Surprise!

The season is fast approaching when bell ringers position themselves outside cold store fronts, collecting coins for the needy.  Almost without fail, each year brings word on the evening news that a valuable coin has been donated by an unknown good-hearted person.

I also leave surprise presents sometimes.  They are not given to bell ringers but  I may choose to drop the surprise outside storefronts where they stand, or inside, wherever there is a handy depository, i.e.  trash bin.  My surprise "donation" is NOTHING like gold coins.    Nope.  It's pooh.  Dog pooh to be exact.  You see I have two dogs to walk each day and after they do their business, I pick up the offending product using the bag in which my morning newspaper arrives.  So far so good, right?  There's nothing unusual about this practice.  Ah, but you are not me.

Having two dogs means two leashes and busy hands.  Add in to the equation a bag of pooh and you might understand why sometimes I carefully place the wrapped up product into my coat pocket.  There.  Now I can better control the dogs for the rest of the walk.

Two or three hours later finds me doing errands around town and slowly I start to notice the car stinks, or is it the air outside of the grocery store?  The odor is so faint that it takes awhile for me to put two and two together.  Oh!  I've got pooh in my pocket!  Silly me!

So as I approach a business or the library or the local Caribou, I hunt for a "donation box".  With a bit of guilt easily brushed aside, I rid myself of the obnoxious "cologne" and continue on with my day.

The next time you see a bell-ringer, think of me.

What I Know About Mice

This is what I know about mice:

They travel in a line over pillows.  I know this is true because it happened to my mother when spending the night at her sister’s farmhouse.  Her head must have been a road block on their nightly excursion.  I think she heard them singing the song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs: “Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it’s off to work we go. . .”

They can be scared to death.  Literally.  I know this also because of my mother. She spotted a mouse in her house, and screamed so loud the mouse fell over dead on the floor.  This saves on purchasing traps and wasting good cheese.

Their tails can fall off if you twirl them around enough times.  My four year old, who owned a pet mouse, forgot to count how many revolutions are required for this to happen, but eventually it does happen.  Warning, there will be a bit of blood to clean up.

I know other things about mice that aren’t so interesting to report because you already know them, but mention them briefly I will.  They leave droppings wherever they go. They live behind the walls in your house. They know how to gently lick peanut butter off of traps without springing them.  They hoard dog food by hiding it in the basement in the boxes of Christmas decorations.  They destroy fabric.  They like to visit in the spring and fall.  No one invites them.  They just show up after having been gone all summer.

So this is pretty much what I know about mice.

Jealousy

Jealousy was common;

  envy tagged along.

It seems these nasty feelings had been with me

  way too long.

Was it because I felt so empty?

  Was it insecurities?

Did my lack of passion and purpose

  feed these feelings deep in me?

Struggling to know direction

  Wanting to have a “call”

I’d look at other’s successes

  I’d criticize them all.

Then I met with Jesus,

  in a place of joy and light

He told me I had purpose

  He told me wrong from right.

The strengths I saw in others

  were give to them by Him

They were given with a purpose

  to bless all of earth’s men

Their strengths are for us all,

  and in this we should be glad.

Whatever someone else does well

  is never ever “bad”.

So now when someone’s talents

  shine for all to see;

I thank my heavenly Father,

  for helping me to see.

As I Look in My Mirror . . . 

I am looking at my face.  In a mirror.   I can see how I’ve aged, complete with puffiness under my eyes and a mottled skin tone that comes with 59 years of life.  I could focus on that.  But instead I look at my eyes.  The eyes.  That is where I live.  In there somewhere.  I am reminded that the outside of my being, my body, although a gift from God, is not really all that I am.

The inside of us is a jewel, a fascinating, complex creation.  You know,  the outside can often betray what is inside.  See that obese woman walking down the street?  Her thighs swish together, she saunters sideways, trying to propel her excess weight forward.  On the outside, she is not really a pretty picture.  But if we give her the time, if we explore what is behind her eyes, we will see someone with complexity, with gifts, with personality.  We just don’t know what’s inside her skin.

Or, we could be looking at a man with cerebral palsy, hardly able to form a sentence without stuttering or slurring his words.  Take note!  He has something to say.  There is a person in there who is articulate and intelligent.

Even the simple folk in our world, those who have been gifted with a mental impairment, they have a wealth of personhood, of personality and temperament waiting for us to discover.

So I look in the mirror and see me, and I see God's mark.  I am made in His image and it is a humbling thing to ponder.

Nothing’s Perfect ‘Til Heaven

Nothing’s perfect until heaven.  For instance, take dogs.  If you’re a dog lover, you’re right with me on this one.  Can there be a more perfect pet than a dog?  Need I list their wonderful qualities such as unconditional love, sloppy exuberance when you walk in the door, following you around the house and protecting your house from bad men at all times of the day and night?  I could seriously go on and on.

My point?  These seemingly perfect companions also eat poop.  If you leave dirty underwear on the floor, it’s like taking them to Baskin Robbins.  You’ve heard the Bible verse about a dog returning to its own vomit?  Yes, it is true.  That they will do!

