Happy New Year friends! I suppose ‘happy’ is subjective, as well as all inclusive for the many things we wish one another as we closed chapter 2022, and began a new chapter, 2023. Even as I proclaimed ‘happy new year’ to my family last night, I knew we meant so much more. It includes the momentary “let’s celebrate the auld lang sine in a festive spirit”, but from me to them, and to you, it means more fully, “bless your hearts for surviving and thriving the past year, and may you reach bravely and blessed into the abyss of yet unknown”.
Most people who enjoy writing, feel they must say something about anything new I guess. So, with a fresh cup of gingerbread coffee in hand, may I add my two cents worth of ‘happy new year’. With that, I wish I could take all your anxiety, fear and hardships, tie them in a Hefty bag and send them out with our Friday waste pick up. But then, that is God’s job, and He, with all wisdom and clarity of the big picture, is the best at it.
I have been guilty in years past, of saying I was so glad a particular year was over and welcomed a year with a new number. As if any time frame could recognize our expectation for a number on our calendar to alter a thing. No, one day just follows another, and it is up to us to be grateful for every single one of them and to give each day our best shot. I’m not real good at it, but a runner doesn’t have to win to know what she needs to do better to win, right?
As I clear away the Christmas clutter (that which I thought was so warm, cheery and bright when I put it there!), I feel my head clearing as well. Finding the floor again and parting with things I couldn’t before, is liberating. Closing and sealing each box or tote, giving it a place on some shelf, and wiping the dust away makes me breathe a sigh of relief. Is that how we feel about the worn out year? What started 12 months ago as a bright and shiny new opportunity, has lost its luster, and feels ragged and rough, ready for the dumpster. Maybe my lesson to self is not to set those expectations too high; nor to feel disappointed because some issue didn’t magically change by the stroke of midnight December 31. A new year doesn’t promise perfection. Storms will rage; illnesses persist; interest rates rise and children still fall. But praise the Lord, these are temporary, and Jesus is still Lord of all. I am so thankful I can pray to a God Who listens and will never grow tired and weary of our petitions. I praise God for wanting to be our rock, our healer, our guide back home when we stray. Time fails us because we put our trust in it, instead of the one who controls it.
My wish for you all is as James 4:8 says, “Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” May you be blessed with the desire to know more fully the One Who gave us life, taught us to love, and loves to see us happy. Trisha
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
Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise. Be thankful to Him, and bless His name. For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures to all generations”.
Psalm 100: 4-5
This morning I knew my blog post would be related to Thanksgiving, but I had no real springboard; other than appreciation for all things good. As the nation prepares for Thanksgiving week, I have enjoyed seeing gratitude expressed in different ways. Janette DeWitt posted thankful notes on Facebook this month about the people in her life. How important it is to let people know you are thankful for them! Also, I was amazed by my seven-year-old great nephew’s ‘thankful writing’ of gratitude written in school. I would say his gratitude priorities are rightly placed! Lastly, I am always touched by the thank you voiced by my husband for little things I do which many would take for granted. The things we appreciate are as varied as our personalities, and today Steven Hunter mentioned in Sunday School something that may explain this, called the five love languages. So I came home and Googled it. According to author Gary Chapman, we prefer to have love shown in one or more of five categories. This in turn, influences how we show our love, unless a loved one lets us in on what they prefer. It always raises eyebrows when Steven mentions how his wife speaks his love language as she “serves him his plate”, bless her heart! Presto, springboard! Being the good natured brother he is, I know Steven won’t mind.
I was sitting next to a sweet girl the age of my children when Steven mentioned bringing a plate to your husband, or having a cup of coffee brought to you in the morning. April and I looked at each other and laughed as if to say, “like that’s gonna happen”, but for some that is their love language. I could sure go for the coffee thing myself! And to be honest, I have filled and taken a plate or two, but it was probably on some disabled occasion, or with sarcasm under my breath. (smile) So, here is the love language in our house: if I prepare it, he can walk to the table to receive it. And… And… most importantly, if he provided the table (and he did), then I am honored to prepare and serve our meals on it. What is important to us is, we meet at the table. That is our service to one another.
