Tag Archives: children

Notifications

15 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by in Reflections, Through my window

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Friday, 11/14/25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June 2025 — Gone But Not Forgotten!

30 Monday Jun 2025

Posted by in Celebrating, MONDAY MUSINGS

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From Memorial Day to July, things change. I mean, really change — from 69 to 96 degrees; from clear to muggy; from planting to picking; and a swirl of colors throughout, taking turns on the dance floor. On Memorial Day weekend, I wrote, “I am in a sweatshirt hoodie, drinking hot coffee, watching the day slide into evening with layers of pink frosting spread across the blue sky. Con’t remember such a cool end of May. The Purple Martins are gathering one last meal for the evening. The bluebirds have just settled into their house with new babies. Traffic sounds have subsided and the evening songbirds are singing in the distance. The song “It Is Well With My Soul” comes to mind”.

We do not recall a spring or summer as wet as this one has been, as everyone else is saying. But look at the beautiful lush corn crops! Our garden, which was not large to begin with, has drowned twice and the replanted greenbeans are struggling. Tomatoes have blossom-end rot. Sweet corn looks lost in its own jungle. Cucumbers are running amok through grass; and zinnias are leaning this way and that. But – the okra looks great for now, and I won’t have as much work to do in harvesting it all.

For a few mornings this month, a person could sit out for an hour or so to enjoy coffee and bird watching. Now, the blanket of humidity and heat that wraps the evenings, awaits us in the early morning. Are we thankful for air-conditioning? The air smells of a dank musty basement, until I walk past the Four O’Clocks, or the wild honeysuckle that has wound itself throughout our barberry bush. Everyone talks of how difficult it has been to keep the lawn mowed, and we agree! But how easily the weeds, the million or so weeds, pop out of the soggy ground when I do brave the heat in effort to battle them. You know the routine — for every complaint we have, there are more blessings to uncover. June has indeed been a full month!

We have enjoyed celebrating: the birthday of our first born, Father’s Day, two bluebird families fledged successfully, the air full of Purple Martins and their chorus, a comfortable house to hide from the weather, and one almost-blue hydrangea bloom. (If you’ve read my “Everyone Else Has Blue Hydrangeas, Why Can’t I?”, you understand that last celebration.) We’ve celebrated with family and friends, their special moments. We’ve come to love little league baseball. I finally got to the lake in June to enjoy an amazing crappie meal my sister and her husband cooked, and took the most peaceful boat ride, viewing a blazing yellow sunset complete with several bald eagle sightings.

As you see, there are no mentions of fantastic trips away from home, nor actually, anything extraordinary to tell. I think just observing the world around you with appreciation for what you have, can be an accomplishment through a month like we have had. Rain showers almost daily didn’t amount to devastating floods. An overgrowth of weeds and grass aren’t anything a good fall frost can’t handle. And did I say ‘praise the Lord for A-C’? Just when I was ready to dig up my poor virus-infected, black-spotted roses, Queen Elizabeth produced four beautiful pick blooms. And so, on goes the world, with its own first-evers; on go the families’ agendas — young and old alike. Diseases progress, and some are healed. Rain falls on the just and the unjust. We all get to enjoy the blessings. And God is still God, through all our seasons. Blessed be the name of our Lord! “From the rising of the sun to its going down, the Lord’s name is to be praised.” (Psalm 113:3)

Some of our June enjoyment:

A random visitor

Come To the Table: Part 5 in Old Tables and Old Times

26 Monday May 2025

Posted by in In Memory, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Recall the kitchen table of your childhood — the one you knew held your next meal and where you’d find your people. Are you picturing a chrome table with armless chairs? Perhaps a large modern one, with a highly polished finish and upholstered chairs; or a dull oak table, worn with serving generations before you, comes to mind. If you are fortunate, you have something firmly seated in your mind where loved ones (whether two of you or twenty) gathered to share a meal. Perhaps like me, you also recall sitting at the same table doing homework, listening to the AM radio station, telling your teacher in your imagination, oh yes I can concentrate with the music playing. Are the children in your memory stifling giggles because daddy said “you don’t laugh at the table“; or are they racing to see who gets dessert first? Was there a greasy pair of salt and pepper shakers, a butter dish with little finger prints? Was the blessing asked; was the food cooked by one, or a team effort? Were there paper napkins, or paper towels; a tablecloth, or a bare table under your plates? Did everyone get matching glasses, or was there a mix of mishap leftovers, as mine are now? Was there chaos, or peace? Each of us will likely remember something different than the next. I am willing to bet, however, the one thing shared by all, is that there was a particular time for this gathering. The time may have been something-o’clock on the dot; or not timed by the clock on the wall, but understood by all concerned, that it would be according to the sky. When the work load consumed all the daylight hours, supper was timed when you saw dark approaching. Such was often the farmer’s suppertime. But, most importantly, in spite of it all — with the members around that table being imperfect — was there a sacrifice made and love shown, by the presence of the table?

