The Askeance

God’s Comma – April 18

2010-04-20T03:00:00.000-07:00

Imagine if you will, that in anticipation of the arrival of your children, you have decided to create a wonderful gift for them. You put everything that you have, everything that you are into the creation of this gift. All because you want to show them how much you love them. You know that this gift provides sustenance to the life of your children? If when you give this gift, and your children show gratitude and respect and handle it with care, knowing this care would prolong the lifetime of this gift. This would make you very happy, joyful in the giving, wouldn’t it? Knowing your work and effort were not made in vain. That would be great, would make any parent proud. But what if just the opposite happened? What if, in the delivery your children showed indifference and disregard for all that this gift meant? My guess is, you would be disheartened and hurt. So, which description of these children would you best define yourself as?

Now in our scripture readings, the first scripture was from the first book of the Bible and its called Genesis, a book of origins. It’s a story of how we came to be, came to find ourselves in the world, our home that God created as a gift. Genesis begins by telling us that God created the heavens and the earth and then after he created the heavens and the earth and all things upon it, he created the first human beings, Adam and Eve. So God created all the things of the heaven and the earth in anticipation of the creation, and the arrival of his first children. (Can you see where I’m going with this?) And then God placed Adam and Eve in this beautiful garden. Eden was perfect; it had rivers running through it, all sorts of flowers and fruit bearing trees. It was beautiful. In this garden, God gave Adam and Eve meaningful and significant work, in this work they were partnered with God in the caring of the world. The humans were partnered with God. God’s initial intention was that his human children ‘creations’ would partner with him in the care of this home in which he had gifted them with. We are told that there was peace and harmony between human beings, and between humans and God, and that in this garden there was a tree, called the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. God has such respect for his creations, (that would be us). That he let’s us live however we want, we CAN live how he created us to live or we can make up our own rules and live however we want. God never, ever forces himself on anybody, God says you can live how you want or you could live how I created you to live. It’s almost as if God is saying, “It’s your choice”. It is our choice, maybe the greatest power of this story is not so much that it happened, but that, it happens, it is still happening. This is how our story begins. Our story is one of beautiful creation through love, partnership and choice.

The second scripture reading is from the end of the Bible, the book called Revelation. The last book of the Bible tells us how everything ends. At the end God says, “I’m going to make all things new again”. He creates a new heaven and a new earth and we’re told WHAT this new heaven and new earth are going to be like, that there will be rivers running through it, we’re told that there will be a healing of the nations, meaning that we will all get along, living in harmony. We’re told that we will actively participate with God in taking care of this new world that we find ourselves in, and in the middle of it all there will be a tree. This ALL has a familiar ring to it doesn’t it? In the beginning in Genesis, there was a tree, right in the middle of the Garden of Eden. In Revelation, there is a tree right in the middle of God’s perfect new garden. If this is how it ends and Genesis is how it begins, then we have to ask the question, “Are we living between these trees?” Are we supposed to be actively participating in taking care of our world now?

In Genesis, our readings covered some of the creation story, which is actually a poem, a very long and radical (for it’s time) poem, You see, in the culture at this time, there were several other creation stories? But the central creation story that was popular among the masses, when Genesis emerged, taught that the world came about because of conflict. The belief was that the world came about because this god was mad with that god, and this god was jealous of that god. And there was this massive war in the skies between these mythological gods, and essentially out of this conflict came the earth. So the basic belief among most people at the time of Genesis is that the earth came about because some gods were upset, out of their primeval conflict in battle, we got the world that we know.

Then this Genesis poem charges onto the scene and it’s similar in many ways to those poems, it’s speaks of land, sky and sea, and creating and shaping and forming and clay/dirt. It has many of the same elements, and yet it makes vastly different claims, this poem arising out of the same culture, says, no. We are not here because of divine conflict, we are here because of this one true God, who exists in some sort of loving, endlessly giving, generous community, and covenant/relationship with humanity. This one God, is so filled with joy and beauty and creativity, it’s as if this God can’t help but create. I mean this God starts creating things, and then this God complements himself on his creations, like “Oh Man! That’s good!” This God loves to make things so much so that this God just makes things and makes things. This God makes things and then says to them, “Okay, now you make more and more!” This God loves to make things that can make things. This God makes people, in this God’s own image and says to them, “Now you take care of it and share in my joy!” Because our one true God finds great joy in creating, he longs to share in that joy. This poem was absolutely radical in human history, because it said we’re not here because of conflict, we’re here because of joy. We are the result of divine creativity that said, “ I can’t help but give, and spread what I have to,… more.

This concept, where we are given partnership by God in the care of this world is not my original idea. It’s been around as long as there have been theologians. Sometime in history, I think it was right after the canon of the Holy Bible, people started asking questions, because there were many other writings that didn’t make it into the Bible. Many people felt that these other, unchosen writings were just as sacred and divinely inspired, so they were a little upset with the idea. The answer that they got from Constantine was this, “The included books are sanctioned and verified to be the inspired words of God, period. There are no more, nor will there be more, period. FINI!” Of course it’s obvious that Constantine was a dictator and the use of the two periods, I think meant that you had better not ask again, or else. So what did this mean exactly? Just a few of the many questions that rose up were; does this mean that God has stopped speaking? And if God is done speaking, does that mean God has gone away and left us? Is God finished in his divine creations?

One thing that you might notice, is this; in the creation process, AS God goes along, his creations become more and more complex, more advanced, more sophisticated. (That’s why he created woman last) at least in the poem. There’s theory/label that scholars have placed on this type of creation story, it’s called “unfinished creation”, I prefer to call it “open ended creation”. The premise of this theory is; in the creation of all things, God created things that create more of the same things. Thus, God created trees, trees bear fruit, fruit drops to the ground and leave seeds, the seasons come and the seasons go. And from these seeds, more trees will grow. Animals and all CRATURES, procreate. Humankind mates and propagates the species. Because of this, God’s creation never ceases. We are all a part of this process, partners in creation. We create, because God has given us this ability.

I think this answers at least two of those questions, no, God is not done speaking and creation,.. never ends. The comedian, Gracie Allen said, “Never put a period, were God has placed a comma.” Gracie had smarts. God is not done with us yet, and he ain’t going nowhere.

