Tag Archives: people

Living

09 Monday Jun 2025

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Two small flip-chart calendars were given to me a whole lotta living ago. One was from a classmate as we graduated from nursing school. The other is from a sweet friend who roomed with me one of the years we helped with mission work in Guyana. Both calendars stand for memorable times in my life. On both, each day of the year has a quote, or a verse, rather than the day of the week, allowing me to continue using them year after year. The one from 1996 is at my bedside, where I can recall the friendship and her kind words written inside the cover. I have tried, unsuccessfully, to find her so I can thank her, and to tell her how her written note, as well as the quotes within the calendar, have inspired me. I let too much living happen between her Christmas cards, and now I cannot reach her. Christy, I hope you are well.

The second calendar, from my Guyana days, rests atop a small chest in my closet where I can read the day’s quote when I put away my pajamas and put on a new day. On the page for May 27, a quote from Emily Dickinson says, “To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.” Beautifully basic. Some things are so basic, so simply true, they need no explanation. (But you know I can’t pass it up.) Ms. Dickinson explained in one short statement, why we find the distance of day to day life, replacing good intentions. Or, why I can’t get everything done in a day. We mean to do more. We mean to say wonderful things. We mean to encourage the people who have our attention; to cherish those who hold the moments of our lives. And then living happens — a moment at a time — filling our lives with all the wonderful, awful, sincere, silly, precious moments of living.

Emily Dickinson’s statement reminds me of this quote by C.S. Lewis. “The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own’ or one’s ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls interruptions are precisely one’s real life — the life God is sending one day by day; what one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination!” The interruption IS our life. Life — living — is easier to manage when we see all those interruptions as the life we are given. And it certainly is. What your life would be at that moment, without that interruption, is — well, non-existent. Startling — in a good way, or not, we are living our lives a moment at a time. I need to be there in those moments, and not waste a one.

If some of the living, if some of the interruptions, are trials, then the present conditions, according to James, IF we are patient, will make better who we are. “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect works that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing” (James 1: 2-4)NKJV.

Another point that may be made in the first quote is, if I am truly living my life, I have no time to live anyone else’s. I wonder if Ms. Emily was thinking of busybodies.

Standing outside tonight (as I am writing on Sunday night), there is almost a full moon. The dew is heavy; the night creatures are making music beneath a wispy fog. It is tempting to think this is the first time I have ever seen a night just like this. Startling. Take time this week to really take in your living, with all your senses. Your life, given to you, none other exactly like it, full and rich — startling. Taste your cup of coffee in the morning like you’ve never tasted it before.

June 8, from my 1996 calendar: “It is good to praise the Lord…to proclaim your love in the morning and your faithfulness at night.” Psalm 92:1-2 NIV

Old Tables and Old Times

30 Sunday Mar 2025

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Seated in the sunroom, at an old library table, I pull my hand along the worn bare boards, oak I think, that form the top of this substantive table. It is its own distinct personality, unlike common styles of furniture in today’s homes. I long to know the story it owns. I bought it from my mother’s estate auction; she inherited it, along with some other belongings left to partially furnish my grandparents’ house, when it was rented out after their passing. As a child, I knew the table was there to provide a study table for the twin bedroom, as we called it. The room contained a pair of mahogany twin beds with pink chenille bedspreads, a beautiful old bureau, and this one old library table; surely there were a couple of chairs that I can’t remember. This room, while my grandparents were living in the house, became housing for college boys as it was less than two blocks from campus. Can you imagine a time when one could allow strangers to come and go through your front door, share the one bathroom, and sleep in the next bedroom! It was a good time in many ways, those 1960’s.

Grandpa, or maybe someone before he came to have the table, had glued linoleum flooring on top — no, it wasn’t even pretty linoleum. The legs, and a shelf that runs the length of the table just about shin-high, are still painted with a dull espresso color, worn and scratched terribly. I pulled off the linoleum, and — though ashamed to admit it — used a pressure washer to help remove the black glue. As it dried outdoors, the sun pulled the boards apart slightly. As you can imagine, it is a pretty rough-looking sight. Why do I keep it, you may be asking yourself. I wish I had an answer worthy of your asking. There is something within the grain of the wood that asks me to understand; to accept it as it is, even though I do not know its whole story. (Maybe we all feel a little like that?) I like the old table because it is something of my grandpa’s. Although, knowing how frugal he was, Grandpa likely found the table at a bargain, and its actual worth, even today, can’t be much. Knowing that the damage it has already suffered prevents it from being one of those “nice old pieces of furniture”, I still feel compelled to leave it as is, other than the linoleum of course. There is a carving in the end pieces between the legs; this is the only thing that keeps me from calling it a primitive work of furniture. Is it a bit of folk art?