This Sunday morning of Memorial Day weekend, our wise and kind brother who presided over the Communion table, appropriately pointed out how Memorial Day reminds us to remember the sacrifices that have been made. At the table of communion, we are also remembering — remembering the life and love, the sacrifice and selflessness in the death of our Savior Jesus Christ. Unlike our home kitchen tables, where everything and anything in our arms lands on the table, our Lord’s table has been cleared of everything except the unleavened bread and the fruit of the vine, the body and blood of Jesus. A place for His children to gather, at the appointed time, to share the meal prepared by the Father; this is our memorial time to honor Him — Jesus. Where I worship, we do this every Lord’s Day. I look forward weekly, to gathering around this table and quietly seeking Him.

As for the table of my childhood, I looked forward to being called to that table too. Even in the midst of complaining and criticizing, falling apart and falling from grace, there was an abundance of laughter and love, gratitude and grace offered, sharing and shining, as our family gathered to partake of Mama’s good cooking and live out the forgiveness we always sought from one another.

Sitting on my vinyl covered chair at our chrome kitchen table, I heard my daddy promise me fifty dollars if I was the valedictorian of our eighth grade class. In the spring of 1967, I scooped up that fifty bucks. Many promises were made and some were broken around the table; birthdays were celebrated and vacations planned at the table. Tears were shared, but so were stories of achievement; Weekly Reader was enjoyed, report cards discussed, as were articles in the Ledger and Times. No matter what the mood, regardless of the activity, one thing stood sure — we were part of a family who shared in a common meal, and everyone ate the same thing because that’s what Mama had fixed. And when Sunday morning breakfast was finished, we left the table to fight over the bathroom time, to get ready for church, where we would be gathered around the greatest table of all time. I urge you to hear His call and come to the table.

And when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, “Take, eat; this is My body which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” In the same manner He also took the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood. This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.” For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death till He comes. (1 Corinthians 11:24-26) NKJV

The reason we observe Memorial Day each year is to set aside a time to formally remember and honor the sacrifices of American military personnel who have died while serving their country. My sincere gratitude to them for taking from their lives, to make our lives more secure, free, and enjoyable! Thank you, to those men and women, for what you have brought to our tables; for the homeland where we gather around these, our tables; and for the privilege to gather freely in our churches.

Running From Bears and Hiding in Hope

19 Monday May 2025

Posted by in Faith, MONDAY MUSINGS

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An excellent lesson last evening on fear, and conquering it through the promises of Isaiah 41:10, reminded me of a draft I had started a few years ago. I brought it out and brushed it up, so we will take a break from the “Old Tables and Old Tales” series.

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10) ESV

Stifled sobs from my shaking body awakened my husband, who in turn woke me from a nightmare. I couldn’t stop sobbing, even after getting to my feet to shake the troubling images from my head. I went straight for my phone not even caring what time it was. My son answered quickly, and by that time I was in the kitchen where I saw it was only 10:45. But the depth and distress of the dream made it seem like the middle of the night.

The question of where do dreams come from has never been answered to my satisfaction. It seems the mind just goes on random thought tangents with no boundaries. While common sense is sleeping, the little imps of imagination play. Obviously, some dreams are the result of fears – even those we have hidden away. Like dreams, real life can surprise us around any corner with a jack-in-the-box, either scary or funny. It’s only natural to hide from one and hope for the other.

I recall a recurrent nightmare from childhood. Three times at least, over a span of time, I dreamt that I was in my aunt’s house, the square-style house with four rooms all connected without a hall. You can start in the kitchen, go left into the bedroom, turn left into the next bedroom, turn left and enter the living room, then left again into the kitchen where you started. In my dream, there was a wooden highchair in the kitchen. A bear would begin to chase me, through the circuit of those rooms, around and around. Just as it was gaining on me, I would dive under the highchair.  The bear in my dream would stop, sniff around the chair, and the pounding of my heart would wake me. I’m pretty sure I know the fear behind the bear; and the hiding place being in that particular house, had to be that I always knew I was safe and loved there. Love conquers fear.

The gut-wrenching fear that spurred my more recent nightmare is one I believe all parents have in common. We do not want to see our children lose their hope – oh not the hope of Christmas Eve or birthday eve when kids know a fun-filled morning will follow – but true hope, an expectation, a belief that some yet unseen, good thing can and will happen. As adults we have seen enough ice-cream cones plop, to make us guard our hope. We’ve had earthly plans and hopes fall through, and we’ve also seen promises from God fulfilled as He held our world together. This is our hope to keep on trying. That’s what we want for our children isn’t it; to experience enough good so that good becomes their expectation. And to know their hope is tethered to the sure promises of God.

