I always knew there would be readers with more experience, more knowledge, who were faster on their feet than I and left me feeling like I had no right to write.

    Coffee breaks in my former life, were a time to catch your breath or catch up on the endless charting and restocking. Wash cloths, towels and emesis bags seemed to fly out the window if you took time for so much as a half cup of hot coffee. As sure as you decide to sit and enjoy a ten minute break, you’d end up in a delivery where Dr. Austin called for a 14-French suction catheter that wasn’t there and you’d be racing out to find one, wondering how you missed that when you checked to see if the room was ready. The 2-0 chromic suture box was full until a patient tore, or Dr. Cook cut an episiotomy when, sure enough, the box is empty. Coffee breaks were when you chose between restocking or refueling. By the time you empty the overfull bladder and grab a cookie from the box left two days ago by a grateful patient, to quiet the growling stomach during your next patient interview and assessment, there’s no time to stand in a cafeteria line for a fresh cup of coffee. I’m pretty sure God gave us “Preparation Time” that we mistakenly named “Coffee Break”.

    On the days when you want to push your chair to the back wall and just breathe for a moment, you hear a co-worker coaching how to effectively push, then suddenly yell “don’t push – just breathe!” and you immediately know you must call their attending physician in for a precipitous delivery and breathlessly you arrive to help her escort a new life into the world. A world where you hope someone used their break too, to restock that room, and you’ll find warmed blankets and suction bulbs ready.

    Some days a coffee break finds you sitting next to a co-worker who needs to spill tears for her latest breakup when you really just needed a moment to pray for your son’s failing marriage. But with cup in hand, you listen and sympathize, and make a mental note to drag an apology in with your weary feet tonight for some hasty word said when you left home this morning. You use the final moment of a much-needed break to remind the co-worker and yourself how we have to leave such things at home and give that space in our hearts to hold our patients’ woes, just for today.

    Lastly, and less often, there are the days when you actually do have time to grab a cup of coffee and enjoy it, only to return to find a gurney rolling in with a patient who started bleeding and you find she only had a couple prenatal visits and those records are in the stack of prenatal records someone just left on the nurses’ station desk while you were gone. The next three hours are spent stabilizing the patient, speeding through paperwork and stuffing your guilty feeling into your scrubs for ever taking a break in the first place

    I wouldn’t take a home in Georgia for my times and trials of nursing, but I am so grateful now for a break – to rest, relax and finish my coffee. Though those times certainly gave me gray hair and wrinkles and heart palpitations, they also gave me a world of appreciation and understanding I’d never have gained otherwise. As the reflection off those sharp edges begins to soften with the tarnishing of time, I know there are memories too big and mysterious for words. However, I have begun to try. As I sip my second cup of coffee from my Saturday mug, I allow those memories to begin falling one by one onto my keyboard in hopes of sharing my view. Prepare, pray and breathe, friends.

    My Valentine

    14 Sunday Feb 2021

    Posted by in The unexpected, Uncategorized

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    Photo by Gabby K on Pexels.com

    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.

    His Mercy Endures Forever. For. Ever.

    06 Saturday Feb 2021

    Posted by in Encouragement, Through my window

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    Good Saturday morning to you! My choice in devotion this morning took me again to Mornings With the Holy Spirit where the suggested reading came from Psalm 136. Though I read this before, and even in class heard it discussed, never had the Psalmist’s intentional emphasis on mercy fallen on my heart quite like it did today. Perhaps the numerous changes in 2020 along with my season of life, have widened my vision and begun to open the window of understanding. Or maybe it was the morning’s glow over the red and burgundy Nandina outside my window and a matching purple finch. You choose.