If you have any ideas about this carving, or old library tables in general, please share in the comments.

Like the old table, I am quite worse for the wear in appearance. And, like the dear old thing, there is a story — my life’s story — same in basic shape and function as all who are born to their mommas, but different in detail; just as there were probably a score of other tables built like this one and shipped out in the same shape and function, but definitely different in the details of its life story. Don’t we all want to be seen for what lies beneath the surface? Under the wrinkles and age spots, under the flattened arches and flabby abs, and under the thinning gray hair, is a head that still thinks, and feels, and knows its own story. We want to be understood for our worth, not our wear. This old table is worth something to me because my grandpa saw a value in it for his purpose — actually for the college boys’ purpose, but who’s keeping score? It matters to me because someone I cherished bought it, or at the very least, cared enough about it to haul it home. That, for sure; plus I just have a foolish love for old unique furniture.

Feeling the oak boards once again, smoothed by the years of my arms and computer and books, and whatever else one puts on a sunroom table, I begin to understand why I still have it. Or, like Grandpa, maybe I’m too cheap to buy a real desk when I already have a substantive one — one of practical importance to me.

There is a table in my dining room, a prettier, albeit more primitive one, which I plan to talk about in my next coffee break. If you have an interesting item of furniture with a story behind it, please share with us here at the coffee break. Until then, remember, we are all given our worth by the greatest love ever to walk this earth. “Knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things,…but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot” (I Peter 1:18-19) NKJV.

Homecoming: When Good Things ‘Hit Home’

20 Sunday Oct 2024

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Saturday, October 19, 2024 When I picture ‘homecoming’ I think of autumn leaves, parades and people. You probably think of football games, fraternity/sorority reunions and corsages; the usual image. What we both have in common here, is people. Often, it occurs to me at the end of the day, how much of the day has a common theme. One thing leads to another and soon it makes a circle.

From the time I walked the golden leaf-strewn Ninth Street to our third grade class, and throughout the years’ homecoming parades at the very same vantage point, I have expected to see autumn leaves falling for homecoming. In fact, the rustle of leaves is as much a part of the parade as the drums and sirens. People of all ages line up to watch, laughing and waving and scampering through leaves to gather up candy thrown from the parade floats and vehicles. I missed all that this year. Several reasons contributed to my not being there, but the weather was not one! One of the most amazing autumn days ever, has graced our hometown with sunshine, breezes and the high temp of 72 degrees. Perfect homecoming weather! Remembering the years we have watched the parade while shivering in our mittens, or bumping umbrellas and tracking wet leaves into the car, it hit home how much I was missing today; along with missing my daughter who missed coming home due to Covid. She cares too much about us to risk bringing illness home.

My homecoming experience this year was a bit different for me. It has been sixty years since our Murray State University School of Nursing began. It was the Department of Nursing when I attended, and has grown to become a prestigious school in its own right. Thanks to a dear friend who asked me to go, we attended an informal brunch in Mason Hall this morning. A brand new building for the School of Nursing is in the making, so this is likely the last time I will get to be in the halls of what was my home away from home for three years, over three decades ago. As I stood there, looking at the familiar plaques, graduating class pictures, classrooms and such, it came home to me how fortunate I was to have an excellent school so near home; one where I received the education I needed to begin a meaningful satisfying career, albeit my second career. By that time, I had two children in school and my husband and I were self-employed in farming. Embarking on a new career as a non-traditional student was scary, but exciting. Talking to a few of my favorite instructors today, it again hit home, how supportive and encouraging these professionals were in helping develop new nurses. They not only provided education in knowledge, but also demonstrated a focus on the value of human life; professionalism. I know beyond a doubt I was blessed with the best.