I believe the incidence of mental illness, suicide, and physical ailments are directly related to the loss of hope – hope that there is something, someone, greater than this shaky world. The natural tendency is to hope in this world’s goods and accomplishments, because that’s where we started as children, when we thought hope was in wishes. With maturity, the hopes and losses get bigger. Love, friendship, trust – the big ticket items –  hurt much more if lost, than getting the wrong Barbie, or having your birthday party rained out. I remember my Mama telling me it was so much easier to treat my skinned knee with a bandaid and a kiss, than to treat my heart aches. I didn’t appreciate that until I had children of my own. After enough bumps and bruises from this world, we gain appreciation for stability – yoked, tethered, and anchored to our true and living God – all-knowing, unmoving, and strong enough to stop the bears that cause our fear. And we want to see our young realize this true hope – the strengthening, helping, upholding hand of God. (Isaiah 41:10)

What we never want to see as they grow up, is one slap, one punch, one blow after another, until they don’t feel they can get up. We want them to keep being excited about life; to know that good overrules evil, and right is never wrong. We want to see the gleam in their eyes until we close ours the final time. Their happiness is more important to us than our own. That is why we must, MUST show them the hope that never fails. We must take the time to talk our God knowledge out loud, to show them real hope lives, and it sure as shootin’ ain’t in the shifting times we’re living! God gave us a world of beauty, fun, friends and abilities; but more than that, He has promised that no matter how this world goes, His children have Him walking them through it all.

I’ll wake up one morning, far from those nightmares, where fears are no more. No sobbing, no shaking, no heartaches and no dashed hopes. I know this because I have read God’s promises, along with the proof of His faithfulness. No matter how much we have now, we will never have it all, until we rest in the Lord. Until then, nothing in this life is certain. We’ll keep running from room to room until the bear dies and the house is turned over to God.  I thought I had turned my fears over to God, but apparently some still simmered in the background, producing bad dreams of lost hope. If my hope is really in the Lord, I won’t be hiding in fear with my heart pounding, but hidden in hope, away from fear’s chase, secure in Jesus Christ.

So, who is the bigger giant here? Is it hope, or is it fear?

Fear is big that is for sure! But hope stands higher as the cure

Fear chases like an angry bear. Hope is the rock that seals his lair.

Fear is strong, but stronger yet, is the hand of God – the help we get.

Fear can slap you to the ground, Hope in the Lord will make you sound.

Fear is daring, I can’t deny. But for our hope the Savior died.

My first favorite verse of scripture was Isaiah 40:31. But verse 30 includes our youth, so I have amended my favorite to include both verses. I love my children, and my nieces and nephews so much; and I pray their fears are conquered, their hope in this life realized, and their true hope in the Lord to be more than they dared ever dream.

“Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:30-31) ESV

A Hebrew lexicon explanation of “but those who wait” is the word “Qavah” meaning “to wait, look for, hope, expect”. (Strong’s Hebrew 6960)  My prayer is that we, all generations, will hope in the Lord, that we will run, walk, and soar with the eagles.

The Round Table: Part 4 in “Old Tables and Old Times”

12 Monday May 2025

Posted by in Children, Family, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Roundtable discussions “are informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas…roundtables encourage a more open and interactive dialogue, often facilitated by a moderator.” That’s what the internet says. In a child’s world, it is an endless sphere of participation (play-like or real), activity (of reaching, climbing, circling), and interactive ideas (imagination as troops and trucks run their courses of construction and destruction).

As the 1960s were ending, people were starting to see the value in antiques. Not museum people with historical antiques – regular Joes who had the new age, moderate-income, furnishings of the 50s and 60s. Such was the time when my mother was led to an auction by her friend whose son had gone into the “antique business”. Looking for old gems hidden by dust and paint, in need of some repair perhaps, became the weekend hobby for many. Sadly, folks were realizing grandparents had given up real value for light weight, inexpensive furnishings. In my family’s case, fires had taken most of the keepers, and the thought of finding something similar, was enticing. One find for my mother and her friend that day, was a sizable table covered with what we called antiquing, which was enamel paint covered by a dark glaze. Covered in, I believe, early 70s green, with a small chip out of one hinged area, was a coffee table with leaves dropped to the floor, which when raised, made a complete circle. A drawer in each end made the table even more useful. Mama bought it. And the seven grandchildren of her future benefitted from the purchase in the many decades to follow. Her great grandchildren, as well as friends, continued to find pleasure in the playground of the roundtable world. I am so thankful the table was saved from the fire that took my parents’ home in 1978.

Before the round table went to live at my parents’ house, her friend had her son to “strip and refinish” it. This brought out the beautiful solid maple finish of its original state, which is still its condition today – plus the many scratches, dents and wear of four generations since then. I believe my son was the first to put a scratch in Granny’s lovely table, with a toy (seems like it was one of those little silver-colored pistols, but could easily have been one of the hundreds of little animals that have trekked the terrain of the table land; he thinks it was his Hot Wheels racing). My daughter stashed “office papers” and crayons in the drawers as she opened and closed them a thousand times in her world of teaching and office work.