This also is our service to God, that we meet around His table. He has prepared tables for us to feast on the bread of life in His word (John 6:35); the table of communion where we eat the bread of remembering our Savior’s body (I Corinthians 11:24); and at the table He, as our great Shepherd, prepares for us in the face of adversity, and fills our cups to overflowing (Psalm 23). It seems the love language of our God is multifaceted; love by word, service, gifts, and quality time. Even the language of physical touch He gave, as Jesus came physically to earth to bless us with the greatest gift – Himself. These He gives and these He wants to receive, as we give gratitude, service, gifts, time, and the touch of a hug, hand shake or helping hands. In doing these for one another, we do them also to Him.
Each generation has it’s own idea of where dinner is served, and for that matter, one locale may even define ‘dinner’ differently from another. Raised in rural Kentucky, dinner was for me the noon meal, served on a kitchen table with all family members present. I am thankful for that. Supper was served in the evening in the same style, especially if dinner was lunch because family was away from home. But to not stray any farther from Thanksgiving, I’ll bring it back to the table. Whether it is an heirloom table with all of your Mama’s best dishes served in the evening; or great aunt Fuddy Duddy’s crowded table of garden treasures at noon; or grandma’s gravy on grandpa’s chrome table; or at TV trays from your favorite chairs with your favorite peeps; and whether there are two or twenty, just come to the table. Bring your smiles, your prayers, and your gratitude for being loved on in any language. Bring within your heart those who are no longer at the table. Put the phones away, unless you’re playing music for everyone (my picks are Ben Rector’s “The Thanksgiving Song”, Glen Campbell’s “Home Again” and Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World”.) As we gather in heart, or in homes, I wish you a very thankful and blessed Thanksgiving. My heart will be full as I speak my language, serving up dinner, at the table. Trisha
I’m having fun reliving our mini trip to the ocean, reading over notes I made while there. I hope you enjoy the view from my beach chair. And I hope my husband is still speaking to me after this one😁.
We hit the road with no particular expectations; simply a prayer for safety. I sought only the sweet breath of the ocean; to be quiet, still, and to receive the gift of peace I had discovered in years past, peace I found in the solitude as I looked out over the expanse, forgetting the world at my elbows. I asked for nothing more, except to hope the trip would be good for my sidekick too. I was about to be reminded of God’s way of presenting gifts beyond our imagination, in the here and now. Before your eyebrows fuse in that position, I ask, would we pray for daily provisions if we did not believe good gifts are part of this life, as well as life in eternity? Let me unwrap the gift of just one day we received on the beach at Seaside.
“…And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters…Then God said, ‘Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.’…and the gathering together of the waters He called Seas. And God saw that it was good.” (Genesis 1: 2b, 6, 10b)
So, if I read that correctly, waters were there on the second day, before there was land on the third day. And God saw that it was good. By the fifth day the seas and heavens were so pleasing they were given life to inhabit them. (“Then God said, ‘Let the waters abound with an abundance of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the face of the firmament of the heavens.‘ ” Genesis 1:20) Inconceivable – to us, but who are we? A god who can make all creatures great and small to inhabit earth, water, and air, would have no problem at all preparing their habitation.
Did you realize (I didn’t until now) that it was the sea life and birds of the air who were first “blessed” by God! It says so in verse 22. That’s the first recorded time of God blessing His creation. And here we were, blessed, in front row seats to witness one little slice of that creation. It seemed they were showing up and showing out just for us, as if they knew our time to be there was short, Gary’s endurance was limited, and the flies would come biting tomorrow. Yes, Day one of our beach trip, Gary’s first ever, was nothing short of a gift. ON with the show…
Now I know most of you have experienced so much more, our trip pales to a ghost in comparison. We didn’t swim with the dolphins, nor go snorkeling with the undersea life, but I assure you we were extraordinarily entertained by this show rehearsed for thousands of years. From our first step into the crystal clear water with ghost crabs the size of a large hand, to the larger than life sunset, we enjoyed one new thing after another. We laughed at the tiny lightening-quick sand crabs popping in and out of the sand as the soft gray and white gulls did their best to grab them in their hide and seek game. We watched schools of small slender fish at the waters edge, like synchronized swimmers performing a routine. First this way, then reverse, that way, and back again, until they danced out of the spotlight.