At the brunch, I was privileged to see several whom I’d known as co-workers, or in some other capacity as we all strove to carry on the tradition of building competence and character in not only future nurses, but in each other as well. I felt fortunate to be in the company of such caring professionals. That, too, actually came home to me, as I met a former patient in attendance today. She told me how important I am to her, and even though my place in her life was a tiny spot, it was a very meaningful spot. Beside her stood her lovely daughter, the baby I was able, in some small way, to help bring into the world. This baby grew up and has become a healthcare professional herself, and was able to say she has heard her mom speak of me fondly. She knew her mom had been cared for by a team who gave their best. That; that is what we as nurses hope to do; to help the time our patients are with us, to be good for them. A state of wellness, whether it started out badly, or great, (as in expecting to take home a new baby), can always be made better. Today’s homecoming activity certainly helped my state of wellness to be better, if only in the good memories. But to be reminded of how we can pass on the caring attitudes of others from one season of life, into later seasons to care for still others, really hit home for me today.

I’ll rustle through some leaves soon just to enjoy a Murray autumn. But for today, I enjoyed rustling through fond memories, and being reminded how fortunate we are when someone cares enough to help us through some tough times, or help us build our future. As for the friend who asked me to go today, she was my clinical director for 17 years. Both retired now, we continue a friendship I treasure, and before I knew her, she knew my dad who drove her daughter’s group of cheerleaders in his little yellow bus, gaining the respect and love of her family. Isn’t it funny how the past comes home!

SHARING; Then and Now

02 Monday Aug 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • 4 O’Clocks from Treva Darnell

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

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

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

  • Eastern Bluebird box in our backyard

Butterflies and Stinkbugs

29 Monday Jul 2019

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“To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” Audrey Hepburn

20190729_124142As you may guess from the title, I’ve been to the garden this morning. Inspired by the quiet,  I sang “I Must Tell Jesus”, and let the burdens of my heart roll on down the bean rows. If you’re a gardener I’ll bet you wonder as you pick, ‘now who would like a few of these’, or ‘where can I share those?” Sharing is the BEST product of a garden. Today I choose to share more than the produce.

Holding my little basket of cucumbers and peppers, I turned to be sure I’d covered all the dabs of this and that still producing. As I stood there admiring the large yellow and blue butterfly sipping at the zinnia tips, another motion grabbed my attention – a hummingbird had darted in for a share of the goodness. Also hovering there, was a large bumble bee, all three being in the same square foot of zinnia blooms. You know if that butterfly and bee had been other hummingbirds, there’d have been a chasing and rooting each other out. I’ve never understood why they do that. Sunday morning my husband and I watched a show many of you have also seen: a male with his ruby throat glowing, guard one porch feeder from his perch inside the cherry tree. As soon as another hummer headed for the feeder, he zoomed in and intercepted. Over and over the same greedy race went on, (I only suppose it’s greed, since I don’t really know what his purpose was) until we left the show to get ready for church.

Back to this morning – as I was looking around, I also noticed two big very ugly crusty critters on a sunflower stem. With shields for backs and long legs gripping the stem, they looked offensive, and after I squished them, the odor was even more so. I got to thinking about that small garden being its own community. Like our communities, you get all kinds living there. There are the lady bugs that go about keeping house throughout the plants. A host of insects feed the beautiful birds that drop by. There are blossoms full of nectar for nourishing the bees, birds and butterflies. My pretty squash plants succumbed to a nasty bug no bigger than the size of a grain of black pepper, crawling inside the stems. The good, the bad, the lovely and the ugly; all living together. Which one am I, is what I have to ask myself.  Am I a stink bug, a kill joy, eating up all I can for myself? Am I a butterfly flitting about spreading joy; or a tomato or bean plant blooming to give good things to others? Is my life in any way a sweet aroma to my God? Am I willing to reach out, to share what I’ve been blessed with in my seasons of plenty? “I know that nothing is better for them than to rejoice, and to do good in their lives”, (Ecclesiastes 3:12 NKJV)

I went to the garden and sang for strength (“And the Lord made His people very fruitful and made them stronger than their foes.” Psalm 105:24); I prayed for the Murdock family to be comforted (“This is my comfort in my affliction, that your promise gives me life”. Psalm 119:50); I praised God for all these gifts and more. I came back from the garden a little stronger, a little more encouraged, and content. I wish these things for you, friends, as your week unfolds.