Next came my sister’s first child, a girl, who I am told, turned a long handled bell (another of Mama’s collections) upside down and hammered it into the table top several times. Sister’s second child, a boy, added his own marks of character, playing many sessions of Old Maid; as well as adding his sons (you see the younger one on the table in the photo above), to the activity of his Nanny Betty’s/Aunt Trisha’s table. I recall my brother’s first daughter especially enjoying the Christmas trinkets and music boxes Granny placed on the table. By the time he had more children coming along, Mama had passed the drop-leaf table on to me, and redecorated her living room. How in the world did she have the courage to place a new glass-topped table at child level? Surprisingly, it did survive. OH! That’s right, it wasn’t a round table. Far less activity could be had with four corners in the way, a smaller surface, and – like the glass-bottomed look-out towers – who can put their weight on something that looks invisible?

In my house the old drop-leaf round table continued to supply new ground for race cars, farm equipment, horse racing, army battles, board games, play-doh creativity, coloring and painting, checkers, and climbing in general. Six of my great nieces and nephews have made their own history of discoveries, battles, and masterpieces on the round table. Our friend ‘little man Ryan’ had his own activity for a short while before potty training, but we will just leave it at that. He also drove Match Box cars around and around that table, giving me great pleasure as my mother’s table continued making happy days for those we love.

I see the days of discovery for our round table coming to a close. I do hope the “informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas” continues over this, as well as all our tables, for years to come. But it was the endless imagination of those tots who made this table so precious to me. Complete with its dents and dings, one drawer now out of function, and one detached slide-out leg that holds the leaf on that side, I have plans for repair and passing it on to someone who appreciates solid value. It is truly vintage now, and due to age, likely could soon be antique, but surely has some good days ahead in her. She now holds books, pens, and the trappings of an avid John Deere man. She comfortably holds the weight of great nephews; she doesn’t mind our feet being propped upon her, nor popcorn, coffee cups, and sippy cups.

Well, my coffee has grown cold but I have enjoyed my short trip back over the 55 or so years since my mother brought the round table home. Her own nieces and nephews will testify that she had a roundtable approach to life that carried over into the grandchildren years. If she loved anything, it was children and watching them learn. Imagination spurs learning and she was delighted to turn her house over to them to grow and learn all they could. Her love surrounded them as they surrounded the table; her guidance encouraged them as they found acceptance and inspiration to be their best. I look at the softly curved feet of the table, the scratches and dents, the missing pieces; and I long to see a world that is as willing to sacrifice parts of itself for the good of others; a world that is strong for its children and softly holds them when they need it; a world like its Creator intended it to be.

Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. (Galatians 6:2) NKJV

Admire the Tinsel – Crave the Ordinary

19 Monday Dec 2022

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, Reflections

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And Mary said: “My soul magnifies the Lord,”

Luke 1:46 NKJV

What delight I have in the average! The ordinary and mundane sparkle like a long ago memory hanging on the Christmas tree. Call me crazy, but I have always been comforted in a way, by the pauses I take to say to myself, “ok, this or that will turn out alright because I’m average; those rare things don’t happen to average folk”. As naive and unrealistic as it is, it has just been a thing I like to think, all my life. Interestingly, Mary the mother of Jesus, considered her lowly and ordinary existence a reason to praise God for the extraordinary! This post isn’t about Mary, but I dearly love the verse, and surrounding scripture showing us how humbly Mary magnified the Lord for her unique, one time ever, blessed experience. I believe Mary was relieved to find her ordinary self was just what God needed to work His wonder, and she did not feel pressured to be more.

Recently I have found my thoughts circling around the joy of ordinary. It’s a wonder I found my thoughts at all, but that is beside the point. The more abnormal, or out-of-the-ordinary things have become lately, the more I appreciate the mundane normal state of things. Ebb and flow, nice and easy, calm waters; yes, let me live there. I’m thinking we all put our own lives under the microscope occasionally to verify our own ills and isms. There we decide whether we are average or not. We see the tarnished tinsel, the interruptions, the rippled surfaces, but there is always, always, room to say, “wow, it could’ve been so much worse”. Or perhaps not, but I have not been in those rare life-altering situations where I really couldn’t say it. That, to me, is a comfort, and a blessing. Though I have not been so sheltered as to never know tragedy, as an average person, it was not to be the end of me.

Grandma Wilkins’ arrangement

Then there are the unusual times when ‘exciting, awesome, or amazing’ descriptors are needed for the days jazzed up with extra helpings of out-of-the-ordinary. Those are our aha moments; our fantastic experiences. We can all use more glitz and glitter – at times. But truthfully, at my age, it is quite tiring to plan and carry out those amazing times. A little bit goes a long way, and then I’m so ready for the usual and mundane. You know why we decorate so early now? It is because the few days of putting up a tree and wreaths and candles and snowmen and Santa Clauses requires a few weeks of recuperation before we can even think of taking it all back down again. I recall when our only Christmas decoration was the tree wrapped in lights, glass balls and silver icicles. It was really doodied up when Mama added an arrangement to the dining room table. Grandma and Grandpa put their little arrangement on the console television cabinet. Though it’s now dusty, dull and dinky, I still have it; a simply beautiful memory.