So dogs serve as a prime example of how nothing’s perfect, not even dogs, until we get to heaven.

This has been a belief of mine that has been slow in coming.  We can tend to want the perfect family reunion, perfect spouse, perfect home and neighborhood, perfect island get-away.  Get over it.  There is no perfection in any of these things.

Does that mean we should expect the worst and be grumpy old men in our walk through life?  Nope.  Let’s hope for the best, let’s make situations the best they can be.  Just remember that we live in a fallen world filled with fallen people, surrounded by imperfection.

The fact that we long for perfection, as CS Lewis would say, hints to us that there will some day be a place of perfection.  Maybe when we get to heaven there will be wonderful dogs who no longer desire stinky things.  I’m convinced there will be family reunions beyond our wildest dreams.  It will all be good and it will all be perfect.

So wait.  Enjoy what we have now with the understanding that it will never be perfect until heaven.

I am so looking forward to it!

Good Bye

There is a house closing going on this morning.  Right now as a matter of fact. A home is being sold.  An old family home.  It is a home that saw the birth of children, the scraped knees, the bountiful meals, the leaving home to fight in wars or marry or join a convent.  It is ordinary in every respect except for one thing.  It carries the memories of a particular family.

There are a few remaining old pine trees in the back yard.  Approximately 80 years ago one was planted for each child.  The walls  heard tell of the youngest child running away from school one day.  He had to make it to the train depot no matter what his teacher or his parents said.  Ignoring Dad's order to stay at school, he arrived in time to say goodbye to his favorite brother.  The brother was leaving for WWII and never came home.

The house probably heard the sobs of that young boy the day he was delivering  newspapers and found out his brother had died.  No one told him.  He read it in the daily paper.  The house witnessed grandkids coming to stay a few days in the 50s and 60s.  It witnessed the failing health of the parents, their passing, and the youngest child's inheritance of the house.


Now it is empty.  Every last item removed, every photograph, every dish, even the electric beer sign over the kitchen sink.  


It was not a perfect family.  What family is?  In fact, it holds dark secrets.  Yet, it also holds laughter and joy and love.  


Everyone has passed away.  Everyone who would want to live there is gone.  The wood and the walls, the basement and stairs will belong to another family.   And our family's time there has come to an end.  


Good bye old house.  Thanks for the memories.

There was a piece of board under the stuffed chair.  It was part of the chair's skeleton and that is where I hid it.  When does darkness enter the heart of a child?  Darkness it was when I hid my sister's treasure.  I don't even remember what her "treasure" was;  I just remember I hid it and then lied about knowing it's whereabouts.  It could have been candy, or money, or a toy.  It's not important what it was; what is important is that I stole it; hid it; and lied.  And at a young age.  

Patsy called on Dad to help her find it so he asked me if I knew where it was.  What choice did I have? I had hidden it, already setting the stage for deception.  One lie was an easy next step.

At some point my guilt got the better of me and I revealed everything.  For that guilt, I am thankful.  Having a dark place in the soul where deception is easy to commit necessitates one's need to feel guilt.
Think about it.  If I felt no guilt for anything, I could be a psychopath - killing others without remorse or sense of wrong.

So, yes Patsy, I stole your treasure.  Here it is.  Spank!  Ouch!  Ah Dad! Yep, I deserved it.

Hello Blog!  Hello any friends out there who remember me at this place!

I have been gone so long I forgot how to get here.  Tis true.  The only reason I am here right now is because I found an old friend's blog via facebook and she follows my blog (or used to).  I wonder if I'll be able to get back here after this posting.  Yes, this is challenging for me.

I have something exciting to share though.  And it might affect my blog.  Here it is:  I have joined a writer's group.  That last sentence should be in CAPS because it is very exciting for me.  Unlike many who like to write, I never had an inner "pull" to attempt being a wordsmith as a child.  In fact, I never had any encouragement to try it until I was an adult.  Could it be that it was something God had hidden in my innermost being that couldn't come out until later in life?

So in this writer's group, I am finding I LOVE to write - about anything.  Well, mostly about memories at this point, but it will evolve to more, surely.  The group is so affirming and encouraging - seeming to love anything I write!  They are being kind, I know, but they feed my soul and so I keep writing.

I have learned I don't have to know what I'm going to write about when I sit down.  The story comes as I apply the words and sentences.  Sometimes I'm surprised by the ending - as if I'm not the author at all. Strange huh?

This is what I've discovered about myself through this experience:  I write short little diddies.  No novels for me, no research.  Just simple story-telling based on real life experiences.  My daughter, who is gifted in writing, will some day write a novel.  If she sits down to do a writing exercise with me, say we both will write about chipmunks, her 10 minutes will be given to setting the stage for a long story.  Mine?  You get the whole package in just a few paragraphs. Beginning, middle and end.  Isn't it cool how different personalities offer variety in things like this?

So, now that I've introduced you to my new passion, check back once in awhile for a short story or thought.  Comments are welcome.