As usual, there were a few jellyfish here and there, but I’d never seen one being carried in a sand pail, it’s gelatinous excess spilling over the sides of the child’s pail. One look at a youngster rubbing his leg told us the jellyfish had been a bad sport and now faced the consequences as it was carried away to be buried in the sand. Ugh.
While we didn’t swim with dolphins, they were certainly on parade! At first it was a barely recognizable image of forms leaping on the horizon. Soon another group, or the same, I have no idea, had come closer, leaping, arching, splashing to our pleasure! I squealed like a kid on Christmas morning with a coveted new toy. A third time, even nearer, the show stopping acrobats were between us and a young man on a paddle board who had gone farther out than these dolphins! Arms all along the beach were pointing out to sea and there was a congregational “whoa!” What a thrill for me to see, but even more so, that they came to play for a 70 year old who’d never even seen the Gulf before. HIs only other ocean view had been a chilly shore in Maine years ago. I had by now, begun to explain to him this day was not the usual but a gift – perfect weather, no annoyances and sea life abundant.
After a while of admiring the natural beauty, I had to remind my husband this was not the mall. People-watching would not be good for his health. With tongue in cheek, I say there were more creatures than jellyfish jiggling on the beach. After wearing a towel over his head for a few minutes, he decided to watch his feet turn red and play games with the gulls. Live and learn. After a short time of quiet I opened my eyes to find gulls gathering a bit too closely. I had cautioned him regarding these gluttonous feathered friends, but alas, I caught him with his hand in the lunch bag, pulling out pretzels to break and toss. (I know, I know. But I mean, when a man so diligently directs his vision per wife’s instruction, who’s going to scold?) One gull quickly became three or four, looking at him with expectant “don’t stop now” expressions. We laughed as each one grabbed a piece of pretzel, chop stick-style and ran toward the water just in case this land lubber wanted his treats back.
The final layer of gift wrap to reveal our pleasure of the day, came in the midst of a growing crowd off to our left. I had become quite comfortable drying in my sunny chair, so Gary eased off in the direction of the ado, ready to snap a picture of whatever the people were following. There was from my vantage point a shadowy figure slowly moving about 15 to 20 feet off shore, being followed by the crowd. I thought perhaps a large fish, or small dolphin, had floated to shore and I did not want to see a dead one. Just as I realized it was moving intentionally, it swam out of sight and the crowd dispersed. Before Gary returned, I asked our neighbors, the Markeys (from last week’s post), what had been the attraction, and to my dismay, they reported A LARGE SEA TURTLE! Fish fur! Of all the times to sit on my butt! I was happy though that Gary was privileged to see it and his camera caught just the edge of it from where he stood. My true concern was possibly this wonder of a creature had thought it to be time and place to come ashore and lay her eggs, then was frightened away. We were not graced by her presence again.
Millions of people over the years have been entertained and impressed by natural wonders we may just take for granted. But what a gift; and as any of us can truly say, “You did this all for me?! Awwww, thank you! ” I love the lyrics to “Who Shall Stand Before the King” (R. J. Stevens Music, LLC) It is taken from Psalm 24, which begins, “The earth is the Lord’s, and all its fullness, the world and those who dwell therein. For He has founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the waters.” Who indeed can stand before the King; I am not worthy. But I have stood before his creation, received the gift, at peace, amazed, and grateful. Trisha
There’s a pleasant sound when the earth is in motion, when the waves come ashore from the ocean.
We’ve just returned from a trip to Seaside, Florida, my husband and I, where we stood in the soft white sand and viewed those astounding color bands from crystal clear over our feet, to the deep blue where the ocean and sky meet. All those bands of aqua, green, and blue, are my favorite colors, but especially the brilliant sweep just before the horizon’s edge, like the blue from spring’s bluebird. I don’t know if it was merely getting to see the ocean again, or the thrill of witnessing my husband’s first view of the Gulf, but whatever it was, it trickled from my eyes and made me clap my hands. “The vastness of it…” was all we could utter for a while.
From the moment we arrived at our cottage called “Waves”, to our trip’s goodbye at sunset, I was thrust into a sea of beauty, both actual and metaphoric. Our upmost emotion as we stood in the unending waves was certainly gratitude; for a safe arrival, and for the beauty our eyes beheld.