Surgeries, illness, utility calamities (even our appliances suffered from Covid in 2020-21) and other common, but unexpected bumps in the road are what keep us so incredibly thankful for the days of no incidence; the days of nothing to tell, nothing to sweat, nothing to tug a special plea to God on our own behalf. The best part of those times, is how much more I can focus on praying for all those around me who were not so fortunate as to have a mundane, dull day.

From an average family of five, with average incomes (eventually) and average education and abilities, I found the turbulent times bearable by the thought process I’ve explained above – that since I am average, this is all normal. Christmas would still come because I had an above average mother who made sure it did. Food would still be on the table because I was blessed with parents who had good work ethics. The wheels would roll, the lights would come on and the booboos would heal, regardless of the storms brewing. I’ve grown up now and realize none of that was average. Rather, it was so incredibly blessed that tears form as I think of how to adequately express it.

This Christmas week I am thinking of all the children who find life so hard and cold that there is no normal, no average, no peaceful thinking. No warm beds, breakfast nor hands to gently wipe their tears. Dear God, take some of my average from my life and use it to soften those little souls.

A few weeks ago the news spoke of a child who had suffered in ways unmentionable, and all I could do was sit and sob for her. I do so now even, realizing hers is not the only case in our world. I do not intend this to be a depressing post, as there are more than enough seeds in the world already for planting heartache and feeling down. I suppose what I do want to relay, is how extremely satisfied we ought to be when we have a most usual, common day. The gratitude and pleasure well up in me just to be able to look out the window at gifts of red Nandina berries and green wheat sitting dormant through the winter. As much as I want to understand depression and knowing it is very real, it is just beyond my average ability to grasp how one cannot look into God’s beautiful nature – both that of His workmanship and His person – and be lifted out of the darkness into the light of a beautiful ordinary day.

For the past several weeks, especially remembering last December and January, I have struggled with worrisome thoughts myself, but for every discouraged feeling, there have come more amazing devotionals from God’s word, encouragement from friends and family, gifts of healing and hope for better tomorrows. When you are a child of the King (Lord Jesus); when you have super hero friends and family members; or when you have weeks on end of doing the same thing, seeming to roll one into another, count yourself way above average. It’s okay to tell yourself it’s all average, so you do not live in a bubble of expectation, thus the ups and downs do not burst your bubble; but never forget how special it is, and to be on-your-knees-thankful for the ordinary.

 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.”

James 1:17 NKJV

Have a blessed, ordinary, Merry Christmas! Love, Trisha

The Markey Family

10 Monday Oct 2022

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, Ocean View

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Third in “Ocean View”

There is a very pleasant sound, when the earth is in motion, like waves come ashore from the sea. Like children’s laughter and gulls o’er the ocean; a mother’s sweet voice in your sleep.

“And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works” (Hebrews 10:24 NKJV)

I first noticed them descending the two dozen or so steps to the beach, two babes in arms and one at their heels, and carrying bags of beach toys and towels. I said in passing, “wow, you’ve got your hands full”. She laughed and rolled on. We do have our hands full, I thought, as we navigate the stairs and baggage of life.

Upon returning later to the sandy bliss, I realized their beach umbrella and chairs were set up next to ours. The little girls were as brown as biscuits against the white sand, and I later learned their ages were one, two and a half, and six years old. An absolutely beautiful family, the parents were so calm and tender with the children, encouraging their play and soothing their fears. Mom Markey (fictitious name, since I did not ask permission to use their real name) approached me in the water complimenting the bandana I wore, and said she used to have a bandana in every color and also received compliments. Her reply to those, she said, was “Thank you, it’s what I do when my hair needs to be washed.” I revealed it’s what I wear because my hair has thinned and needs to be styled! We shared a laugh and knew we, as women, had in common the need to fix things. After a brief conversation, I learned they are from Texas, he is a youth minister and she, in need of prayer, a minister’s wife. Bless them! I have no idea where they are in their journey of knowledge and faith, but I do know she is a firm believer in prayer. Because of some things we discussed, I knew I would remember and pray for them. Then she really touched my heart as she said, “when we cross your mind, that’s probably when we need your prayer most”. Her next comment was just raw naked truth – “it seems that when he (her husband) is preparing for the occasional times he does pulpit speaking, we are feuding and fussing – satan is stirring discord – the kids are getting upset…” Oh Father God, have mercy on the young families all over the world who must go through this! The devil sees all effort to learn of God’s will, as his chance to wreak havoc. Just like the Markey family, there seem to be more poison arrows than we have shields to deflect; until we remember God and His shield, the only one big enough for the job. (“above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one.” Ephesians 6:16) Faith in God, our BIG shield; and this sweet little momma juggling dependability (as a wife), disappointment (as a daughter) and duty (as a mom) had faith that my prayers would be heard. Momma M., “I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13) and so can you, and so can dad M. Do not give up! Study hard and grow far.

