Tag: uplifting words

About My IF

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When I was a very, very little girl – and that is a true understatement – I had a stuffed pink puppy. In my mind the puppy was bigger than I was. My mother says I weighed only fifteen pounds at two years old. That is the same size as my little black dog now.

I have memories of riding this little pink stuffy like it was a horse. It solidified my love for dogs over that of horses at an early age. Though I thought I still liked horses, because my dad trained them, that like was turned to “dislike” until I was a teenager. The love for dogs stuck a little more, even though I cannot recall that the pink fluff ever had a name.

Imaginary Friends are for little kids who have no one to play with them. So I used my stuffy’s, dolls, and other such toys to entertain me until my baby brother came along at six years old. Then in another year or so I developed the management tools that I would need for the rest of my life while bossing him around.

I don’t remember of the little pink fluff had a name. The color was much like Cotton Candy. And though I did not know about such when I received the doggy, later years, I always gravitated to the fair cart for some of the pink fluff. Having it melt in my mouth could transport me to worlds of imagination. So perhaps the puppy’s name was Candy.

About my IF, that is Imaginary Friend from years past. Mine was a magic carpet puppy that I rode like a horse. My little legs hugged the dog and my fingers gripped his ears, and I ran and slid across the floor countless times. In my mind we flew around the room hiding under the table and landing on the sofa. It must have been my constant companion because looking at it in my adult years I noticed the faux fur was completely worn off the fabric.

Another strong memory from those wee bitty years, is of someone asking me if I wanted a piece of candy. I would nod my head vigorously only to be asked once again, if I was “sure.” My poor little brain did not know what the word “sure” meant. I remember doing a circle with my head from no to yes, not knowing what the correct answer was. I hated the question “Are you sure?” I was not sure, I was “Yvonne.” Did my Imaginary Friend have a name? Could it really be imaginary if the puppy was a stuffy that I rode around like a magic carpet?

This past summer when we cleaned out the old house, I found it in the “keepsakes” box. I took a picture of the pink rock and then threw it away. The stuffing in the doggie had turned into a solid mass of something. Not sure why, but the foam innards had hardened into a solid beast. The little puppy did not look near as comely as he had while I rode him across the hard floor of the kitchen as a toddler.

Through the years that followed my toddling days, I turned from this carpet puppy to horses during my play time. But it was not long until I felt the thump of the heart and warmth of live fur baby more comforting. I had a cat in middle school and high school named Mittens. Mittens was grey with white socks on the fore paws. He was such a quiet cat indoors that I snuck him up to my bedroom a lot. The comforting feline pur was so addictive. It was so sad when he had an accident and had to be put down. I cried a lot. Thank goodness he had to go shortly after one of my paper route friends lost her husband. The value of “soul” was not lost on me. I knew someday, maybe, I could have another cat. She would never get another husband.

Today, nearly two score of years later, I still prefer a puppy over a horse. Even though a week ago, my grandson asked if “we could get another horse.” What is this “we” thing, I thought. I already took care of Cocoa for years while taking Benadryl just to be around him. And I know that a cat would make my hubby do the same thing. He is so allergic to the “dusties” that a cat produces with it’s constant shed. That is one of the reasons we now have a Shih Tzu in the house instead of a constant shed dog.

We watched the movie IF (2024) in the fall of 2025. Yeah, we’re cheap and usually wait until the movie is released from theatre and can be seen at home. Once in a great while, we do make it to the show house, but this one escaped our knowing. I really enjoyed the whole concept of the film and thought about my pink Cotton Candy puppy right away. Who wouldn’t remember riding through the house on a pink fluff?

I don’t need an Imaginary Friend when I have a real fur ball. But I do still love the addicting sound of a good motor. I do have six cats outdoors yet. Tabitha and Kramer are probably my favorite right now. Though Kramer won’t sit still very well. Zuchi has followed me around the most, like to the greenhouse and stuff. But Kona does tricks! And though I can’t ride him around like a magic carpet, his greetings and energy are fun and contagious. He does make me laugh with his funny jump-fly over the steps into the living room after a fetch session.

Kona on the daybed after a fetch session.

While I began this writing back in October, today seemed a good day to complete it. I was suppose to visit my little people (grandchildren) but my daughter now has the tummy bug the two youngest shared with her. This winter has been full of immune building experience for them. My last visit to their house was punctuated by a little girl finding the scissors to see what was inside her favorite stuffy. Mommy was pretty upset for having to do surgical repairs once again. Some children are so attracted to the hand held cutters. My mind immediately returned to all of the toys that we repaired for our fur ball Furbie. He wanted to get to the heart “squeaky” and we let him. Then we saved the rabbits, squirrels, skunks, and socks for further demolition. It’s hard to imagine what this little girl might do someday and what this “knowledge” will help her learn.

Meanwhile, my mom took a tumble and aafter a brief hospital stay is now in rehab, riding a bike and learning to use her new “walker” friend. No imagination needed here. Just some hope to get better soon. And not the kind my husband mentioned. One of his coworkers needed a “get better soon” card not because he was ill, but because failure had marked every attempt to teach the kid something new. Some people have no imagination.

The Local Giants

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Jeremiah 17:7-8 “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is in the Lord…(my paraphrase) He shall be like a giant tree whose roots run deep to never lack water, and who is never anxious about weather and always produces good fruit.”