I kept thinking of God’s question to Job in chapter 38. “Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said:…Or who shut in the sea with doors, when it burst forth and issued from the womb; when I made the clouds its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band; when I fixed My limit for it and set bars and doors; when I said, This far you may come, but no farther, and here your proud waves must stop!” (verses 1, 8-11) It is good to feel so small; to know there is a grand and awesome presence more than our human strength and frailties. How humbling to know the God who created a force so great it grinds rock and shells into powder, yet so gentle children can splash at its edge; a pure wonder! But a wonder to be respected for sure, and not just a little caution should be taken while enjoying even the gentler side of this great body of water.
While my husband’s choice kept him knee deep distance from shore, I never can resist getting all in. Up to my chin in waves, my toes bouncing, touching the familiar feel of sand, I remembered the fisherman Peter. Immediately I knew we have been too hard on him, accusing him of little faith, though Jesus had a right to say so of His disciple. But we? Not so much! Peter at least had the faith to take a step, a leap of faith so to speak, out of the boat into the angry sea. It wasn’t a beautiful bright day with folks watching, floatation devices in hand. It was a stormy night where the only other companions were crying out in fear. It wasn’t chin deep, but “in the middle of the sea, tossed by the waves” that Peter professed to his Lord, “Lord if it is you…” Command me. I will come. And he stepped right out onto the rolling crashing waves, knowing it was Jesus Who called “Come”. Now, being human, he did take his eyes off Jesus and did begin to sink, and Jesus did save him. But I’m here to tell you, as I met my waves eye to eye, I could not say I would have stepped out of Peter’s boat. Just knowing my fear of approaching people with the gospel, I cannot say I would answer so boldly the call Peter heard. You can read about it in Matthew 14:22-33.
The call to become a Christian is one we hear through His Word. I answered by being baptized in a swimming pool, the nearest body of water at the time. I still get distracted and take my eyes off Jesus . I still start to sink. He still saves. I am thankful for Peter’s example, one of stepping out in faith in the first place. Whatever we feel God is calling us to do, let us echo the faith Peter demonstrated as he stepped out of the boat, and let us keep our eyes on Jesus.
The colors, the sounds, the vastness of it all, are part of what keep us going back to the ocean. Each time I’ve been I come away with new inspiration for life, from life. This is the first in a series of “Ocean View” I have washing around in my head. I hope you’ll join me as we discover little treasures on the beach with an ocean view. Trisha
“Strength and honor are her clothing; she shall rejoice in time to come. …Her children rise up and call her blessed;” Proverbs 31:25, 28a NKJV
September 16 is a nice time of year; nicer because it’s the birthday of my mother. Now, my sister always made Mama proud, and pleased her in so many meaningful ways. Our little brother had his own unique way of being dear to her heart. But for some mother-ish reason, Mama liked my words, written. So, all I’ve ever done that seemed to me, to honor her was write, for her, on her special day. Somehow it does seem better than the scorched toast and dry scrambled eggs with a bud vase holding a chigger weed or clover bloom, which in my youth I’d be serving for her today, on a tray. I can imagine the mess she had to clean up after I got it done. I share the words in her honor, and because she would want me to.
Dear Mama
If Mamas could sell every tear they cried
And if they were paid for how hard they tried;
If happiness really, could be bought
And children learned every lesson Mom taught;
There’s no end to how happy and smart I’d be,
Because you’d have bought them just for me!
You’d have spent the tear treasures on everyone else,
And, perhaps, some SAS shoes for yourself!
For your big loving heart would always know
Where needs were calling, and your sore feet would go.
You would be 91 today and I am celebrating your life; recalling the beauty of your heart in spite of the pain. Thanking God with a smile on my face for His grace in letting me be yours.
“Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands, And let her own works praise her in the gates.” (Proverbs 31:30-31, NKJV)
As Mother’s Day approached, I was busily tending flower beds and lawn on Thursday, watching newly planted tomatoes and peppers gain strength while green onions emerged from the brown earth. Growing things is what many women do best; tomatoes, love and faith to name a few. My mind was spinning a blog post in honor of all the fascinating moms and their accomplishments, especially the tiny important ones like mastering french braids and gluten free recipes, delivering Girl Scout cookies, baiting fishing hooks, reading for the hundredth time a Little Golden Book and teaching little hands to fold in prayer. (Planting the important things.)