    We’re told the book of Psalms was written to sing praises in the temple of worship. Consider our modern hymnals; the stanzas and chorus. With no musical training, even I can see the emphasis of each song is carried in the chorus, where the theme of each hymn is worded. Psalm 136 was explained to be one in which one voice would read or sing a characteristic of God, followed by the congregation in unison singing out, “for His mercy endures forever”. For example, “To Him who divided the Red Sea in two” (give thanks); why, “for His mercy endures forever” (verse 13). The song of Psalm 136 is give thanks to God for His infinite goodness, wisdom, strength, creativity, and deliverance. The theme then is mercy, as each line of God’s work in our lives is followed by a reason for thanking Him – His mercy.

    There is a painting in my kitchen I fell in love with a few years ago and it says, “In all of my life in every season you are still God”. It strikes me today with Psalm 136 in my hands, how God’s mercy is what allows me to witness and bask in the goodness of God. He would forever be good anyway, without us. If He had destroyed the earth including Noah and all human life, knowing we’d never get it together, He would still be the creative force, the wisdom beyond our comprehension, the eternal light because in Him is no darkness. Without taking away a single speck of credit to all God’s amazing infinite glory, can we not say it is His mercy which kept us here to witness it? Why? For His mercy endures forever.

    Scripture tells us nothing can separate us from the love of God…”neither death nor life…shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39) Gratitude streams down my face for the blessing of knowing my loved ones are still under the mercy of God, even in the grave. Never has it been so clear to me that death is not final, in the spiritual sense. Yes it is the final leg of our earthly journey; but we are so much more. “Those who sat in darkness and in the shadow of death, bound in affliction and irons – …Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them out of their distresses…and broke their chains in pieces.” (Psalm 107: 10-14) Helen’s absence of mind in the darkness of Alzheimers; Daddy’s darkness of depression; Mama’s loss of her body in Myasthenia Gravis; all are overcome by the strength and power in Christ. God broke their chains. Set them free. This life does not win. Even the glorious blessings of this life will not last forever, but His mercy endures FOREVER.

    If you live long enough you will gather regrets, face challenges that make you wonder, and become someone who craves the gift of mercy. That’s life. Place it in Christ Jesus, where the immeasurable love of God is revealed day by day. For His mercy endures forever.

    “Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good! For His mercy endures forever. Oh give thanks to the God of gods! For His mercy endures forever. To Him who alone does great wonders…who by wisdom made the heavens,…who laid out the earth above the waters…Who remembered us in our lowly state, For His mercy endures forever;” (Psalm 136:1-2, 4-6, 23)

    Thank you Father for your goodness: your creation, your redemptive power in Christ, and for my life. Thank you for your merciful heart allowing me to see it, receive it and be in it. In Jesus’ name, Amen

    Using What’s Available (I Just Hope it’s Not Black-eyed Peas)

    05 Tuesday Jan 2021

    Posted by in Encouragement, inspiration

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    Hello blog world. I hope 2021 is starting out well for you. Notice I didn’t say ‘off and running’; where would it be running? (grimace) We are, no doubt, a bit gun-shy. As the cute Facebook message said of the new year, ‘tiptoe in, don’t touch anything…’ and we do know viruses and attitudes do not heed calendars. I did not attempt to thwart fate’s continuance of 2020 with black-eyed peas and pork belly. It’s fun and all, to see all those versions of New Year’s Day meals, but one, I am not superstitious and two, I hate black-eyed peas. I’m a pretty fair cook, so I like to eat my own cooking and as they say, if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy…so, we do not have the afore-mentioned peas. Bacon and sausage are the extent of our pork fare because I learned years ago that to go further would result in my husband’s pancreatic unrest. Which would lead to my unrest. Bless his heart.

    Enough small talk. Truth is, I never plan a particular meal for New Year’s Day. There is always so much left over from Christmas meals, delicious not-so-healthy snacks and sandwich stuff we meant to use but kept replacing with fast food we caught on the run as we got last minute shopping done. I use what I have available. This year it was clean-out-the-fridge soup with grilled pimiento cheese sandwiches; no complaints from the residents.