Oldest tree I’ve ever known, and next oldest Tributes to the homestead

The two oldest trees on the acreage have been much of my visual focus this winter. The brown barren landscape and the many wind and fire watch weather warnings, makes me wonder how many branches are even left. The oldest tree at over 160 years (planted 1860’s) has such a gnarly look that the squirrels don’t even use it anymore. The second oldest planted approximately 1880’s has a few smaller branches yet and does look to have more recent growth. The most difficult issue with tree second, is that the roots have set out above surface and are in desperate need of topsoil to keep from nicking the mower blades. That’s a definite plan for the lawn care list. These local giants are not ginormous Ents, but they sure are a testament to time and remind me of God’s provision for those who trust in the Lord.

March arrived with some more pendulum temperature swings. One day it’s nearly nice enough to wear only a sweatshirt. The next day we are bundling up in all the winter gear and wearing a scarf to keep the cold from snatching the breath out of our nostrils! So I decided that crochet challenges were again in the works. Marching across the yarn miles with my crochet hook always helps me face the cold days better.

Crochet borders is my current indoor past time. I finished one border on the daybed blanket. And then decided to finish out the “year” memorial with a border that matched some of the flower pattern. Of course after i was done then I thought of another idea for graduating more color use. Oh, well.

First photo from the visit to grandkids, someone thinks it funny to lay “clementine” an orange multi-s1ueaks toy over Kona’s back. The second picture is Kona napping on top of the recently completed lap-ghan (lap afghan) memoir to the year.

Puppy tales untold, Kona’s journal has not had an update for a while. Here’s what he does. I have trained him to find any item that hits the floor. This is important for me as often things roll away from my peripheral and he does a great job. Of course we won’t mention all of the facial tissues he constantly has to give up for finding when I’d prefer he left them alone. Kona also is my alert eyes, when we go places he will point out new entrances into my space and help me know someone os near. Kona also does a pretty good job with occasional guide at stairs and curbs. He has been trained to pause before any change in terrain. If only I would “listen” to the leash changes better. One time he told me there was a parking cement curb, but I missed it. I did not fall just stumble hop. On the way back the exaggerated jump over the cub and his looking back at me said, “watch the curb- you dummy!” I find humor in some of his tell tale ways of “showing” me what is going on. We recently had to take him to church a few times, due to the grandkid mess of items on the floor (quick retrieval for an overnight stay) that did not give us enough time to “puppy proof” the house for him to stay alone. He has done great any time he goes into a social setting. He is so quiet and does his under chair hide that most people don’t even know my alert dog is with me.

The most hilarious happenings are how the grandkids all and have a face-time call he would always begin with “see Cocoa?” Too which I either walked out to see the horse, or had to answer, “Oma is in the house, and Cocoa does not live in the house.” Isaac would repeat “See Cocoa?” Now baby Joseph is about six months old, and already hollers at me with a face-time voice if I am talking to another. Then as soon as he sees me he begins puppy panting so that he can “see Kona.” My little niece Marigold does the same thing. They are concerned for my puppy more than me. Haha.

What do the local Ents have to do with any of this? Except for Charlie barking non-stop up the tree this morning, we don’t think of the two old branch managers often. I mean really, they just stand there looking quite stark naked in their winter chill. Yet, I wonder at all the things that have happened here for the last 150 years. Those old trees have witnessed so much. If only they could talk. What stories would they tell? My dog can’t talk yet he does try to tell me some things, like the lid that fell is still up on the counter somewhere. And little ones that don’t talk yet do try to tell us what they want or need by their cries and or by their giggles. Their are witnesses and evidences of so much if only we have eyes to see or ears to listen.

My new book is the Molly Burke memoir “Unseen.” Now sure I really want to read something that is so close to home. I also have RP and have been legally blind for a number of years. I am glad for tools that help visually impaired persons. Everyone has to have their own “helps.” For some it’s glasses. For some it’s white cane and a dog. For some of us it’s an alert puppy and the ability to Zoom every text out there. For others its people and the most accurate APP available. Don’t get me started on apps and updates!

The Local Ents aren’t telling me any stories yet. I’ll let you know if the trees begin talking. For now they remain silent witness to any changes or weather or happenings here on the homestead.

A lowly friend

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“There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus, no not one, no not one… “. The classic hymn by Johnson Oatman Jr. has been running through my mind for nearly a month now. There are days when grief stricken and sad the tears come unbidden and beg though I try, they will not return from whence they came. There is only one thing left to do. Have a good cry and tell Jesus. He’s the only one who can truly understand my lowly state.

This morning my overnight vigil of sleeplessness hit me rather hard. I had not spent the night crying for “Our Father’s will” to be done. I had really just wanted to sleep. Every hour as my book ended it’s timed reading, my hand would reach for the smart book, and poke the 60 minute timer once again. This happened so many times that by seven a.m. when I hit the “timer” again, it really felt like 3 a.m. and I marveled that the light from the day was now invading my sleepless night.

“No One else could heal all our destress, no not one, no not one.” The morning did not begin so wonderfully. While the AI weather report boasted of a warm sunny day in the first week of February, my spirit was brooding over the lack of sleep, and the tears that were on my pillow all night, continued to spill forth. Really, why was I so crestfallen and despondent over just one night of lost sleep?

All my life I have set separated somehow. Either in a room or class of my own I’m not sure but togetherness has been a hard concept to grasp. Some call it sanctified to be set apart. First as a little tike, it was my size, my deafness, then my eyesight, then in a community where I was an outsider because I had entered the grade school later thatn the other. My “different” -ness kept me just outside the circle or comradeship. It just seemed to continue on all of my life. Through my school years I was the only one that whent home for lunch. Always looked at as a “goody two shoes” my mother even chose to take us outside of the town for church, setting us apart once again.