It was refreshing when the six year old splashed out to us, declaring her name was Mary, and showing me her painted fingernails. She said, “I was named after baby Jesus’ mother!” In turn, I shared with her my love for John chapter 20 in which a different Mary went searching for Jesus; and I showed her my blue toenails. Her giggles assured me I was cool, and she waded back to shore, bodyboard in tow. Mary didn’t seem ready to trust the bodyboard beneath her, but kept carrying it around with her instead. We moms, in a similar way, don’t always completely trust that shield of faith but we keep carrying it, and one day, if we grow, we will let it carry us.

“When we cross your mind…” Yes, and if I cross your mind, pray for me too. Satan has no limits on age and occupation. We all face adversity. Quite possibly God, in bringing me to mind, has sought for me, your prayer.

Trisha

Fake Lakes

13 Monday Jun 2022

Posted by in Children, MONDAY MUSINGS

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“Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil. Cling to what is good.” (Romans 12:9)

Few things are as inspiring as young children whose efforts to try on life are just down right funny and at the same time, may slap a helping of practical onto our pretense. Several such ‘little’ inspirations were provided lately, one being a delightful visit from my niece Sara and her preschool boys. To begin with, as if their big blue eyes and chubby cheeks weren’t adorable enough, they came in proclaiming just how happy I must be for them to be here! Yes, I was, actually, and so why, pray tell, do we adults often act almost apologetic for showing up at someone’s door? It was so heart-warming to know they fully expected me to be happy.

As with every single little person who has ever been in our house, these boys too, discovered the joy of our Smurf Ahoy game. Now, in case you’ve never seen one, its container is a 12 inch square cardboard box about six inches deep, swimming pool-blue inside, and a cardboard ship is balanced over this blue “ocean”. The object is to see how many smurfs you can place on the ship without tipping it over and spilling the smurfs into the “water”.  As you might imagine, two and three year olds think it’s much funnier when the objectives are ‘how fast can I tip the boat’, and ‘how loudly can I call out the color on the spinner’? Totally unconcerned with any status of being winner, they simply thrust themselves into it, often literally.  Jameson, the younger lad, decided to “get in the lake” himself and proceeded to squat over the box. Stopping him just in time, we explained it was only a pretend, or fake lake. As they continued spinning the little arrow for another smurf move, my mind was spinning about fake lakes, and the precious lens of honesty through which children view the world. As I picked up the fake apple Jameson had been carrying around from my kitchen bowl of wax fruit, I felt kind of bad, you know, like – are these children going to decide this is a house of fake; a game with fake water,  a beautiful apple you can’t eat, and plastic grapes that disappoint as well? Lord, help me be a transparent person with real ears for listening; real vision for seeing needs; real boldness to speak truth, all wrapped in real love. Never let me lose my real zeal for making ‘joy’ a genuine full-to-the-brim lake splashing with praise.

In so many ways we grow out of thrusting ourselves into the fun of life, and choose instead, the fake lakes where you’re safely neat and dry, concerned with appearance and refinement, though it may be a veneer to hide our inner child. Oh, I get it – manners are important and it is necessary we learn to use a filter so as not to offend. These are valuable issues that should come with maturity. But children show us what we are missing when we over extend these traits and cast a shadow over the richness of excitement for life. One example I’ll never forget is a side-by-side ride about a decade ago, with great nieces Katja and Izzy and our side-kick Ryan. Ready for the end of a busy fun (but long) day, I was concerned with getting everyone safely back to the house; but not Katja! “Wow, Aunt Trisha, look at that sunset!” If not for her unending zeal I’d have missed that one. I take for granted the shared appreciation of sunsets and butterfly kisses, instead of proclaiming aloud the joy in case someone missed it. (Thank you Janette DeWitt for being a sunset sharer.)

Back to the ‘who-cares-who-wins’ attitude so important to having fun, I got to watch a T-ball game this summer where three year old Jack, another great nephew, was playing. After 199 times of telling me he wanted to go to my ‘howwss’ it was his turn to run the bases. As soon as he crossed home plate, he turned, pointing to me through the fence, and yelled, “I wanna go to your howwss!” My heart soared! Home run! May we all be so persistent in letting others know, including God, how much we love spending time with them. “Let all those who seek You rejoice and be glad in You;” (Psalm 70:4)

Little kids are the ones who reward you with exploring all around your house in wonder. We adults are way too cool, scarcely letting our eyes wander, afraid to actually show genuine interest; and after all your hard work to make it interesting! I know, manners and all that. Next time I visit though, I’m going to ooh and aah the way I really feel anyway. (smile) One day when Ryan DeWitt was about five, he asked to hear my antique Victrola play a record. Seems like it was “How Do You Talk to an Angel?” Anyway, as the speakers scratched out a tune, little Ryan looked up at me and the blue-eyed gent asked me if I’d like to dance. LIKE??? Oh my stars, he made my day!! You never know who may just be teetering between up or down, and your invitation to dance could make all the difference. Go ahead and ask, or pick a dandelion, or hold their hand. Make their day.