    Applying the ‘what’s available’ thought to our times, none of us planned on having a crappy year. But neither did anyone go without blessings; awaking each day to options is a blessing itself. We have something left over. Maybe not the fancy fare you’d have chosen, but there’s a menu to be had if you woke up able to breathe in the cold air, walk to the coffee maker, and find running water in your kitchen. And, yes, if all I had was black-eyed peas, I’d throw in enough bacon grease to make them tolerable, somehow.

    My days begin with a precious pudgy pup taking me outside for his morning constitution. I take that opportunity to say good morning to God, or the birds, or the moon; usually all three unless Auggie let me sleep long enough for the sun to be up and I get to tell the sun good morning. If you can step to the door, listen for a moment to traffic or birds, and catch sight of something moving, you have the beginning already of a prayer of praise, and a pretty darn good day. Thank you God for the ability to walk out into a day of choices, to feel the air sting my face, to smell the neighboring chimney smoke, to watch a bluejay take his breakfast, and to hear quail ruffling up a fence row. I’m able to taste a cup of hot coffee and I know I have the makings of a feast – a feast of blessings with the left-overs alone, not to mention the fat of the calf with which my cup runs over day after day. Family, friends, and fortune much of the world would call excessive, are mine; yours too, I’m guessing. “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23

    No, Covid 19 didn’t go anywhere yet. Sadly, prejudice and hatred still thrive. Crime did not surrender to the authorities. I wish these things would change, but we know it will take a whole lot more than eating the right things on the first day of the year, don’t we? Let’s use what we have to make all the change we can. We have a sovereign God Who craves us to seek Him, be in communion with Him, and allow Him to work in our lives to prepare a forever relationship with Him. I believe He will use what we have left in us – He said so – and will make amazing outcomes of us. (Jeremiah 29:11, for one.) I hope making a better me, will enable me to make good changes in the world of needs. So, until the other shoe drops – no, even if it does, I wish for you a beautiful bold new year in which you can use the leftovers to build, or add on to, a wonderful relationship with the great I AM. (Exodus 3:14) It is the best place to start. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

    “Cause me to hear Your lovingkindness in the morning, For in You do I trust; Cause me to know the way in which I should walk, For I lift up my soul to You.” Psalm 143:8

    A Present of Presence

    05 Saturday Dec 2020

    Posted by in Life, Reflections

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    I brought my coffee to the sunroom to watch the sun change from a narrow apricot band over the tree tops, become the growing light, and make the sky match the frost covered ground. Sitting by my little “memory” Christmas tree here, I take off one ornament – a clothespin pony, painted red wth white polka dots and a white yarn mane and tail. I remember opening the box of clothespin ornaments back in the 80’s, all painted and decorated in detail; angels, soldiers, a lion, ponies; all still with me today because they were mailed to us from West Virginia. Big Sissy Helen always thought of us.

    Reaching for the blessing jar sent only a couple weeks ago from Linda in New Jersey, I pull out today’s surprise message. This one simply said, “We never lose the people we love. They live wth us in our hearts for the rest of our lives.” And I gingerly touch the little red clothespin pony to my face, stirring the present of Helen’s presence in my heart.

    A busy cardinal outside my window now reminds me of Helen’s early up-and-at ’em-life. I remember also the first time ever when she didn’t know who I was when I called her. It was Mother’s Day this year. I wrote about it; about the heartbreak of Alzheimer’s and the things it robs from us. I need to finish that for Helen’s girls and her husband’s sake. They need to know their mom and wife still lives on in the hearts of others, even though she has only fragments of herself living still in the shell of her body.

    Yes, Linda, they do live on in our hearts. Thank you for the reminder coming from the little jar of love; that we have not truly lost those who are not physically in our midst. They are so much more than a body and a face.

    I pray God will grant me the ability and time to be like those little slips of paper coming daily from the blessing jar; reminding someone, somewhere that real life – the real life that goes on living in our hearts – is not vanity at all. God gave us each other for a reason. May we each paint the dark skies with light; open gifts of pleasure for others, and speak words of blessing into their lives while we can. We will live in their hearts for the rest of their lives.