I finally felt like I belonged in college during the Inter-Varsity Bible study days. And when we were first married, I belonged to the family through my proximity to my husband. But then through the years, we chose a different way of bringing our kids through school. Home Schooling our girls all the way through high school, set us apart once again to be different. And thereby the lack of “friendships” occurred.

I never felt so alone while my girls were with me. I worked hard to think of the years as “preparation” for their futures. And I never felt so very poured out and empty as the year my baby-second daughter went off to college. There seemed to be nothing to keep me afloat anymore.

How could this new set apart feeling be “sanctified?” I wondered at times how I could make it into the next day let alone year or decade. Then I lost my drivers license because my peripheral vision had reached the point of legally blind. The pain that I felt in my aloneness and empty days was only filled once again, by hours of book reading and escape room lifestyle.

“Jesus knows all about our struggles…” In the days after empty nest syndrome, the realization that Jesus was the only one who really knew my day to day struggle became apparent. I tried to call my mother-in-law only to be laughed to scorn with her daily reports of who stopped in for coffee or where whe was at now. Some days it just hurt so bad to hear the report, I did not call. So I began calling my father more. He seemed to get me better.

So this morning when I finished my coffee and the tears were still rolling down my cheeks, I just wanted to talk to my dad. But I cannot. Because he died eight months ago. Four months after my mom-in-law, who died four months after my dad-in-law.

Even one Sunday morning when I found myself sitting alone at church, It occured to me how much of an “outsider” that I felt. The morning fellowship hour, or gossip hour feels so exclusive. Though our beliefs are community and togetherness the gossip hour can be so un-sanctimonious..

Where have I gone wrong? Have I gone wrong? Am I just meant to be seperated out from the mainstay? Am I registering a feeling that is not there? Am I taking too much stock in the “gossip” of others about others and not participating due to lack of knowledge? Or am I destined to be set apart as I have been all of my life because of uncontrollable circumstances…

“There is not an hour that He is not near us, no not one, no not one.” While I look at the past through my sleep deprived filter and consider being set apart due to my deafness, my blindness, my constant thrust into unknown community, my choices in life that poured me out into void and loneliness….. I am glad Jesus has been more constant that the weekly phone calls to my dad. Jesus has been more near that my mother-in-law’s daily visitor report. Jesus has been closer to me that the timed out book reader in the wee hours of quiet loneliness.

Being set aside for a purpose is the definition of sanctified. The Lord chooses whom He may to scrub down, clean up, refine, and move from ignoble to noble duties. Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true.

Yesterday afternoon one of those God moments happened to me. I had such a rough day, with my lack of sleep and tearful remembrances that I thought I should probably have tea in the afternoon. So I dug through the tea box and found one that seemed good for the soul. “Ginger Turmeric Honey” just sounding soothing. I made the tea, sat down with my snack near to hand, took a sip of the now cooled brew, and the floodgates were opened. There before me, was my father, tapping his annoying cane between his legs and telling one of his much repeated tales. The tears just would not stop. I ended up calling my husband at work to help me get through the grief stricken memory. The last time I had that particular tea was at his house and Wally’s wife had bought him some, for herself to drink while there. Oh, but the tears would not stop.

It’s crazy how certain things just take you back to a particular memory. Certain foods, teas, drinks, sounds of Wheel of Fortune wheel ticking, or whatever it is just surprise the mind into memory. And there you are, right back in the moment as if the past five years have never happened. Reality hits you smack in the heart and the spirit bursts forth like a waterfall.

I always liked waterfalls. Until it is tears and emotional remembrances. Yet I am so thankful that I have the memories. There are precious pearls that are not to be traded for the world.

My deafness as a child encouraged my parents to introduce me to music. And though the deafness set me apart within my school mates, (any time someone whispers in public I think it’s rude) it sanctified me in my ability to sit at the piano and focus on my lessons. And though I often feel separated from the fellowship of others, I feel sanctified when I sit at the piano and lead the congregation in praise and worship.

I am learning to look at this feeling of separation from the status quo as being “sanctified” rather than feeling “left out” all of the time. Feelings are not facts in spite of what these young people nowadays might think. Feelings are fickle useless things that often lie. And it is often the enemy of our spirits within to use feelings to trip us up and keep us stagnated self centered and judgmental of others. Somehow, we have to move from the lie of separation to the reality of togetherness.

One day while thinking upon all of this alone set apartness, I came across a video online about connectiveness. The phycological and spiritual explanation was that truth and reality is that we are all part of the “whole” not a singular drop can make up the ocean. One drop of salt water when in the ocean is part of the whole ocean. We as people individually make up the whole of human existence. It’s so hard to explain without the visuals. But with the fact that our community has lost three young lives due to “feeling alone” (suicide) made me rethink this feeling and reality truth.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

Provocations

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Don’t take the bait! This is the best advice that I have ever had or given when it comes to provocations. Whether intensional or exceptional malevolent another’s actions or speech can often drive an emotional response that even surprises the respondent. And yes, unfortunately I have been on either end of the action or spoken misstep. Yet, afterwards it’s my own emotional anxiety that is the temperature gauge that tells me, I took the bait. How did I fail so miserably with this recent provocation.

Letting go of intended or unintended sins against my personhood is part of the constant “forgiveness” lifestyle. Because whether people know it or not, feelings are fickle things, and words often hurt more than they are ever meant too. Forgiving current happenings are often easier than putting back the old dry bones in long lost family closets. Yes, Great Grandma Millie, everyone has skeletons in the closets. It’s those old wounds that fester and turn into anger cesspools when the cisterns are not properly dealt with and dug up when there are least expected. Just when you thought the gravel pit had filled it all in, suddenly there is a leak in the storage tank that was still there. Bother, here we go again finding another painful memory to rehash.