Now with ability, comes responsibility. With partnership, comes accountability. Earlier I asked two questions, 1) Which type of child would you best define yourself as? And 2) Are we supposed to be actively participating in taking care of our world now? The answer to both is simple. It’s your choice. So how about it, do you choose to go through life, and not notice all the beauty of the earth? Have you not unwrapped all the gifts that we have been given? Do you just slide by on the surface of life, not even trying? Are you just waiting for the end, do you think that God is not yet here, but is out there somewhere? Or are you looking at nature and witnessing God? You know Jesus was always saying things about nature, pointing out the significance of the beauty in nature. He would say, “Look at how the birds fly,” or “Have you noticed how beautiful the flowers are in the meadow?”

So where does beauty come from? Who invented art and music? Who invented laughter? Who thought all this up? I mean beauty and wonder and awe, where does it come from? Why is it, that when we humans are surrounded by greenery, we feel so alive and filled with healthy oxygen, our life source, God’s breath? We live between the trees, in a world drenched in God. We are all immersed in God’s love. Some people ask, “Where is God?” But maybe a better question would be; where isn’t God? His fingerprints are all over our world. Or maybe it is His world and they are our fingerprints. How can we live in this world, as believers in God, followers of Christ, and not hold everything that is here as sacred? Why would we treat the sacred gifts of God with disregard and disrespect? Why is it that even one single day passes by, and we can’t find gratitude in what we have? Are we so poor of thought, that we can’t even pay attention?

There’s an ancient Jewish saying, that a person’s good deeds are used by God as seeds to plant the very trees of Eden. By our faith, by our thoughts, our actions, our love, you and I enter into this kind of relationship with God. And the very trees of paradise are being planted. Please believe that you can partner with God in redeeming and restoring this fallen, broken, hurting world? There is an observance this week, it’s called Earth Day. I urge you to participate, why do we just give our sacred home one day a year? Do we actually have to be reminded to take this gift back into our hearts? The earth is God’s awesome gift which sustains us, His children. May you choose to be a partner with him in making this the kind of place that God originally intended it to be. Be the kind of person that when you live this way, the very trees of paradise are being planted. And may you notice all that surrounds you and witness God. Remember, we are not here to merely exist, but as an extension of God’s presence.

Statement of Faith

2010-01-08T11:27:00.000-08:00

(In the Systematic Theology class the first assignment is as such; provide a first draft of your personal statement of faith, we were given three pages to do this, doubled spaced, with a twelve point font. I don't know about you, but for me, three pages is pretty skimpy as far attempting to state all of my beliefs, but I gave the condensed version of the good ole college try.)

The most fundamental and basic testament that I proclaim regarding my faith is this; I believe in God and I feel a profound love for this God, a love that I feel deeply committed to, from an inexplicable, innate place within myself and without question. The love a child feels towards a parent. I have taken Jesus Christ as my savior, both personally and socially. I believe that God loves all of us and wants us to love Him back. In the Book of Matthew, Jesus proclaimed the greatest commandments to be: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.'" So God wants our love for Himself and wants us to love all of our brothers and sisters in the family of man. I believe that the manner in which you love others is a testament to the way that you love your God and the more you love, the more you are loved. And the more love that you allow into your life, the closer you move to God. When we love from a pure state within our hearts, without personal agenda, we please God. Love is that essential tether that binds us all together and to our Creator.

I believe that each individual’s relationship with their Creator is the most intimate, life defining and fulfilling that there could ever be. I would never take it upon myself to attempt to legislate or dictate to another person on just how they should conduct this relationship. However, I would encourage each person to think about what they are doing, saying or reading, think about it and then think about how you are feeling when you do these things.

I see God in my autistic son’s face, innocent and clean- a reflection of nothing but pure love and honesty. I see God in the face of my mother, in her eighth year of the Alzheimer’s journey, where as in many ways she has returned to innocence and new experiences while retaining a glimmer of her gentle wisdom, all done with inner strength and dignity. But I also long and seek to look for the face of Christ in the face of all humans and find it there, for we are a part of God as His/Her creation. It is in those moments, when I am attempting to aide my mother or son, those moments when I am working out of love, outside and beyond myself, when I feel God’s presence the strongest.

I believe the Holy Bible to be a supreme guide for faith and life. Man’s written interpretations of God’s word, including the Gospel teachings of Jesus Christ, initially inspired by the original author’s great faith in God, and His/Her hand of divine inspiration. By divine inspiration I mean that the original writing came from someplace ‘outside’ of the author’s common vernacular. It is a living book that can provide answers for life’s many questions. It touches each individual on a personal, intimate basis. Though I feel God’s judgment and knowledge to be infallible, I find man’s (human kinds) translations and commentaries to be just that. I also believe that the Bible can and does mean different things to different people, and should be individually interpreted.

“I AM” is God’s proof/description for His presence and existence. And that He has unquestionable and distinct authority over His humankind. “I AM” is not only His given name but referring to the fullness of His nature, which is omnipresent in His forever wholeness, meaning that He is simply the sum total of everything in existence. And He is beyond space & time; God is not only expressing His existence but showing that He is eternal.

Jesus was born of a human woman into the flesh of human form; he may have had fallibility in while in his human body, yet he had a divine connection to His father God. He was in existence with God prior to His birth (pre-existence) and he was with God from the beginning of all time because He is God, God sent the Son down to give his word’s to communicate with human kind in a manner which we could understand. He attempted to teach us how to love and share and strive to be what God wants us to be, strip us of our sins and ready us for the coming of the Holy Spirit.

I find and feel God in the process of my artwork, which sometimes is completed inexplicably through and before me. When the textures become apparent and real and the emotions that I felt at the inner sight of conception are perfectly expressed through the medium on the canvas. When the music that I write comes to me in a flash, words, rhythm, and melody flowing together with no effort on my part. When the message is conveyed with such a strong image that my own creation brings me to tears, I fall into bed exhausted and dream of God.

Now I see God, and His beauty in practically everything that I come into contact with, when I take the time to really think about it I find more than just a flicker of that awe, I find everything good that I carry within myself and I am filled with an indescribable gratitude and joy. Everything that is love brings thoughts of God to me.