The children have nailed it with food too.  I’m always forgetting to offer the ice cream, or I leave the deviled eggs in the refrigerator, and guests are so polite they’d rather do without than say a word. Kids are great. They just say, “hey, you got any cookies?” and if you don’t, it’s no big deal, they just check for the next best thing, like “how about ‘nabanas’ or “pasghetti” as my nephew’s little boy, Grayson, used to ask. Always have bananas, and chocolate chip cookies on hand so you can look smart. Especially if a couple weeks earlier you served tossed salad to a group of girlfriends and forgot to set out the dressings until everyone was eating and your sister asked for them. (;

When great niece Izzy was at the ‘fort-under-the-dining-table’ age, she and our neighbor’s little girl were dragging quilts through the house to make their hide-out. One particular quilt is reversible, and I suppose Izzy had just never noticed the pink floral side to the quilt that covered her in the guest bed. Even in her excitement of building their cotton covered table fort, she suddenly stopped mid-stride, and looking down onto the never before seen side of her quilt, she exclaimed, “Oh Aunt Trisha, that is so pretty!” Do I take time to stop amid my busy task-filled days to give an honest compliment to someone’s accomplishments? (No, I didn’t make the quilt; it’s old, and I sure wish whoever did make it could have heard the totally honest praise!) Kids don’t mind that you’ll infer they do not have a pink floral quilt, or a blouse as pretty as yours. They just pile on the praise when they notice, and want to show appreciation. How many times I pass up the pause in stride to add a little sweetness to someones day!

Then there’s the departure. We say something like “well, I’d better get going now” or “I’ve hindered you long enough” as if our presence could be a problem or something. Not little kids! They make sure you know how much they like being there by flat out refusing to leave with mom. “No! I wanna stay” accompanied by tears, erases any question you may have had about your guests feeling at home. If however, they’ve had enough and want to go, they just say so, without pretense. And this day, Sara’s older child, Colt, walked up to my husband’s recliner, and leaning toward him, asked “do you wanna hug me bye?” Mercy, how sweet can they be? Open, honest, forward – no fake stuff there. I’ve said for several years that life’s too short to be fake. The littles in my life are living proof. Perhaps here is a compromise between the two departure style: Well, I’ve loved our time here together, but we both have grown-up stuff to get done, so until our next meeting…

God offers living water, never fake, which nourishes our souls all day long.  Drink deeply and do as He does – never offer fake lakes. 

“Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Jesus, in Matthew 18:3)

CASTING

17 Thursday Mar 2022

Posted by in Encouragement

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“Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.” I Peter 5:6-7 (NKJV)

Recently I saw a good example of casting your care upon the Lord versus dangling it into the water, near the bank and watching for a nibble of concern. To set the scene for you, it was the first day of March, a beautiful breezy welcome from winter’s stuffy hold.  I had the pleasure of being amused all afternoon by an excited six year old, great nephew Grayson. Of the day’s many activities, his favorite at my house is “findin’ worms”.  Following his frenzied search for earth worms, and swinging a Mason jar of  his treasures by the wire handle, he asked, “now what?” I suggested we could put them back in the ground to live in the garden. Looking up at me with one eye winking at the sun, he sheepishly said, “Well I guess we could see if some fish want to eat them”.  I’ve never had that line used on me before! Unfortunately, I only had available to us my old cane pole with a short line, a weight and a rusty hook, as well as a crappie pole, with little more line and a bobber. With a six year old’s enthusiasm and confidence, this pitiful assortment seemed enough. So off we went to the pond, bait and poles in hand.

Once we had positioned ourselves on the pond bank and he dug a “fat juicy one” out of the jar, I speared it onto the hook. He exclaimed “I’m gonna cast it out there in the water now!” Cast? With limited line and no rod and reel. Explaining the need to have a reel to ‘cast’ was a waste of breath, for he had already determined this was the only way to fish. As I ducked and dodged the flying hook again and again, Grayson cast with abandon and trusted he would any minute pull in a big bass. Bait on, a whip of his tiny wrist, and optimism was cast without doubt. I suspected his real goal was to use up all his newly acquired bait. My method was to slowly bring the line behind me, often snagging my bait in the brush, then gingerly toss it out as far as my short line would allow me to drop the baited hook while I explained all the reasons why we shouldn’t expect a bite on a breezy day before spring. Is this how I cast my cares on the Lord? Do I cautiously offer a short line I can keep an eye on, snagged in worry, while explaining all the ways it won’t work?

Lord, let me cast like a six year old! Just fling it out there, too fast to snag it with other worldly cares and with weighted hope, expect to reel in a big blessing!  No wonder the Lord said we’d need to become like little children! Trusting, enthusiastic and hopeful – the examples I need for casting my line before the Lord, knowing he will take the bait of cares and replace them with peace.