“And be kind to one another, tenderhearted forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you.” Ephesians 4:32

RESOLUTIONS

07 Monday Jan 2019

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I read yesterday that to submit a photo to someplace or another, it must be of ‘high resolution’ with at least 300 something or others, and I do not know what that all means but I do know where I’m going with it. First, I’ll learn what it means in case I want to use that knowledge; secondly, I am using a play on words, and setting for myself ‘high resolutions’.

Many years ago, I made the New Year’s resolution to never make another New Year’s resolution. I kept it. I was tired of setting new goals or plans just to let myself down by Spring. That was because I had been resolving to the wrong person to do this or that. I’ve grown since then (in more ways than one, and that’s due to some of those lost resolutions). Last evening our congregation was challenged to “turn your world upside down” as a way of encouraging us to reach out to people and do it for the sake of Christ. I have no idea what form that will take, and I doubt if my world looks rearranged, let alone upside down, but my heart is certainly taking on new shape. New resolutions, to the One Who Cares whether or not I do. Not for me, for Him. Jesus. Lord.

Several other things have worked to realign my heart lately. First, my wonderful friend Linda, mailed to me a devotional/journal titled “40 Days of Prayer” and a sweet note that she would like for us to begin January 1, doing this study together. Now that’s inspiration! Forty days, I can do that. Prayer, I can do that, always have. How hard can that be? Well in just 6 days, I am growing in my thoughts and faith about prayer and in the ones Who hear my prayers, that beautiful Godhead three. (John 16:23-24) Next, my husband watched for his first time “The Passion of the Christ” about a week ago, and sobbed, followed by a discussion about what Christ did for us. Then, there are the many needs for prayers just in our circle of friends alone, reminding me daily of the brevity of life, and of what really matters.

So today, when I am usually scurrying about with laundry, cards, pick-up/clean-up house detail and such as will have to be done over and over every week, I am writing. Working on another project yesterday, and mulling over all of the above, (resolution issues), I felt too scrambled to write. But this morning, I knew what it all came to – a daily resolve to pray more personally, do what I do as unto the Lord, and love fiercely.

There’s an exercise class at ten o’clock; I just may make it in time! No promises for a year, or even a week. But today – a day at a time – I will appreciate and use the things God has made available to be a better me for Him. It all takes on a higher resolution when it’s for the right Person!

“Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.” Ephesians 4:20-21 NKJV

 

IT’S OVER

28 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by in Celebrating, Reflections

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2018

When is Christmas over for you? I’ve heard several say it’s as soon as December 25 darkens, when the tree and trimmings come down. Others, like myself, enjoy the wake of it all by keeping the tree lights aglow until the New Year’s celebration is over. Even though I relish the reminiscing, the warm glow of the dust settling, and all the left over goodies, I’ll have to say Christmas is over when the kids go home. That’s what it’s been about, celebrating the Son of God, by having our son and daughter with us more than usual. That sounds selfish after I’ve said it, but it is the truth. As I sit here in the early morning dark, our daughter is now on the road home, having had nearly a week with us. Tight hugs, laughter and gratitude, and a bag of homemade goodies accompanied her departure. Her fur baby was SO  excited to be loading the car that he didn’t even look back to say ‘bye’ and just escaped my touch as I reached out to give him a tootle-loo pat. He was headed home!

A quick devotional with our cup of peppermint mocha before our girl took off, was from “Mornings With the Holy Spirit”, day December 28. Titled ‘Be the Friend that I am to You’, it was a good send off for her because she really is a wonderful friend. Not only to us, but also to her friends, and those she serves in her role in human resources as well. Her desire to make us feel loved and appreciated is matched by her warmth and humor to extended family. Loyal to her friends and work, even the four a.m. phone call during the weekend was taken with an ‘all in the job’ attitude, and no complaining. (A friend loves at all times, Proverbs 17:17 NKJV) How wonderful to have had her hanging with the folks in her vacation time! And how wonderful that God provides an even greater friend to all! The Holy Spirit is that comforter whom Jesus left with His followers. In God we have a Father, a brother in Jesus Christ, and a friend who sticks closer than a brother in Holy Spirit. What a wonderful thing to know. When all the world is down on life; when a friend betrays you; when the cut-throat society steps on you; all is well, because we have a friend like no other, who will never betray nor fail us. “And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever” (John 14:16).