I think that God always acts within our best interests, but we (being human kind) want God always to answer in the way and manner that we want Him/Her to. Much like spoiled children, we tantrum and act out when we do not get our way with immediate gratification. God may say no when answering some of our prayers, but only because God knows in the end, what is best for us. God is always there to guide us, if we would just ask for direction. And we will only get to the correct destination if we listen and follow those directions. God is there to comfort us, if only we would lay back into His arms and allow ourselves to be carried. God will always love the world, no matter the count of how many times we look away and choose to hurt Him. I believe that God acts out of mercy, compassion and infinite love. There is so much that we as mortals and Christians, do not know and cannot understand for we are only finite. We cannot even begin to understand God in His infinite nature and wisdom. We can only be carried in His love.

(If this posts appears a little weird, I am aware of that fact, I can't edit the spacing and I am getting more that a little frustrated. I will confer with the Guru this afternoon and see if I can rectify the matter, thanks for your patience.)

A Parable - The Bird, the Feather and the Wind

2009-12-18T15:33:00.000-08:00

(I teach a class in parallel Bible study every Friday night. A couple of weeks ago I was ill and my husband, Mark was the substitute for me. Mark assigned a homework paper as follows: the students were to write a parable, bring it to the next class and share it with his/her fellow students. I decided that it would only be fair to complete the assignment. Here it is.)

A bird glides upon the air, turning this way and that.
It trusts in the strength of the wind and the lightness of it's own frame
to carry it along it's way, effortless, there is confidence in it's pattern,
manipulating it's own wings in flight.

With a sharp turn a single feather pulls away and floats gracefully to the ground.
For the most part this pattern glides unnoticed, but for it's shadow upon the rocks.
The feather's existence is simple and silent, but it exists in beauty, none-the-less.
A thoughtful gust comes along, inviting the feather into another dance.

The bird does not acknowledge the separation of the feather's freedom.
After all the feather has no substantial weight or volume.
Instead the bird continues on to the safe destination of it's home and nest.
This bird craves nothing but the safety it alone has created there.

Rising up in a whirl of graceful advance the feather has no muscle or wing,
Yet it glides along smoothly, carried by trust in the strength of the wind.
The feather does not guide or question the destination or it's flight,
The feather has no thought, but only sheer, silent faith.

The bird thinks that he is good and beautiful.
He has faith is his well honed skills of life.
This bird sings each morning, praises for it's own song.
This bird believes that only he is responsible for it's own life.

The feather is unaware of it's own remarkable design and beauty,
the intricate design of trundles flowing in and out like a breath.
It exists only to be carried by the wind, the feather listens only to one sound.
The sound of the wind combing through it's delicate and innocent trundles.

Commentary:
-The bird is an adult Christian who believes he is good and honest and living the best life that a human can. but he does not know complete trust in God and unquestionable faith.

-The Feather is an innocent child who wants and knows only love. He/she loves completely and trusts without question, because this child has not yet 'gained the ability' of the "mis'" in life; like mistrust. So trust, love and faith fill the child's entire being. And so the child feels only the safety in being carried along in life by LOVE.

-The Wind is God, whom will carry all of HIS children along, if allowed, whether they are fully aware of or acknowledge this fact or not. We are carried along by God's expansive LOVE.

The Joy of Repentance

2009-12-07T01:24:00.000-08:00

(Okay, so maybe this will be a more appropriate posting than the last one. It's funny but I try not to feel sorry about what I wrote about Tiger Woods, but remorse always seems to creep it's way into my heart. The thought of his behavior still makes me angry and I feel so terrible in thinking about what his family is going through right now. I felt compelled to speak my mind and I did, and that is what I will live with and stand by my convictions. You can't change the past, only the future.

On Sunday, Dec. 6th I preached the sermon at the Granger Christian Church- Disciples of Christ. I based my sermon on the current lectionary scriptures for the Advent Season. The primary scripture assigned for this the second Sunday in the Advent season is Malachi 3:1-6, which deals with judgment and repentance. Eek! I gave it a good try.)

Confession and Repentance

Dec 6th – 2nd week of Advent

Malachi 3:1-4 Luke 1:68-79 Luke 3:1-6

Remember when you were a child and anticipating the coming of Christmas- not just the thought of the gifts would make you all excited, but the pure magic of it all. The lights and the carols, the school programs, and having time off of school! A time when your family came together to celebrate. Do you remember the countdown calendars? Oh, I loved those things! They would only help to build up the anticipation more! And then on the eve of Christmas, as a child you could hardly breathe! You swore that you were not going to fall asleep, but you were going to sneak a look at jolly old St. Nick. You lay in bed and listen for the sound of sleigh bells and hooves skittering across the roof above. I would be so restless with excitement, I didn’t think could stay still. I used to make deals with myself. If I stayed in bed and could count to one hundred, one hundred times, then when I finished it would be alright to get out of bed and it would be morning and our gifts would be in place and ready to open. But inevitably I would be overcome with sleep sometime during my counting prayers, but always, my counting prayers would be answered and I would awake to gifts and magical Christmas fun with my siblings. So it all seemed to work out in the end. It’s funny but I never ever questioned that come Christmas morning my counting prayers would be answered. I had a child’s trust, a child’s faith. It seems that the image and lines between St Nicholas and God were so often blurred as we were told the stories of the first Christmas, maybe St Nick’s heart was filled with the Holy spirit. I think that it would be a good idea to strive to enter this season with the anticipation, trust and faith of a child in order to make our seasonal intentions more pure. So you see, to me Christmas is not necessarily about the presents, but rather about God’s presence.

Today’s first lectionary scripture is Malachi 3 verses1-4 familiar to many from its use in the beautiful Handel's Messiah, this passage from Malachi speaks of purification and judgment, themes not generally associated in the popular imagination with Christmas. Nevertheless, Advent is, of course, preparation not only for a remembrance of Christ's first coming as a baby, the celebration of Christ’s birth, but also for Christ's second coming, in power and glory. And we use the occasion to remember Jesus’ promise to come again. In the anticipated coming of Christ, we wait and we prepare.