While dealing with the wills and trusts and those left behind things of deceased parents, much has come to mind of the fair treatment or unfair treatment that each child receives. Of course each child probably always thinks that another has the “favorite” treatment.

From the book “Anne of Green Gables”. A quote from Marilla Cuthbert while discussing the bringing up of a girl to her brother Matthew, “I’ve never brought up a child, let alone a girl, and I reckon I’ll make a fine mess of it, but nevertheless I will try my best.” Indeed every parent has made a real fine mess of parenting I dare say.

Lots of flowers in the greenhouse but these two get my attention most. summer gardenia and yellow kalanchoe.

So I suppose it best to take the advice of the old minister, unless you are a parent yourself, don’t give parenting advice. And of course, I have one daughter in the woes and bliss of parenting and the other in the woes and bliss of people management. Two entirely different occupations but nonetheless difficulties of relationships that arise regularly upon which advice is sought.

Being the peacemaker in the family is not my strong suit, but yet being in the ministerial position of come to terms with the moment’s of life is part of what I feel God has tasked me with. Or rather, maybe, finding peace with the life that God has dealt to each of us. I often see people in their moment of difficulty grasping for the answere that is only answered by our Lord.

In the middle of the “chips ahoy” remake. Not sure I like it, but the fabric is so wonderful. It’s the dark nature of the color combination. So even after a remake, it’s not what I would choose. Gavin helped with the color sequence.

I remember distinctly when my father, with a tear rolling down his face, admitted he was having trouble being patient. The only answer that I could give him was Jesus. God is the supply of our every desperate cry. And so, too, now when my family has arrived at a conclusion that is unexpected, some of us must look to His aid in our time of need. Keeping the peace and not letting this moment become a wedge that drives us apart is the battle cry that I have taken up.

Disillusions realized can be quite disheartening. Every adult-child finds themselves at one point or another in the understanding that a parent they thought was invincible or perfect, has toppled from their pedestal. I remember when I first realized that adults could be untrustworthy. At the age of sixteen or so, I was sexually assaulted by an elderly church member. Perhaps this is telling too much. My father stood up for me a resolutely refused to attend the church ever again, if there were no disciplinary steps taken. The church did not remove the elder’s status. My father never went to that church again. He took the opinion that church was full of hypocritical child molesters from that point forward. And to my dismay, my mother continued to attend the church freely forgiving the person who so dismantled my innocence. I never told the rest of my siblings that this was part of the larger puzzle that helped my parent’s marriage fall apart.

I saw this happen. I did not blame myself. For our family had done many a winter puzzles. I knew it was just one piece. But I found that I had not fully comprehended the battle that was going on between the two until decades later. My dad felt that just as this man must of abused me, perhaps my mother’s “spiritual” loyalty was in fact adultery or some other sin. He could not understand her choice to attend the church of an elder whom had so abused his daughter. Of course we won’t discuss his own abuse to he children and wife, that was family and his “right” to treat them as he did.

A small note about family genetics here… My father received the retinal disease RP from his mother, and he in turn passed it on to three of six children. Some find the possibility of blindness absolutely frightening, while those of us with the reality see it as just another part of living. Being legally blind provides a chance to understand that is okay to ask for help, because it gives another to discover the gift of giving. While one may find it difficult to ask for help, a blind person must. This character change moves one from blindness to discernment and those who are honest and helpful rather than seeking a reward for their labor are discovered. Discernment in personal character is not just gifted to some individuals. This “seeing” of another’s motive is learned by trial and error. My dad learned to “see” through people in a way that many people never can. Blindness is not always blind!

So there. The truth or some of the truth has been spilled. Provocations whether purposeful or not happen. Emotions and natural responses happen in the heat of the moment. Decisions are made that ripple throughout the decades. Just like Sarai’s choice to give her servant girl to Abraham, generations pay for the sins of the fathers and mothers no matter if restitution is paid. Choices have consequences.

While this is the most abstract painting that I have ever written, I hope that it has not provoked someone to anger or revenge. I have no desire to take on more than what I am responsible for. We alone can control our own actions. It is not up to us to judge or decide what another’s appropriate or inappropriate actions ought to be. Always and ever the only person we can control is ourselves. And so now in the light of past actions that have been revealed, once again it is only my reaction and my response to this moment in time that I can control and prevent a ripple effect that does not create a tsunami of emotions from others.

I pray for our family that we never led the past of the present divide us. God wants families to stay together, to work together, to love on another and be His voice to the world. Satan wants to steal, kill and destroy and I will not let him get a foothold in our family during this unsettling time. We will not make decisions in the heat of this difficulty that change the outcome of our togetherness over the future decades. Choices have consequences. And I will not regret my actions. I choose to love, to forgive, and to keep peace in the family.

From beinging to the end

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If you have followed me for any amount of time, you might know that I love sharing my Bible readings and insights. Today of course is another of those. And I also love sharing tips about how to expand your thoughts towards God.

I finished the year with a new mosaic crochet tile pattern. Learning curve for me as the green with white one that I did had too many stitches and needs a remake. And of course there is the stash of yarn that’s hope for a hook. I do plan a remake on the “chips ahoy” blanket that I never really liked. I hope to do some sort of add-in and perhaps I will like it then. Or give it away!