So, after our generous-hearted son spent the day with us yesterday, and our loving daughter hit the road today, it is over. Time to clean, organize, and get back to work. What a joy to be able to pause in whatever span of time you have, with good friends, and say goodbye to a year of blessings as we look forward to a new one. May your new year be full of joy, peace that passes all understanding, and the love of great friends!  Especially the friend Jesus. Happy New Year friends! “Ointment and perfume delight the heart, and the sweetness of a man’s friend gives delight by hearty counsel” (Proverbs 27:9).

Eternally His, Trisha

 

NEW YORK CITY: The Trip is Over, What A Time We Had!

10 Monday Dec 2018

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, Reflections, The unexpected

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As much as I would like to report on all the fabulous fun we had (and I will in coming weeks) on a recent trip to NYC, there is one topic that is squeezing its way through first – just like New Yorkers do! Or were those the tourists??? I have so many interesting things to talk about, and this week’s blog is a serious one;  the one I’ve thought about most, so I begin with a foggy, misty Sunday afternoon, Dec 2, 2018. It is a bit long, but trust me, the boat will reach the harbor, and I believe it will be a thought-provoking ride.

LIBERTY SHROUDED IN A FOG OF MISUNDERSTANDING

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One week ago I had the privilege of being on board a boat that shuttles tourists through  upper New York Bay to visit Ellis Island, where stands the former chief United States immigration station. Knowing we would be passing Liberty Island and viewing that grand old crowned lady with her torch extended to the world, gave me goosebumps! I could hardly wait, straining my neck and eyes for the first glimpse of her immense presence. As we approached a body of land shrouded in a fog, I began to realize that our day of rainy weather would indeed dampen my long-awaited experience. In the distance I could barely see a pedestal similar to the pictures I had seen of that upon which stands the statue named Liberty Enlightening the World, or, the Statue of Liberty. The nearer we moved toward Ellis Island, and coming alongside Liberty Island, the clearer her outline became, until at last from her back side we were able to see the green of her bronze and the light within her torch. The crown on her head was not as clear but oh, how excited I was just to see that torch! Mixed feelings flooded my heart about immigration, homeland, and liberty.

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Once inside Ellis Island’s station, I felt almost transmigrated myself into another time and person. The steamer trunks, instruments of medical examination, and articles of interrogation were just plain foreign to me. As I listened to the recordings, and imagined myself in those immigrants’ places, I felt so much sympathy for their sufferings and fears that I cannot adequately put it into words. The statue in her misty fog made a striking symbol that day of some of the emotions and happenings of those days. “Liberty shrouded in a fog of misunderstanding” came from my mouth as I had my first glimpse of Liberty. Little did I know that I would feel even more so after learning more of the immigration experiences.

I keep wondering who was so forgetful of his own or his ancestors’ infancy to the new world, that he could exert what we today deem cruel and unusual treatment of those who followed. The closest I’ve ever come  (and it doesn’t even compare really) to what they may have felt as they entered the great hall of importation, is the shoulder to shoulder crowd on the New York sidewalks with a din of foreign languages, taxi horns blaring, and the sun so hidden by towering buildings that I couldn’t tell east from west. People who know where they are going run over you who may pause, to wonder where you are going. If not with friends and a fearless leader, what could I have seen?Confusion. Fear. Misunderstanding. Those were the three big realities when people looking for a life of liberty, were met with the very opposite of liberty. “The ability or opportunity to act in accordance with one’s own wishes or without repression or restraint by authority.” That is one of several definitions for ‘liberty’ in Funk & Wagnalls Standard College Dictionary. The fog of misunderstanding that filled those halls cloaked the immigrants’ hope in a shroud of fear, rejection for some, pain, hunger and loneliness rather than the liberty and freedom they desired. One woman’s story was that she and her siblings came to America with their mother who had always had one black fingernail. She said “my mother had raised all of us and was never ill and had always had that black fingernail; we’d thought nothing of it!” Due to that one black fingernail, the mother was rejected and sent back to her country of origin, parted from her children, and the voice of that one telling her story quivered after all those years, with sorrow of growing up without her momma.