Malachi 3 starts out, “See, I will send my messenger, who will prepare the way before me.” The Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke refer to this passage as prophecy, foretelling the coming of John the Baptist. This Old Testament reading is paired in the lectionary with the song of Zechariah after the birth of John the Baptist in Luke 1 verses 68-79 and the account of the beginning of John's ministry in Luke 3 verses1-6. John the Baptist is the one that God refers to as the messenger sent "to prepare the way before me", He is, as his father echoes later on, in Luke 1:76, the one who will "go before the Lord to prepare his ways".

If "my messenger" in Malachi 3:1 is consistently identified with John the Baptist in early Christian interpretation, then, "the Lord whom you seek" and "the messenger of the covenant" are most often identified with Jesus Christ himself. It is the Lord who is like a refiner's fire and like fullers' soap. It is Jesus who will purify the people of the covenant. And, despite our feelings or fears about the matter, this is actually good news! Sin separates us from God. Sin clouds and distorts the good creation God made us and meant us to be. And we are helpless to clean ourselves. Or are we? Enter the refiner of gold and the washer of clothes, to do the cleaning for us? In this Advent text, we are far from Bethlehem and the sweet strains of "Away in a Manger."

Repentance is not an easy process, of course. There is pain involved in refining and cleansing. There is pain involved in dying and rising. But it is a process that is designed for our good, for our well-being, to prepare us for the coming of the Lord. God comes into our midst as Emmanuel, comes to destroy the evil, He comes to draw us out of death into life, into His eternal realm. And though that can be an alarming prospect, it is also one that should fill us with great joy.

It is thought that only when we consider the possible wrath of God, can we also recognize His incomparable kindness. God comes into the very midst of evil and of death, and judges the weaknesses in us and evil in the world. And by judging us, God cleanses and sanctifies us. He comes to us with grace and love.1 Through him and only through him, are we able to name our sins and to enter into repentance.

These are apt words to us in this Advent season. ‘God is coming’. God is coming as a baby in Bethlehem, but God is also coming again "in glory to judge the living and the dead," as the Nicene Creed puts it. And what is our response? Well according many early Christians, any reasonable person should feel at least some healthy respect. You know I find it very remarkable that most of us contemporary Christians face the thought of God’s coming, so calmly, whereas previous generations trembled at this same thought. Have we become so accustomed to the idea of God’s divine love and of God’s coming at Christmas that we no longer feel the shiver of awe that God’s coming used to arouse in us? Should we feel comfort at the thought of God’s judgment, or should we fear it? Or have we just become indifferent to the message, taking only the pleasant and agreeable from it and forgetting the serious aspect, that the God of the world draws near to the people of our little earth and lays claim to us. The coming of God is truly not only glad tidings, but first of all sobering news for every one who has a conscience. The Advent season is one of preparation and anticipation. We anticipate the coming of Christmas, of the celebration of Christ’s miraculous birth with mirth and merry activities and in this, the thoughts of God’s possible coming in judgment can be lost. We prepare our houses, schools and churches with decorations, lights and trees with ornaments and such. And this is good. It fills our world with so much beauty, how can we help but feel merry in our preparations? But how should we prepare our spiritual selves? The thought of gift giving and generosity, an extra helping hand extended with love to your neighbors, comes to mind quickly, it is all a part of the essential message that Christ preached. But in doing so are we preparing ourselves spiritually? Are we really thinking of our acts as the cleansing away of our sins? We shouldn’t be giving out of the feeling of guilt for our sins -or the meaning of Christ’s message is lost. We should give out of love, as He gave to us.

Jesus Christ and John the Baptist both preached heavily about repentance. “Repent and be baptized for the Kingdom of God is at hand”. In other words, get yourself ready to come face to face with God, your maker. Make yourself worthy of His presence and to enter into His Kingdom. So I guess that repentance would be a good starting point for our spiritual preparation. I know, I know, most of us think about repentance of our sins, and go “oh man!” “Do I have to?” But I truly believe that the act of repentance is a gift and not the chore or punishment that most of us initially see it as. It can be like some very heavy internal spring house cleaning. The process may leave you exhausted, but you can feel a strong sense of accomplishment in the end. You feel clean and purged. All brand new! So how do we really take a step towards repentance? Well, that is really a personal process, and as individual as all of us are. But I can tell you one thing, to many Christian groups the process of repentance starts with confession- public confession. How public I can’t say. But I do know that many today cringe with fear at this idea, even more so than at the thought of God’s judgment? Wait a minute, so we fear our neighbor’s judgment more so than our makers?

Why confession? Well it’s based on the premise that in order to truly confess our sins we have to do some very deep introspection, we have to take a long and honest look at ourselves. We have to become totally aware of ourselves, in order to be able to identify all of our sins. We have to look at the good and the bad of ourselves, in order to be able to distinguish between the two. We have to hear our own voice as we confess our sins and expose ourselves in our raw shame and the guilt. This is to feel remorse, because that’s what repentance is, isn’t it, remorse? We have to be sorry for what we have done in order to unburden ourselves of this sin don’t we? We can’t do this secretly, there is no privacy in becoming humbled, even if it is self invoked. And that isn’t always very easy is it? The thought of confessing makes most of us today feel very uncomfortable, stepping forward and announcing our short comings is a very humbling experience. Last week during youth time, the question was asked as to whether it was easy to be a Christian and most of the children quickly said yes, the thought ran through my mind, “Perhaps, but it is very difficult to be a ‘good Christian’.”

A little side note here; I spent the yesterday at the church and was pretty busy, so I really didn’t have much time to think about my upcoming sermon, this sermon. But on the drive home I did, wondering and hoping that I would say enough and praying that I didn’t say too much, when a little blurb came on the radio station I was listening to, it was about confession. My ears perked up, this is what we call a ‘God Wink’ in our family, a God Wink is a serendipitous or profound coincidence, a personal message maybe, it was like God was saying to me, “Okay Ray, here’s a little something, something for you to think about.” The person on the radio was talking about the difference between a confession and an excuse. A true confession does not contain a ‘but’, in it. In other words you don’t go up to the person that you have wronged, like oh, say your wife and say, “I am sorry I snapped at you on the phone, BUT, the traffic was terrible and I had bad day at work, and,….blah, blah, blah.” No, that is an excuse, you are excusing your own behavior and placing the blame else where, a true confession would go something like this, “Honey, I am so sorry that I was short with you on the phone today, I was wrong and for that I am very sorry, I feel bad.” That is confession and repentance, the difference being, accepting responsibility for your actions, (it’s called culpability) and then you come forth to apologize for what you have done, because you truly are feeling sorry. And now back to the sermon!