Ecclesiastes 3: 11 is a very often quoted verse from the scriptures. Most people know the first part, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” But many do not know the middle section, “He has put eternity in their hearts…” and I venture that some have no idea the last part of the verse is in the same verse as the beautiful quote, Here it is “…except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.” Wow, making everything beautiful is God’s mysterious work and no one has that understanding. There is that moment when the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, when is that exact moment?

God has put eternity in our hearts. Today my dear little cousin is going through yet another colon surgery. The surgeries that he has had are going into the second set of digits on the hands. I cannot imagine the thoughts and fears that he has experienced in his young life. Yet, God has worked eternity into his heart and he asked to be baptized this past Sunday before the upcoming surgery. Such blessed assurance the Lord is working out in his life and those who know him. surely, we cannot find out the work that God is doing from beginning to end.

So today as the beginning of a new year dawns, I wonder at all those who celebrate with hope and joy what God will work in others lives around me. Just like you, the past year held so many tragic images, I want to focus on the beauty that God brought to me.

While my physical eyesight continues to to fail me, and I wonder why things look so blurry, I will gain a better vision of a clear future in eternity. With those who have gone before me, I can hope for our renewed gatherings in glory. The holidays have changed so much without the visits of those whom we held dear. Now heaven is feeling more and more like the “hope of home” than it ever has before. It is no wonder that the older one becomes, the more homesick we are. It is easier for me to imagine my father’s clear vision restored in glory than it is for me to imagine the garden in it’s July prime this next summer. (It’s the weeds that do me in.)

This year in its beginning, I choose hope. The other day as I tried to clean out the library, I asked for my husband’s help. It did not go really well well, and my herbage became nearly worth the little garbage pail in the room. Finally, I asked him to leave, and I would finish the clean up myself. Yes, he was helpful at reading the titles and such, but that task was done, and now it was time to find a new home for the menagerie of items displaced. I did get it done in case you want to know. But it was a new beginning to me, having help with a task that I have done by myself for the past thirty plus years.

And so the beginning of the year has arrived with its new beginnings and its hope for positive endings, like a clean room that one can breathe in once again. Hope is often hard to grasp. The Bible says that “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.” Hope then can be defined as the expectation of a future outcome that drives one to act upon its believed outcome. How does one translate hope into action. Faith that is not active is not full of hope.

The most common simplified version of Hebrews 11:! “ We walk by faith, not by sight.” Yet Faith does have sight! The vision or dream of what will be is what keeps the faithful moving forward towards the prize or the high calling of Christ. Yes HOPE is the ability to see what is not there. The dreamers capacity is HOPE!

From the beginning of this year, I do not know how its end will be. There are so many hopes and dreams. Like the garden of bulbs planted in the fall that one hopes for in the spring, I must decide to do the work of dividing the soil and placing the dead looking object into the ground. Seed planting is how my brain works. Now I must translate the hopeful bulb garden into everyday life and keep “walking by faith.”

“The cold curses the warmth which it desires…”

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J.R Tolkein book review of “The Hobbit” and Book one of “the Lord of the Rings.” Series of books about Hobbit tales of the middle world. While I do not believe in the underlings, half-lings, little people or even the garden gnomes that I might put in my greenhouse, the imagination of such things does keep one ocupied in the midst of possible complete boredom. I actually convinced my hubby to watch the movie Trilogy “Lord of the Rings.”

One thought that keeps reoccurring for me is when Gollum calls the ring “My precious” and I see the discernment of those who would die over something that they will not let go of. What will I hang on to until the death of me because I consider it so precious? For some people it is their independence, for others it is love of other things. What do I hang onto with so much of my might?

Some voices are perfect for falling asleep to. I think of all those times that I went to the sheep barn in the middle of the night and WNAX our local farm radio had it’s programs with all of the UFO sightings etcetera in the middle of the night. Yep, if you stay away all night of course you might begin to believe in all the conspiracy theories out there. You are tired and not thinking straight. Sleeping to “The Hobbit” has become a pretty normal habit for me. If that does not work, then I use my voice only audio Bible as back up. But even then, much of my life at night is spent being awake.

Listening to the explanations at the beginning of the book for the “Two Towers” I found myself nearly in tears as I thought of those whose “precious” thing is eating them alive. The pity and compassion that we should have towards others must not be based on how awful they look of behave. Our compassion should come from knowing the God who in his love for the world, sent His only Son so that we all could be in relationship with Him. Eternal life that is free from. All the sin, guilt, shame, pity, devouring passions of this world.

Pity for the wretched beings must come from the Father of Love and the one who says, “We love because HE first loved us.” If it weren’t for people, loving God would be easy. But God wants us to love Him by loving the people that He has placed in our lives. We love God most when we love the least deserving of the those He puts in our lives to love. Who is my “Smeagol?” Would I let this person lead me to the brink of death?

Moving beyond pity for the wretched towards love and hope that they too will know the peace of God is our ultimate heart challenge. If we are eaten up by hate towards anyone, God gives us the answer in the book of I John. “If anyone hates his brother whom he sees, how then can he love God whom he cannot see?” (I John 4:20) Chapter two shows us that the light of God is not in us if we harbor hate towards a fellow human being.

The story of those who encounter Gollum and do not kill him for the pity of the individual that is so wretched, alone, lonely, and depraved, nearly brought me to tears. I pray that we would soon learn to desire that none should perish. I pray that just as God desires all to come to repentance, we too would hope for the spirit of remorse to be born in the soul’s of those around us.