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After moving from room to room, being told via the audio equipment about hundreds of experiences,  I returned to the great hall, and rested on the very benches where immigrants sat long ago in a state of anticipation, inside a bubble of disorientation. Oh, by the way, if one had a “dazed and disoriented” look, he or she would be sent for a psychiatric evaluation,  having just come through the fog of travel into an unknown future, quizzed by someone who didn’t speak the same language, and answering through an interpreter. Dazed? I’d say so!

Well, not all was lost, of course. There were also some stories of unusually kind social workers, nurses, and an occasional immigration official who extended courtesy. Many were successfully poked and prodded into the world of progress, America by name. As President John F. Kennedy said, “Everywhere immigrants have enriched and strengthened the fabric of American life.”  How often do we stop to think,  would I be here at all if not for the immigration of some ancestors who made this their home, met another, and here I am – a little Irish, a lot English, and like everyone else, I like to think I am a fraction Native American too. That makes us feel a little less like intruders. Would those ancestors say it was worth it? I can’t imagine. But to go through the trauma, even today, of transferring your life into the face of another culture must be daunting to say the least; so what they are running from, well, must be pretty bad.

We’ve heard it said that with freedom comes responsibility. Parents love to recite that to their children, and for good reason. At no time has liberty been free. There are prices to pay. I mentioned earlier that I have mixed feelings about immigration. I’m just being honest here; not politically correct. I see both sides of the issue. As a Christian I can’t support shutting anyone out of a better life. On the other hand, I do not enjoy knowing our country is becoming more crowded every day; I am insulted by some of the attitudes and changes being etched into, or should I say eroding, our country’s standards; and I do wonder why people flee their own homes rather than staying to band together and make home a better place to live. That’s because I have never worn their shoes. Newcomers to this country were willing to dig in and make a living, shoulder the responsibilities of making a great nation, and earned the privilege of being an American. Somewhere along the line, we stopped holding that view. I do not know if I am shrouded by that fog of misunderstanding, or if immigrants-to-be are blinded by the word ‘liberty’ so that they do not understand the responsibility on leaders of a nation to protect its people. There must be some governing laws, or criteria by which immigration does not compromise the safety of a people. I believe God, the creator of the universe, teaches open arms. But also He teaches that once we escape the oppression of sin, we are not to return to the same. Likewise, if people are able to escape the oppression of one country, they must not become slaves to the oppressions of dependency, hatred and crime. I pray that those who are greeted by the Statue of Liberty, or any harbor of the USA, find people who are willing to teach, listen, and work together. In nursing, we sometimes say, “see one, do one, teach one” so that all are brought on board as equals. No one cares if your brass has tarnished, nor whether your crown shines, as long as you’re extending a torch of welcome, lighting the way.

It was enlightening for sure to learn of the past immigration process which, like our country, has evolved over time. I did not take time to tour the evolution of that process, because I couldn’t pull myself away from the history of it.  What I came away with however, was more important. That is, to be aware of the fog we can enter which may obscure our vision, be informed, be kind, and be responsible in our liberties.

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PRECIOUS MEMORIES

09 Sunday Dec 2018

Posted by in Life, Reflections

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I sat on the couch holding an old boot box full of smaller boxes and precious ornaments for our Christmas tree. Among those were three small white crocheted ornaments – two snowflakes and a stocking – made by my Aunt Sue who is no longer with us;  a flat round ceramic picture of Mama given to me by my sister Kathy the year our mother passed away;  and 13 precious Hallmark Keepsake ornaments given to me by Tiffany Shemwell, (now Clayton) one at a time every year that she was in school, kindergarten through 12th grade. Of course, Tiffany’s mom, Terese had to have started the tradition for her sweet daughter, but as Tiffany grew, so did my pleasure at seeing what her selection each year would be. Just like Tiffany, each one was unique, usually dainty, and adorable! The tradition began because I drove Tiffany to school and home again on a big yellow school bus. I only drove nine years after which, I was in nursing school, and then working as a nurse, but the little Christmas surprises continued to show up on my front porch until she graduated from high school. Five of the last six were little nurse animals – a mouse with a stethoscope, a koala with a hot water bottle, and so on.