And now we come to the Baptism part of the message. The Jewish practice of immersion has carried over into the Christian tradition. We will be cleansed internally by repentance and externally through baptism, and through this process we are changed, we emerge clean and ‘new’. We emerge into the light and into God’s presence which makes us whole. Baptism is our public proclamation of our change, as we make a vow to ourselves and those that surround us and mostly to God that we use this new beginning to invite God into our lives, thoughts and souls.

I don’t know if I have convinced you or not but at least now you can see why I feel that repentance is not a chore but a gift! An honor! A point to start from, in working towards our way closer to God’s presence. It is our holy spiritual preparation, in our journey and process of stepping into the light. For Jesus is the light, that carries us all on through the darkness, the light of the breaking dawn that kisses us good morning. Oh, the anticipation!

(Please note that the scriptures referred to with this sermon are read by the scripture reader prior to my giving the sermon, if you cannot understand the sermon because you are not familiar with the text, grab a Bible and give it a read, it can't hurt. Can it?)

Tiger's Wood

2009-12-04T15:22:00.001-08:00

I just gotta say a little something about the goings on of late. I have to confess that I was very surprised to hear of Tiger's serial transgressions. and yes as a fan I am more than a little dismayed, disappointed, and disillusioned. And as a married woman, well, I AM PISSED OFF! I don't think that I can still describe myself as a fan, I can't be a fan to someone that I can't respect. I no longer respect Tiger Woods.

I know, I know you are probably so over reading and hearing about Tiger's current train wreck of a life. The majority of the men out there thinking, "So a billionaire of a good looking sports star got some side stuff. a little bit-o-strange while he could, big deal! What's the crime? Tiger was only being a man." While all the married women (especially those whom have been wronged in the past) out there are squinting their eyes while reading every morsel of every single story out there and pronouncing, "I hope his wife gets everything she can from him, what a dawg. She should have ran faster and used a rescue wood, that would have done him in! And he deserves it!" And all the unmarried, little who who's out there smile coyly to themselves and think, "So Tiger really is a tiger or a Cheetah and he really isn't off the market after all. Maybe they'll get divorced, then I can try for him" While Tiger himself is making lots of contrite statements, doing some very quick back peddling and some darn fancy dancing (maybe next year he can get a spot on dancing with the stars) in a desperate attempt to hold it all together. He keeps proclaiming that he is so "sorry", but I can't help but ask myself; is Tiger really sorry for what he did? Or is he just sorry that he got caught doing what he was doing? Mr Woods is the only one whom can answer that question- by saying as to whether or not he would still be stepping outside of his marriage if he had not been revealed.

In the past, Tiger Woods, the number one professional golfer in the world has portrayed himself as an ethical and responsible man, a devout family man, at least he did on all of the television interviews that I watched. I own a book about his golf game strategies, co-authored by Woods' where he talks about ethics and being honest. (It is now garage sale fodder) And during all of this apparent facade I looked up to Tiger Woods and respected him. I wanted my son to grow up to be like him. I partially played golf because of him. But apparently I was duped, (like so many others) it was all a lie. Maybe it was all a front in order to pull in more money, and it is partially my fault. I believed what I wanted to believe, I wanted him to be perfect, but now I see a totally different package. One of which I forever more find suspect. (As I am sure that his wife will.)

In 2004 Tiger Woods took wedding vows before a large group of people, he signed legal documents to that effect and then he proceeded to start a family with his wife. (And by the way, adultery/infidelity is an illegal act in many states. Not to mention an immoral one!) He continued to go before the media and display his life as a happy one, he appeared in total cool control for the majority of the time, but was he really? Maybe deep down, underneath the train wreck had already occurred and it just hadn't come out and shown it's face in the light of the day. The monster lurking under the neatly made bed, (Maybe the dust bunnies felt threatened and kicked it out from under there.) the house keeper came in and started doing some heavy house cleaning, (Elin) thus the monster is exposed.

So let's get this straight, Tiger Woods is a serial cheater. He stepped outside of his marriage several times, while doing so he was showing a total lack of regard for his marital vows, the investment of his wife's time and emotions and what she put into that marriage. And every single news story will be yet another reminder of just how little you loved her and your children and the sanctity of your life together. (Are you doing the fist pump now?) If you are going to get married than you have no business acting like you are not. And if you are incapable of acting married, then you have no business, getting married. When you commit adultery it is not simply an act of cheating on your spouse, you are cheating on your family, your children (if you have them) your friends, colleagues and lastly fans. (fans being the least important factor in this equation) You are cheating on the people who love you the most and put their hearts into your trust. They rely upon you to keep their world a safe and happy one, but in cheating you are essentially telling those same people, "Well it doesn't matter what you want from me or how you love me or what our tomorrows together may bring. None of that matters to me, you don't matter to me. Your trust in me is a lie, I don't love you enough to be true to what I should be to you. What does matter to me is my immediate self gratification and what I can physically feel in the next 15-20 minutes or so (Let's be real, maybe 10.) I love this moment more than I will ever love you because this is what I am doing and nothing else matters but me right now. It is as simple as this, when you commit adultery, you throw your spouse and your children too into the gutter, along with your morals. You are not thinking about them or what your actions will do to them, you are acting out of total thoughtless, selfishness. And you are essentially saying to them, "You don't really matter to me, you are nothing to me and you belong in the trash!"

When you make wedding vows, not only are those vows between you and your spouse, but also you are vowing to your God, your Creator, (whichever way you might individually and personally define this diety) that you will hold this relationship as solely sacred. When you cheat as Mr. Woods did, you are not only a cheater, but you are a liar, a hypocrite and also a thief. Why a thief you ask? Well he stole his wife's and his children's chance for a happy future, as did those with whom he commited adultress acts with. So Tiger lied to his wife and children, his family (I wonder if his mother is proud of him now?), but he also lied to God. I guess maybe none of that matters to him, maybe he feels as though he doesn't have to answer to God. I really don't know what his spiritual beliefs consist of, and I no longer care.