“The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, as some consider slackness, but long suffering towards us, not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.” 2 Peter 3:9 (ESV)

How does this kind of love translate in my life? Well, today my wretched being is taking hold. The battle against myself rages on. For one thing the family’s upcoming gathering is a “foodie” event. I am not a foodie and it seems every dish will be inedible due to my allergies. It is so hard to enjoy the anticipation when it holds so much anxiety. Unfortunately I let that enter a recent text in a group chat. Bugger, but I am a sinful human being.

Our grand-dog is here for a few days. After about day three, his displacement from home really sets in. I do feel for him, but the constant underfoot thing gets annoying. So we think about Octave’s visit to our house for four days… Kind of like having all four from the Seinfeld group our cats in the house, always wherever you want to step. Having a dog without purpose in my house is pretty difficult. He may have purpose at his home, but here, it’s just putting up with a critter in the way. He comes when I call Kona to do his job (find the empty water bottle that fell off the counter). He comes when I try to go out the door and stands in the way of the door handle. He comes when I go to the sofa and sits in my place. He Does Not Come when you call him inside. I refuse to beg my daughter’s dog to do what he should. The roles seem to be reversed. No thank you. So yeah, after four days he is feeling a little home sick. It it might go both ways. Poor thing, just wants to be loved. Come on, Oma, be nice!

So how does the cold curse the warmth in my life? And now on to the next thing. The home phone does not work and they are suppose to come fix it today. Be a whole lot of bark noise soon!

Stacking Logs for the Yuletide

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Of visions and dreams, many of which are in the past, here are a few that I cannot forget. I hope that I am gaining some insight from these night time entertainments!

As a little child, trying to climb the ladder, only to find it leads to a diving board that is over the abyss of fire and there is no answer. This dream came before my understanding of Jesus as my Savior. I have dreams of ladders still, but mostly of steps, or staircases that seem never to end. Now I know Jesus is the bridge across the divide.

In Iowa when I was seeking purpose as my children were little and husband was suffering from depression and thyroid crash beginnings, I had many “sound” visions. The alarm, the telephone ringing, the trumpet blast, the thunderous waterfall, the wind in the wilderness, and others. Most of them were followed by specific Bible passages and the interpretation or understanding to go with these verses. I wrote many songs during that time frame and my ears were open to the words of the Holy Spirit. It is such a strong relationship memory with My Lord and I. So thankful that God carried me through my illness with ITP for 12 years with a close walk those four or five years.

Another reoccurring dream is stacking logs. I still don’t quite fully understand all the implications except for the accumulation of of things and stuff on this earth. Things and stuff are such a trap and the weight of all this stuff and really ruin a person. It’s hard, because our parents havee spent 50 plus years of gathering things and left them to be dispersed only by what stuff we have ourselves to divide all out betwixt ourselves and our children. How do I essentially leave a legacy that is not simply a pile of logs to be burned up?

This little cupboard is a washstand replica that my father-in-law made for me. I filled it with my “logs” of shawls. It’s probably time to gift a few of them!

And then one day, I thought of the visuals of yarn logs, or cakes of yarn and the walls behind some of my favorite you tube tutorial teachers…. Is crocheting my “stacking of logs” just to be burned up? I better think of a better use of my projects for proper give-away.

This month, I changed my thought process on yarn projects. Oh, how I love the warm shawls while I sit and work. But no one else seems to value the prayer shawl as I do. So it’s time for Christmas ornaments, doily displays, pillows, or afghans. What are the most common give-away items for crochet, I thought? So, I looked it up.

Hats, scarves, blankets, animal stuffies and … dishcloths. Well, dishcloth’s are out as I have an entire bag full of them. Oh yes bags! I love making bags. Scarves are quick and blankets are time consuming. Ahhh, yes, the hats! The whole set is fun, with the mittens, turtle scarf (cowl neck warmer) but what other home decor can I give away?

These two matching pillows are hot off the hook! I just finished the matching one on the right after I found my yarn stash in the tote under the bed.

And while I was making those pillows, my mind went to the lost cause… well, okay, the lost yarn. When the kids came to stay in August I spend a few days hurriedly packing away much of my clutter. That included several bags of yarn and loose end projects. But where had I stashed the yarn? I spent the next few months looking for the yarn. I tore apart three closets and put everything back. Then I cleaned under all the beds and got rid of the dust bunnies. Until finally last Saturday, I began to wonder if the one bed had four totes under it instead of just three. There at last I found my whole tote full of yarn! Now I could make the matching pillows!

so, yes, stacking logs is not my favorite past time experience anymore. Stacking crochet shawls should not be either. Perhaps gifting away many of my projects should be more in my thought process than just passing the time. The stuff can start spilling out of all the corners and all the closets, and all the totes pretty quickly!

Play ball Oma?

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How to remember all those cute little things that grand children say? Well, first off, write them down! Because suddenly two years have passed by, and I am trying to so hard to remember all their little one time cuteness. Or recall just exactly what was happening when the child’s bits of wisdom are shared like nuggets of gold that are tucked away in the heart for future reference.

The family requested that I write some stories about the grand kids. So here goes. And a little disclaimer, being rather busy in the greenhouse and garden season beginnings has kept me out of the library which is my primary writing zone. Actually, since the library thinking zone days, I got myself a naughty little Shih Tzu that will not leave some things alone in there, therefore I usually write while he sits within view. The library table faces the white board, and he gets away with “murder” of some object when my back is to him. Actually, I loaned the library table to my hubby’s computer work station and now I try writing at my little secretary next to the doggie’s station-bed, water toys, rug, etc.