Sitting there with our tree partially decorated, I found it difficult to begin opening the cherished Hallmark boxes. You see, tomorrow will be Tiffany’s funeral. Having fought a long battle with brain cancer never took the sweetness and sparkle out of that little girl! All who knew her were impressed with her bravery, as well as devastated that she and her family were being harassed with the cruelty of this disease, not once but twice. Now at 35 years old, she won’t have to fight that battle any longer. So, it just didn’t feel right to be opening and enjoying these memories while being so sad about her passing. However, through tears, I began to realize that Tiffany would be so sad if I didn’t enjoy them as I have every year and so I finally found my way to opening and hanging Tiffany’s ornaments. Gingerly I opened each box, imagined what she may have liked about each one, and gave them their usual prominent positions on the branches. I always save the last one for last, and reread the note that she included with it. This one is a little blond angel named Marguerite, holding a rabbit, and was 13th in the Mary’s Angel Series. It was also the 13th year of Tiffany’s ornaments, though the only angel from her, as well as the first time in those last 6 years that she didn’t select a nurse, but an angel. On the box is stamped the following:

“Bunny thinks it’s awfully sweet to snuggle up to Marguerite. They drift around the Christmas sky and watch the angels flying by.”   I’ll let you roll that around in your own heart, just as I am wondering how much intuition a 17 or 18-year-old would have.

Even better, is what Tiffany wrote to me on the gift tag she attached to it.  I share it now as just one more testament to how sweet and thoughtful she was. Precious memories!!

Merry Christmas Ms. Ward! This is the last one to complete your set, since I graduate this year. May they all bring you lots of joy every Christmas season. Love you lots, Tiffany

PACKING FOR THE SEASON: Today’s need? Encouragement

05 Monday Nov 2018

Posted by in Encouragement, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Too heavy? Let’s repack.

Happy Monday Friends! A new week always brings with it a kaleidoscope of feelings – from “ok! let’s get this done” to “oh man, not yet!”  We know life’s a journey, moving through seasons, but each week holds its own little trip within this journey, doesn’t it? Breaking it down into week-sized portions makes it manageable for me.  What journey is your present season sending you on this week?  Will your luggage be packed with the seasonal contents you need? Or will you be lugging heavy baggage that makes the trip a burden?

As you may have guessed, there’s no one-list-fits-all. Two main reasons are, one, we may have unexpected hiccups along the way; and two, we are all likely to be traveling in different seasons. But what I can promise you, is that God DOES know what you face, and as His child, He will provide what you haven’t packed. Yes, God knows what the week will hold, and He will bless us with the encouragement to get through it!

Now, what has He provided this week? Hopefully you were able yesterday to start the week with a feast from the word of God.  But something else He tucked into my suitcase for the week was amazing inspiration from a sweet friend in my church family. She told me that as she traveled on a short trip last week, she took along the CD from my latest speaking engagement and again gained encouragement from it. Oh my goodness gracious!!! How inspired I was from that simple statement. Encouragement is reciprocal! As I’d really been questioning where writing fits into my journey, this friend helped me pack! Margaret Gibson, you are a jewel! Thank God for sending us friendship and fellowship for our big journey. Their words of advice from experience, their inspiration, and their willingness to be our sounding boards are great gifts from our Father Who knows just what we need!

We don’t wear labels, like a train or airline ticket that tells others where we are headed. Though we can get good advice on what others think we need to pack, even the best buds can’t know exactly what’s around the bend. So, I suggest the following three things to keep in your carry-on, ready for whatever trip you are about to take this week.

First, prayer. Always pray. Solicit the Father’s provision and protection. (I Thessalonians 5:17; Jeremiah 29: 12)

Second, communication. Talk over the week’s plans and possibilities along with probable snags. Seek the advice of your spouse, your bestie, or someone whose interest and judgement you trust. Don’t go it alone; remember you don’t wear a label and we can’t read each other’s minds. Communicate. (Proverbs 18:34)

Thirdly, release. Unpack all that heavy stuff – the anxieties about the future, the regrets about how things went on the last trip, and the temptation to omit the first two points – don’t  do this alone. Trust God, who wants you to be blessed and has provided all.

“For your Father knows the things you have need of before you ask Him.” Matthew 6:8b NKJV

“The Lord will give strength to His people. The Lord will bless His people with peace.” Psalm 29:1