Jesus, well he didn't actually hate them, but he really had a problem with liars, hypocrites and adulterers, as a matter of fact he held them in the very same catergory as murderers. And quoting the infamous Sheldon Cooper, "Tiger, you made Jesus cry!"

And don't get me started on women whom choose to get involved with married men! Are you kidding me, that is height of skankiness! Have you no self respect? Do you actually hate your sister women that much? These are the very definitions of the qinessential female mysogenist.

So I guess what I am really trying to say is this, "Tiger, your wife may attempt to forgive you, but she will never, ever forget what you have done! The relationship between the two of you will always be tainted no matter what you may think. Your children are scarred for life and you have forever changed the way is which they will look at you and see you as a father who failed them. You said you are not perfect, and you actions have proven as much. Now explain it all to your God. I hope it was all worth it!" You blew it, you poor billionaire.

I am aware that this sounds totally judgmental, because it is. And I know that I am far from a saint, but neither have I ever stated that I am such. In fact, I am so fallible, that I am flacidly fallible. I do not make claims to my ethics or lack of mistakes, so to many this may seem like the pot calling the kettle Calaphan. However, I do not, have never, and never will commit an act of infidelity. To me, this would be a stupid and senseless act of selfish thoughtlessness. (There, how's that for being judgmental?) When I take a vow, I make a vow and I keep it. I still see my marriage and all others as a sacred, avowed pact. When I make a promise to God, I keep it, I don't just do my best to try to keep it, I keep it. Period.

I am sorry Elin Woods for what you and your children are going through and for what you have to live through, in the public eye (Media) and in the confines of your personal home and heart. I hope that God can bless you with grace and healing, and the love that you truly deserve.

TIGER STRAIGHTEN UP!

A Shared Prayer

2009-05-19T12:51:00.000-07:00

Father Creator of All,

I bow my head with great reverence and gratitude,

For all which you provide for us

And for your continual tender, mercy,

For the unspeakable held within Your

intangible gifts that we carry as your children.

I am strengthened by Your presence,

I am soothed, boosted and saved by

Your all encompassing love.

I am cleansed through the connection of

Your light which guides me to my

Faith and towards my wholeness.

I ask that you grant me the grace to be fed by

And to learn from Your words,

To be ultilized as Your humble and willing tool,

The ability to live a pure and faithful life of Honesty,

While always maintaining an open mind and loving heart,

With the ability to receive, acknowledge & appreciate

the power of the Holy Spirit.

I vow to work very hard to be the embodiment of

that better person which You intend me to be.

I promise to waste no more that which

You have gifted me with,

I shall not take my endowments for granted.

I am Your servant, to this world,

For Your love, through Your words.

I pray all this in the name of

Your Blessed Son,

My Savior, Jesus Christ.

Amen, and Amen.

(Very corny perhaps, but heartfelt

Just a little something I wanted to share.)

Love you guys!

Living With O.C.D. & Leaving It Behind

2009-04-28T09:49:00.000-07:00

My nephew, Wil asked about my comment in my last post, where I vowed to only mow my lawn twice a day, He asked, "How many time do you mow your lawn in one day?" The answer to that is 4, I mow my lawn four times in one day, once a week, moving once in every direction, I am well aware that this sounds like the extreme overdo, but hey my lawn ends up looking like green carpet. It stands up straight and all are cut evenly to perfection. I know, I know, I am very sick and obsessed.

Well, I have been struggling with O.C.D. for a very long time now. I do the same four time pattern when I am vacuum cleaning my rugs or scrubbing the floors. Four seems to be a magic and obsessive number for me. When I wake up in the morning and look at the clock and see the that it is 4:44, I jump out of bed elated, and I swear that the rest of the day is golden and goes so so smoothly. If the same thing happens and it is any other time I go back to bed.

It has been just lately that I ask myself why, why do I have to push repetitive and duplicate numbers when setting the cook time on the microwave, why do I have to run for forty-four minutes, why do I have to end my work day at 4:44 p.m.? Why, why, why? Why do I vacuum and mow four times? I could not answer my own question, I can only say that if I don't follow these silly patterns, I feel very very uncomfortable.

I decided that I would free myself from this nonsensical and self imposed prison. At least I am attempting to do so. I bet that many of you had no idea just how quirky I actually am, huh? Do you have any idea just how long it takes me to mow the lawn four times? Well, I keep telling myself that I get plenty of exercise when I do that, but from now on, I only mow two times, to save the world from my mower emissions. I am going to save the world by only mowing twice, right!

At first I thought that my life would become one anxious day after another, but it really hasn't been that bad. When I first moved in with my husband (over seventeen years ago) it was extreme, he moved into my condo, where I HAD to have things just so. There was a place for everything and everything had to be in it's place. Well my poor husband was not raised that way and was nowhere close to living that way, he had been a bachelor for a while. It was the source of much contention within our relationship. For more than a few years, I would get very angry at Mark and he couldn't figure what all that was about, he was just living his life as a guy right?
I gotta tell you, I showed great constraint and it is a testament of how much I actually love him that I didn't smack him, not once.

Slowly, over the years I have had to get over a lot of my obsessions and need for perfection in order to stay married. On any chosen day you can now walk into my house and find many little clusters of mess, if I look at them too much I do get nervous, so I just don't look at them. I have just started to shrug and throw my hands up in the air and say "I GIVE UP". I live with a son, a dog and a husband, so I can either spend my time angry and constantly cleaning up after them or spend my time happy while being with them. I choose the later, I want to be happy and I want my son to think of me as the happy mom who spends time with him and loves him and smiles at him all the time. I want my husband to want to be with me and around me, I want my marriage to be a happy one, not filled with contention, but filled with love. So you have to choose your fights and keeping the house spic and span is simply not worth it. I have found that the world does not end and I don't die after all if I choose not to or am unable to clean the house for a week.

Over the years I have relaxed more and more and my husband has become a more tidy person. It has been a marriage of compromise on both parts which is how it should be. I am attempting to give up more and more of my personal quirky obsessions, one at a time and in little, small steps, I can't do it all at once, but I will give it a whirl. So if you come over to my house and it looks like a tornado has come through, just sit down and relax, please don't ask me if I have been sick or out of town, okay. We will both get through the awkward moment and live through it.

I will write more on this subject in a later post, I have many thoughts to get out about this, but I have to think about it long and hard.