I started this writing over two years ago. Oops. And the running log of things just never really made it unto the published pages. So to unfinished symphonies and books and dishes and laundry, we say, “hello!” Perhaps today is the day that both of the sinks in the kitchen will be empty.

A grunt porch bench moment with the kiddos.

After four and a half days babysitting the four grandchildren while we waited for the arrival of number five, I am being a plant. My “working woman” daughter tells me, it is my day to just be a plant. Sit in the sun and soak up some water and rest. I’ll take that bit of wisdom to heart. Every forty five minutes I change the laundry around, and take fifteen minutes to do some tidying up after the children. And then I think of less than 24 hours earlier. My “Opa” hubby was getting irritated at the constant door slamming, and I reminded him, “Well, someday the door will be quiet, they won’t slam doors anymore and we’ll wish them back to childhood.” The time flies much too quickly.

Teaching the grandchildren to use their imagination has been one of my favorite time with kiddos enjoyment. Isabelle was just learning to play downstairs by herself, when she learned how to let her imagination run away from her. She was busy playing, when all of a sudden she burst into a blood curdling scream. Her momma ran down thinking that she was hurt, and the little voice cried, “but the dinosaurs were coming to get me!” Of course the sounds were the creaking of the floorboards as momma walked upstairs. From that moment on Isabelle had such a hard time going down to the basement by herself.

It was quite the turn of a new leaf when one day at the new (second) house, she went downstairs totally on her own while I was there. She is growing up right before our very eyes. And there is the Noelle stairs story to tell.

Noelle is our little Christmas snow bird. She has had therapy to force her to development the ‘walking” muscles. While screaming her drama queen tears, she has made it through learning to crawl, walk, run and say all kinds of nearly two words. The other day, the therapist was teaching her how to go down the stairs on her feet while hanging on to the railings posts. She cried the whole time. We worked so hard to get her to sit and go down the stairs safely and not fall. For a few months that was the warning, “sit down Noelle, so you don’t fall.” And now suddenly we are telling her to stand up, hold on to the post and step down the stair-steps. I can hear the protest in her mind. She is hearing, “Stand up and I will fall down”. Not stand up, use the posts, and walk. Uff day. These learning curves are hard.

“Play Ball, Oma!” This story occured at the table of the first house, while Isaac was still in the high chair. Melody had already been born, and Isaac and I were finishing up lunch. He was already in play ball mode of boyhood, and any moment to do so was necessary. So when he spoke his little query, I responded with, “Shall we play baseball? Or football?” “Baseball!” Was the response. I told him to use his fork for the bat and I would pitch an imaginary ball to him. “You wind up and smack that ball for a home-run, okay?” So we proceeded to do so, and just as he hit the imaginary ball clear over the back field fence, his plate nearly went off the tray. Well, okay maybe it did hit the floor, I don’t remember now, but then the wisdom moment arrived. And I said, ‘oh, no! Isaac, see that’s why we should not play ball at the table.” His eyes were big, and there was no scolding or laughter. But we both learned to use our imaginations better!

Tromping through the yard and yelling “cocoa!”s. Learning about inside and outside voices. The little ones that remember Cocoa the horse, had to learn that the horse could not hear them in the house. (Well, actually, he could hear and he use to be down at the end of the Walnut tree line, staring at the house wondering when we were going to come out with an apple.). But it was a good lesson to learn how to holler outside. Cocoa always came running when their little voices called. Even if they were on face time, Cocoa would come to snicker at them!

It was pretty sad when Melody, who was just walking followed the troupe outdoors calling for our favorite equine, Cocoa had passed away just a few months prior, and Isaac so matter of factly stated, “Cocoa died Melody!” I was carrying baby Noelle, I think and had to call for Isabelle to come hold Melody’s hand because she was now sad and crying. Lessons in death, all a year or so before the Great grandparent traveled on to eternity.

One day in June the summer after Noelle was born, Noelle told me she likes rainbows She had a little children’s book that she was looking at, and it is Noah and the ark Then Melody and I read through the children’s Bible storybook Afterwards Noelle wanted to turn pages so she turned the pages until it got to Noah’s Ark Then she put her hands flat on the page and looked at the rainbow , then to me. Oh, I said, that’s the same story in your little book. She began baby talk and would not let me turn the pages one way or the other. I thought about Jesus saying “out of the mouths of infants and children the Lord has ordained praise.” Indeed,

One last short story. Just the other day I had baby Joseph on my lap and he was holding my thumbs while Isaac sat on the floor in front of us. We had our first imagination play session. I asked Isaac if perhaps maybe, Joseph would want to drive the tractor with Opa. “Yeah,” he replied. So we did. We began driving all of the things on the farm, making all of the motor noises. Then we advanced to motorcycles,, and finally to the speed rocket motorcycles. Of, course, I was not being as wild as when the child gets older. But as we got to the fast moving high pitched motor sound, Isaac said, “Joseph is happy now!” “Oh, no!” I declared, “we have created a speedster child!”

Then, I asked Isaac if he remembered riding monocycle and monster truck on Oma’s lap. He said he did very matter of factly. That seemed so awesome to me. To have such early memories. But he also remembers rolling across the floor and getting his head stuck under the sofa, and I had to rescue him. All first year memories. I stated, “Wow, that’s great, Oma used to help Melody ride horses. She liked horses best.” And she still does. When they came for an overnight stay, she had all of them out, only to discover that one has a saddle, but no Barbie doll to ride on it. Well, we will have to fix that I suppose.