Before I could get to the blogging, tragedy struck the lives of some beautiful mothers I know, and my eagerness was deflated by sorrow and pain for them and their families. As I do so often, I began to name the many women who have had to say goodbye for now to a son or daughter, too soon. My prayers are for these amazing women to be carried when their strength fails in their time of grief; that all the love and creativity they have shown to others will be gathered in manifold volumes and returned to encourage, strengthen and assure them of their great value, and ability to survive. They are strong women, and my Lord is even stronger than all our strengths. Their courage began to nudge me, as I thought of them, to go on with a Mother’s Day message, reminding all women with or without children, how you inspire, create and nourish the earth every single day.
I thought of all the new plants I have growing in my yard all because of a friend, a mom herself, who loves to grow things. I have a little holly I call Dana Holly, because Dana Bazzell discovered it growing where it would not have survived, transplanted it and gave it to me. I also have a Dana pine, a Dana beauty berry, and a Dana buckeye, all for the same reason. Yes, men can do this too if they have a green thumb, but not while they tend to their spouses, children, homes, careers and church activities – with time left for travel, Facebook and cats. Actually, I can’t think of a single woman who isn’t a ‘mom’ to something – dog moms, cat moms, flower moms, all growing beautiful living things and loving the productivity of their hearts and hands. Teachers who create thinkers; writers who produce trips for our imaginations; artists who decorate our world; musicians who put the beat in our hearts and seamstresses who can take a flat piece of cloth and create a girl’s fanciest dream, are all moms of life.
I thank God daily that I get to be Chad’s and Stephanie’s mother. I thank God also for the incredibly strong mother I was blessed to call Mama, and for the women who influenced her, one of whom was my great aunt, Bertie Wilkins Frisby. She was a registered nurse who had no children of her own, but instilled in others a respect for education, faith and family. Knowing she was a nurse, who had lived with Type I diabetes, and had cared for an elderly relative even as her own sight was failing, I felt her influence reaching me as well. We can all recall those pillars of our communities, the sources of strength and wisdom who planted in us a will to keep on keeping on, even when – and maybe especially when – the rose petals fall too soon.
God bless you, my sisters of womanhood, as you plant, water and feed. May God give you the increase you desire. Blessed Mothers’ Day to you. Trisha
“This is my commandment that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.” John 15:12-13
In this first hour of March 23, 2022, I find no sleep so I may as well write. It would be my brother’s sixtieth birthday, the first since his passing. I suppose I will always feel protective of his memory just as I feel I should have been protective of him in childhood. I’ve written the following in observation of his birthday, and in honor of his proudest moments. If it sounds sad, it’s because I am sad he left so soon. Life can be sad, but life is still good, and he’d be the one to say, “Oh well…”.
THE RIFLE SHELL
A VFW gun salute shakes the silence of the air,
and over the flag covered casket is said a final prayer.
Lil’ Brother, a dad, a friend laid to rest
wearing his dress blues, the sun in the west.
Memories fill our hearts and flood our eyes
as the shots ring toward the cold blue sky.
A brass shell casing picked up from the ground
has a design inside where six points can be found.
I see one point for the courage to say “I will”
and one for the sacrifice because the risk is real.
One point stands for loyalty to country and brother,
and one for humility, heroes they claim, is someone other.
One point is for pain, in body and mind
as they endure training and leave home behind.
The last point, for loneliness, though in a sea of the same –
where all wear proudly a common name –
yet all left all familiar to them alone. And now once again he travels on.