Honor Mother Earth

2009-04-22T20:28:00.000-07:00

Did you ever stop to wonder why it is that the Father Creator decided that we are fit to live upon and care for the mother earth? We proclaim to love and honor the earth, yet we constantly abuse it, we take the surrounding beauty for granted and then we complain when there is pollution or man-made smog. How frustrating and painful it must be to carry so many ungrateful, whinny and spoiled brats. We disregard both our Creator and the Mother Earth, even while we suckle upon her nutrients.

God saw fit to provide us with the nurturing soul of the earth, we are meant to be but diamonds and pearls to enhance her beauty, but we continue on as roughened coal, never exposing our shin, we plant ourselves, burrowing even deeper into the sand, never to witness our own opulence, we would rather look the other way and simply take, stripping the land and producing trash in the waters, on the land and in the air.

Oh, but the heavens must be weeping God's tears as we party on! But enough of the ranting, enough of the sadness, I made a promise earlier in the year, not to lament on the negative, I will do what I can to keep my promise.

Maybe I should work myself out of my frustration, instead of just waiting on the world to change, perhaps I should instill some of the changes. I have heard it said thate you have no right to complain if you are not willing to do anything that can evacuate your need to complain. I will do something everyday, which will facilitate 'Green Thinking', buying and using the reusable grocery bags is a simple thing that everyone can do. Bottling your own filtered water is another. Walk to a nearby store, rather than drive, or ride your bike. Make a practice of having at least one drive free, stress free day a week. And of course, recycle, recycle, recycle! Plant a tree, cut your grass to a longer length (this one a difficult one for me, I like the look of a carpet cut grass) which actually requires less watering and stays greener, longer. I vow to cut my grass longer and only twice in one day, to hell with my O.C.D.. I am going to plant more green trees and plants in my backyard, in an attempt to create a green, oxygen replenishing, retreat space, I know that I have been driving less and wasting less. These and other are small things that anyone can do to improve the earths chances at survival and success for a beautiful future.

Let's all do our part and take nothing for granted, we are the only ones that can save the world and ourselves from ourselves. God has continually shown us mercy, let's not blow it here. Let's keep on keeping on in a manner more than just existing, let's please place honor where honor is due.

The Laughing Jesus

2009-04-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

A while back back I started working on a series of pictures, paintings, drawings, and charcoal etchings of Jesus in non-traditional poses and settings, the first that I completed was a portrait of Jesus laughing. It is done in Prismacolor acrylic pencils, a medium that I really enjoy working with because I can get incredible detail and exactness in my work. This picture measures at 20" x 28" and is now hanging in the sanctuary of Granger Christian Church. I have to apologize for the poor quality of the photograph, the lighting was not very good and I was sick when I took it.

When I first started telling people about this particular picture they would often look at me in disbelief or dismay, so often we get set with our pre-conceived notions and are unwilling to see things in a different light. It may be perceived that I am being disrespectful or irreverent in producing such pieces, but of course I have to disagree. Just as I am continually in study and research of extra-biblical theological text, these pieces of artwork are done in an attempt to know the Living Christ in a more personal and developed manner. (I gots ta be me!)

I have to ask, "Why wouldn't Jesus have smiled and laughed and enjoyed moments in His physical life here on earth?" I truly believe that Jesus would have found humor and amusement in simple pleasures of everyday life, he was more than capable in emotions and the ability to convey said emotions. I want to share, more times than not, after the nay-sayers have had the opportunity to view my Laughing Jesus, they take a long look at it and smile themselves,most come away with a different perspective. One woman even told me that she has gone into the sanctuary to sit and contemplate, pray and meditate, all while sitting before this picture, and she always comes away feeling as though her load has been lightened. I guess I did my job correctly on this one. what do you think?

Jeus loves you, you silly gooses!

He Rose Again

2009-04-13T09:40:00.000-07:00

(go ahead and turn off my music jukebox by pressing pause and turn on video that goes along with this post as you read)

When I was a child my mother would dress us up in black pa ten leather shoes that glistened in the sunlight, in stark contrast to our extremely white, lace silk anklet stockings. We wore bonnets, often white or delicate and pale pastel in color, we donned white gloves which were seldom worn again by the same child, but , with four girls and only one wearing we would inevitably receive 'new' hand-me-downs, but thinking about it now, I don't remember any of us complaining or giving a second thought to this fact. This was the one time during the year that we would most definitely receive a 'store bought' dress, lacy and often with a matching little purse, which always made me feel very grown-up and important. Scrubbed and clean, our hair done just so, I would say that we would walk down the isle to our usual church pew, and our young faces glistened to outdo our new Easter shoes, (which were to become part of our church apparel for the next year) indeed the whole of our outfits would become part of our 'Sunday best' wardrobe. (save the gloves which were only worn on Easter) I now know that our mother and father gave us children the best that they could afford, while they always made do with what they had, and our new Easter outfits were a shining testament to this fact, flowered dresses with a delicate spring motif, matching over sweaters, extra soft and feminine in color and design. My brother would be wearing a white summer suit with a bow tie and a pin-striped shirt. As my parents marched us in precession down the isle, I could feel the eyes of the other congregational members as they would follow us in our parade, comments would float to my ears of how beautiful we all looked, "Why they look as though they just stepped out of some kind of catalog or something, don't they?" I can imagine the child version of myself, lifting my chin even higher with pride, I can remember looking up to my mother's face as we slide into our seats and her mouth would be twitching in an attempt to hide her proud smile, but my father would stifle nothing he would give his most confident smile, nodding right and left in constant greeting and puff out his chest even more, after all, this was the beauty of his physical legacy. For a man who's wealth was shown through the health and composition of his young family this was a prised moment, to my parents we children were the treasure of their hearts which they shared with the world in guarded exposition.