Out of the Silence

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New book reviews and learning to reflect. While I have “read” nearly four or five books in the past few months, the book that I am doing right now is “Unlearning Silence.” (author Elaine Lin Hering)

Today as I listened about silencing personhood spirits, I thought of the verse from Jesus about murdering and killing with words. So many times we “joy kill” or “steal dreams” and how has this happened in my own life, or have I done this to others.

I have a few silencing stories to share that probably would make the other person cringe if they really knew what had happened or how I felt in the situation. One recently was while discussing allergy experience and taking the right anecdotes. I tried to tell about my learning as was silenced as if my knowledge was inferior and incomprehensible. I felt “idiotic”or “dumbed down” by the way I was responded to. It was a real turn off. Yep, I decided not to share my “knowledge” anymore. Even though I knew that I was right and my ER visit was more recent than the other person I was talking to.

Another time in my life I asked a friend for a ride to one of my daughter’s daytime recital hours, only to be refused with “Oh, I don’t think I can do that.” I was so hurt by the rejection, I really never asked this person for anything ever again. And while she still attempts friendliness, my heart has been guarded ever since that rejection and careful not to set myself up for pain. What kind of true friendship is that?

Another time of being “shushed” that really stepped on my toes was when a conversation between two women had a moment where I felt I could relate. I tried to say something about my father in a related sitiuation only to be literally “shushed” by one of the women. It was so painful. And knowing this relationship was in the season of “coffee hours” spend together, while I was in so much pain and loneliness missing the exact “time” and relational season. There were so many moments in that season where I was silenced by the individual, I had a lot of letting go and soul searching to do while I waited for the person to come back to even being “interested” in my caring, sharing and prayers.

Today’s exercise is all about breaking the silence, coming out of the isolation, and finding connections. One time about a year or so ago, someone actually told me “thank you” for sharing in my blogs about being blind and going blind. So here’s my frustration from just this week. My apologies for this being so real and sharp. If just one person hears this, it was worth saying.

Someone is probably not going to like this story of silencing at all, and that’s okay, because it’s my story to tell. When my husband and I were dating we used to go out to eat with a group of friends to a local Mexican restaurant and have a late night meal. While for the most part these memories are very fun and memorable, there is one night when things took a very hard turn. One of the participants in the group gave him a birthday present this first August that was the perfect silencing gift. Perhaps getting a can of WD40 spray oil is normal. Later on I asked what was meant by it. He did in all honesty not seem to mind that this “mean” person essentially told everyone there she could not stand that at times I would “squeak.” I was not aware of my laughter snort or squeak and it took me awhile to get the whole meaning behind this silencing. Funny how it really did set up the relationship over the next many years to be one in which I was inevitably “shut down” and being myself was never welcome around this person. It really saddens me to see that this practice has come full circle and the very person who gave him the oil can has been silenced by a health crisis.

Sunday we went to church and were a little late in arriving for the fellowship hour. The ladies table was full and the next table over was relatively empty when I entered. My husband did not get me coffee or find me a seat. I walked very slowly toward the coffee bar and there was a toddler standing in the center of the walking aisle. Thank goodness I saw the toddler. His sibling was sitting in the chair back turned and saw my interaction with the little guy. “That’s our baby!” She stated. I responded with, “well, he doesn’t look much like a baby ‘cause he’s standing up already!” Yeah, she said and went back to her snack. The little guy was not going to move, so I patted him on the head and walked past. No failing eyesight at that moment. Win. Next, I picked up my coffee and greeted my relative. She is hard of hearing now, so it was just a shoulder squeeze and a smile. Then it was time to decide about sitting. I chose a seven year old boy eating his snack alone. My chat with him was engaging and fun. Time to head to class the moment to connect was over.

My eyesight traps me in a little hallway sometimes. Like there is invisible walls on either side of me and seeing an open doorway to another individual most often times is missed. Sometimes I wonder just how many times someone has tried to engage me with a smile, a word not heard (I am also completely deaf in my left ear) and someone thinks that I am just rude. Really, I simply did not see.

I went to the doctor on Friday for my earaches. My allergies have arrived at the point where it feels like someone stuck a marble behind each ear. Pretty painful. The nurse leading me to the room said “we’ll turn right into this room“ while she gestured with her hand to go left. I actually caught the gesture and and then she said “I mean the other right-LEFT.” I laughed, and said it’s okay, I actually saw that gesture with your hand this time.

My eyesight got ahold of me yesterday and I tried to shut the door over my little granddaughter’s toes. I had not seen her there in the doorway when I came in. Rough moment. Her cry demanded my response and my apology, “I’m, sorry, Oma did not see you here in the door. It’s probably not the best place to be when someone is coming in and out. Will you forgive me for hurting your toe?” It was met with an “okay” and a sniffle. Bother for teaching these little one’s the hard way about my eyesight. I hate that I have to hurt them for them to understand.

The end of the book is not here yet. I guess I am a little slow if I only read for a half hour at a time. The book came from the State Library and while I intended to send it right back with the reader, and get set up on BARD on my phone, nothing has happened yet, so I’m still listening. Sometimes it is kind of like the radio, where it’s nice to have someone else pick the music. Maybe we will listen to something we’ve never heard before and actually enjoy it. Books are like that. I don’t always know what to pick. Like when we try to pick a movie on the watch app only to still be surfing the titles thirty minutes later. Recommendations are great!

While I am still attempting to listen and be correct in my speech this journal entry is now too long. So on I go into the next. Silence is deafening today as the wind is blowing a bit too much. The classic radio is going, the Bible is droning in the background, and I’m thinking about who I can call and suffer through a phone call with!