“Then Jesus called a little child to Him, set him in the midst of them, and said, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven’.”  Matthew 18:2-3 (NKJV)

WHEN FAITH GETS SHAKY: Keep Praying, Keep Climbing.

22 Monday Jul 2019

Posted by in Faith, Prayer Life

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I have struggled today with matters of faith, prayer and promises. I didn’t know how to word my questions, so no matter how much I wanted to write, all I could say was “I can’t even…” and when I tried to pray I cried and felt like an ungrateful child, or at best, a distant relative. Throughout the day, I’ve studied God’s word with intermittent prayer and at last have, with God’s guidance, found my footing in that jagged mountainside of faith. “…nevertheless I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep what I have committed to Him until that Day.” (II Timothy 1:12)

If you have never questioned God’s promises – well, not so much God, but our understanding of the promises – if you’ve never felt your faith quiver somewhat, then I applaud you in your stoic faith. Though I have met some disappointments without questioning God even one little bit, that is not always the case.  There have come times of heartache brought about by no one’s wrong doing; hope that’s dashed and severe suffering by good people. We see it everyday. We pray, we see answers and blessings, we praise God, knowing His goodness and mercy have followed us. Or, we pray, we wait hopefully, believing God’s will is best and plan to give all glory to Him, whatever the answers are. Or, we pray, we watch bad turn to worse, we hope and pray more, and continue to see what to our human sight, is unanswered prayer. Wrong. None of these is the true purpose of prayer. It’s not about the answers. I know this. I just get so caught up in taking it all to the Lord, that I veer off course on a path of thinking He owes me answers. How wrong this is!

I read somewhere that the true purpose of prayer is to draw closer to God, not to seek answers. I believe scripture supports that; even though the Lord said “seek and you shall find, ask and it shall be given, knock and it shall be opened to you”. So I ask myself, am I seeking, asking and knocking for the wrong things? His answers are already given us in His Word – both the written word as well as His Word that became flesh and dwelt among us. He knows suffering. He knows disappointment. He knows prayer beyond human limits, to the point of sweating like great drops of blood. (Luke 22:44)

What has my heart burdened today is not for myself, but for friends who so far have not seen the answers that they and our community have sought for months. Still we pray, knowing that with God all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).  Every time I look at the newspaper, or listen to the news, there are reports of more suffering children; neglect, abuse, tragedy, and I want to throw something and scream. Still I pray. I pray with the knowledge that whatever circumstances any of us endure, we are already given everything we need. The rest, beyond Christ as our Savior, is icing on the cake. My heart aches that some of those sweetest blessings are subjected to pain and suffering, that beautiful young life is interrupted for tedious tests and treatments; that dreams dissolve into emesis basins and medications. Cancer is so cruel. But, focus, I tell myself; eyes on the Lord, not on the problem. Look higher, seek a life of walking with the only one who knows completely what we are going through. He has weathered every storm long before us; He gave up every comfort, even to death, so that when life such as it is, forces evil upon us, He can carry us through. Jesus knows. Jesus cares. Jesus has provided the peace that passes all understanding. Jesus is Lord – on the mountain and in the valley – and has prepared the end of our story to be victorious. Whether the story lasts a few months, 18 years, 90 years or more, ours is but a breath and then there is eternal life. Victorious, perfect, eternal praise to the One Who gave us everything good; and ultimately destroys all that threatens good.

These questions have been mauled by the philosophies of people on all sides of the issues, and this simple country girl has no original idea, nor even a good idea to help us get through life’s storms. Here is what I do know: no force of earth nor space could ever have given me the blessings I’ve enjoyed, except the fiercely loving, all knowing God I serve. He did not cause bad things to happen, and if He always only allowed us to have everything we ask, where would be the hope of Heaven? If all was good, uninterrupted smooth sailing, who would need the lighthouse? It’s all about preparing our lives to depend on Him, to look forward to being with Him, and to give Him all praise for what He has done for us. Life is grand, and grander still, God holds my hand and always will.

I mentioned earlier a ‘jagged mountainside of faith’. I look forward to the completion of my faith, when I reach the top of that mountain. As long as I am here though, on the mountainside, there will be falling rock, stumbling stones, and holes to overcome because this is life – human style. I believe we can only reach the top by holding hands, (we have two) one with God and the other helping another. When our faith is complete in Christ, our journey done, we will look back at all He has brought us through; to new life –  heaven style. I still have questions; even in the autumn of life my faith is still growing; but I have hope that when we do rest atop that mountain, the view will be worth it all.

If you’ve stayed with me to this point, thank you for hearing my heart. I truly want to hear from yours too, in how you reconcile verses such as “faith will save the sick” in James 5, with the knowledge that some are not healed. How do you wrestle with life questions without bruising your faith or that of others? Remind me of Job, “In all this Job did not sin nor charge God with wrong.” (Job 1:22)  Have a good week. Trisha