Heroes don’t always die in active duty. They may bring home a scarred heart and torn life they die trying to paste back together again. Still others survive to live out a full and beautiful life, and become someone else’s hero. Thank you to Mark and all service men and women for your courage, sacrifice and loyalty to country and each other. I am sorry for the pain and loneliness you felt, and the humility with which you carried it all. Even though Mark isn’t here, I couldn’t let his “big six-o” go by without a special “Happy Birthday”. Love, Sis
The scul-uff, scul-uff, scul-uff of my house shoes is getting on my nerves, as is the beyond dry condition of my skin and hair. I am dulled by naps and headaches and ridiculous television shows, and so tired of trying to focus my eyes for anything useful. Winter doldrums are not my normal; but then what has been normal for the past couple years? Now that I am feeling ornery enough to complain, I do see light at the end of the tunnel. The Covid ‘fog’ is lifting; also the aura that surrounds the loss of a loved one is finding its place a few paces away from the immediate needs of everyday living. And for every complaint I have just uttered, I enjoy a dozen blessings. So the good does not nullify the bad, it just makes it easier to bear. The blessings do not blind us to the ills; the ills illuminate the blessings.
I rise up in the morning, thanking God the sunrise did not get lost; that I can see, and walk and hear, and feel the freezing air and the warm house. I thank God for everything from hot coffee to holly berries. I thank Him for the time we have had with loved ones; brief or extended, the time is a gift. I’ve spoken gratitude for modern medicine and vaccine and those who act out of compassion, or just passion, to accomplish better lives for us all. From dear friends to my fur baby, from my husband to my children to the sister my husband loves to taunt, our people are a blessing!
I complained this morning about a hawk who has just about left us without song birds, and watching those birds was my favorite winter pastime. A couple hours later a beautiful pair of cardinals visited the bird feeder. What a gift! I wouldn’t have appreciated this treat quite as much if not for the gap of time our feeders have sat lonely.
When your heart aches, or your earth quakes, consider the opposite. Likely there is something in contrast for which you have been thankful; something to hope for and plan simply because you are alive. The lonely times are real, and I hope brief. Soon life rekindles and revisits and the birds will return to the feeder.
“ Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:26 NKJV)
“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)
It is Christmas Eve morning, predawn, as I sip coffee in the glow of our Christmas tree. I wonder, will I get it all done in time to make more happy memories for my loved ones. Menus are ready for ingredients I’ve stowed away for weeks and I’m getting the usual anticipation jitters that I’ve forgotten something. There’s baking, arranging and cleaning to be done, but for now the house is quiet with sleep except for the snoring of my little lap dog. A star-lit sky is about to welcome dawn, and as I gaze upon our tree ornaments, I recognize the beauty of reflection.
A decorated tree is pretty by daylight, but the magic happens when the little white lights are glowing, and there in the dark, each ornament twinkles with life. They reflect memories of love and fun. In the stillness, my tree reflects the joys I received from each person who’s given these keepsakes. A mama bear reads to her baby bear by the tree lamp’s glow as she has since 1999. Thirteen little Hallmark ornaments are as happy as the day I received each one a year at a time, and I remember the precious little girl, and her mom who brought them to my door each year. My little clothespin ponies have shiny faces reflecting the love with which they were sent from West Virginia. Many snowmen from friends and family are dazzling as they dance in the lights and I reflect on the occasions and names of each one given. Flying cardinals and sitting cardinals reflect my mother’s love as well as that of those who’ve added to the collection, and the love they learned from her. Glass orbs with meaningful words twinkle and never grow old.
If I were a Christmas tree, would I reflect the true light, the Giver of all good and perfect gifts? Would God’s love, as He sent His Word to become the flesh and blood baby Jesus, glow in my life? Would I shine with the love Christ demonstrated for us as He gave the ultimate gift? If I were a Christmas tree, would I make others happy?
I’m sure the history of the Christmas tree is interesting, but honestly we don’t care. What it is to me, as it was to my parents, for as long as I can remember, is a place to store gifts we give each other. Most importantly, it is where the adornments of our Christmases are displayed; a first, someone’s last, treasured gifts, fond vacation memories, favorite things…all reflecting happy times and warming our hearts.
One of the first things I thought of in the wake of December’s rare tornado, was so many would have had their own ornaments out, vulnerable to destruction, and my heart ached for them. Life IS vulnerable; treasure it. My prayer for those folks is they are able to hold the happy memories in their hearts and keep making new ones.
Merry Christmas! In the midst of all life’s common and uncommon difficulties, may you make many warm memories – ones that reflect the joys in your life and entice others to seek the joy of the true Light.