But this was not even my favorite part of Easter, although I truly loved seeing my parent's approving and appreciative faces, in my child's mind what I loved most was very simple in nature, it was a ball. You see we could not afford to buy five Easter baskets, our Easter outfits could be utilized throughout the coming year as a sensible investment, but Baskets would simply be too extravagant, so every year we children would receive a small and inexpensive toy or book, along with a dime or nickel to place in the collection plate as our very own offering to Jesus. At that time in my life my dreams were filled with the vision of my favorite Easter gift, a bouncing ball, large enough that I could play foursquare with or just walk down the sidewalk while showing off my dribbling skills to anyone who chance to be watching. I can remember running all the way home from school on that last day as spring vacation was to begin, because I knew that my new ball would be waiting for me, vibrant colors with clouds running through it's round and smooth surface, I loved the new rubber smell of it like my father would that of a new car smell. I would rush home so that I could have some time alone with my ball before having to share it with my siblings and friends, while it was still clean and shiny and scented. Sounds silly and slightly obsessive, doesn't it? Well I guess my quirks started to form as a child and flourished as I stepped into adulthood.

I can remember bouncing my new ball on the grass so not to cause any scuffs, and then lying down on the lawn with my ball held to my nose, I would look up to the sky and thank God for my new ball and the fine spring weather to play in. I would gaze at the clouds, searching for some that might match or resemble those upon the surface of my new 'Easter ball'.

By reading the above story while you may find it to be charming, it may appear that the true message of Easter was lost to me in my youth, you may initially think that my parents neglected to teach their children the meaning of Easter and the story of the Risen Christ, but I would have to disagree with you; my parents taught their children about sacrifice each any everyday, we ate before my parents did, we received new clothes and Christmas gifts before my parents did. The house we lived in was made a home by the constant, unconditional love and protection extended to us by our parents. We were taught moral values and the extension of kindness and caring about our fellow mankind on a consistent, continual basis. But more than that, the church my family attended was nothing more than a tiny chapel in the garage of the ministers home, a sanctuary that my father helped to build and donated supplies to, two of the Sunday school classes were held in the basement of our home, our families only vehicle was often used for church purposes, my parents were both Scout master and Den mother, my mother baked endless amounts of cookies and cakes for church functions, and all this was done with willing hearts and without complaints. We were taught sacrifice through love and by example.

But it was even more than that, it was more than teaching through example. For as long as I can remember there were Bibles in our family home, in addition to a Grand Holy Bible there was a Children's book of illustrated bible stories, my mother took time to sit down and read to her children from this book, one of my favorite treats, she read the stories to us and explained anything that we did not understand. So you see we were made fully aware of the message and beauty of the season, Christ was never forgotten in our home. We were well aware of His sacrifice and our salvation, the magic and mystery of His resurrection, and the joy of the knowledge in the living Christ of our faith.

I found this music video which conveys the Gospel and true love of our God in manner better than I could ever hope to, I hope you enjoy it,

HAPPY AND BLESSED EASTER EVERYONE!

JESUS

2009-03-11T15:50:00.000-07:00

When I was a child there was a portrait of Jesus hanging in our living room, He was looking up in solemn prayer, his face beautiful and serene. God’s light shining down to accent His Son’s features. I would often nap on the couch while laying below this picture, gazing up to study his beauty while drifting off, feeling so safe and complete. I remember pictures in my childhood Bible; Jesus seated with smiling children in His arms and at His feet, surrounding Him as if being told fascinating stories and learning only of good. He seemed to have that same expression of serenity and endless patience. There was another picture, (one that is very well known), Jesus suspended in air, glistening in his white flowing robes, His divine aura surrounding him, His hands held out and forward in a welcoming and loving gesture. I used to (and still do) imagine that he is saying, “All that I have to give is this, myself, and this is what I offer, myself. I give to you (humanity) all that I have, with all of my love, all that I am,” now I know this as my salvation. These are the pictures of the Jesus of my childhood, prayerful, serene with gentle acceptance. Even now, with thoughts and the memories of what these pictures meant to me in my youth, I feel a calm spreading through my body and mind, I feel safe and loved. The message of what so many of the Sunday school lessons and Bible stories conveyed and implanted into my young soul.

From my understanding and perspective of Jesus, I look to all of the positive aspects of humanity, all that as a mere human, and a Christian I strive to be. Mostly what comes to mind is love and the importance of what love is in every ones life, that boundless tether of relationship. When I think of Jesus I have a sense of the unquestionable faith and knowing of all the benefits of what that intangible treasure brings to possibility, the seed planted and nurtured into fruition through the Saviors teachings and gifts.

I have studied countless texts written by contemporary and traditional theological historians, a personal askeance in an attempt to become even closer to the Lord. Since my late teens I have found myself to have a voracious hunger for all readings “Jesus”, I wanted to take in the information from all perspectives, not in an attempt to be critical, but to become educated. I understand what is written and known of the man Jesus, and I strive to look beyond the words, historical text and Biblical writings, I long to find personal truths within my own thoughts and prayers, all firmly based upon on an educated and thoughtful process.

My many ponderings have sometimes led to a place of wondering about the human, the man Jesus verses the Holy, Jesus Christ. I came to the personal conclusion that perhaps Jesus came to earth in human form for many different reasons, one being that He may have wanted the human, physical experience. The human experience, having a physical human body, along with it’s weaknesses and fallibilities. I thought that maybe that could be one of the many reasons why the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament are translated with such a contrasting and stark difference, God had gained a certain amount of compassion regarding how difficult it truly is to be human. He had gained a first hand perspective of the incredible imperfections of humanity, and how much we really are in need of enlightenment. ( Could God have gained patience and mellowed with time? Maybe, I can’t answer my own question, but to think of it does not feel blasphemous and it is not meant to be conveyed as such.) Also, I think that it came to a time in history when Jesus, a direct extension of God, had come to convey and translate God’s word to humankind. The message was said and heard coming directly from the divine horse’s mouth, so to speak. Not that of a mortal mouth and writings, attempting to translate that which He could not fully understand nor fathom. Thus through the crucifixion process He, Jesus was making an attempt to expose to and show us mortals the incredible inhumanity of humanity, in the process He also taught incredible lessons in forgiveness and gave to us our salvation. And in the crucifixion God did not sacrifice another human, but gave of himself, He gave His son. As a mother and a parent this would have ultimately been the most difficult sacrifice for me to make, but then again, I am only human.

The man Jesus expressed human traits such as anguish, anger, fear and bias, along with an abundance of positive attributes. Jesus also showed the ability to quickly change his mind and manner, He appeared to be extremely pliable. And he also seemed to consider situations and learn from his circumstances, exhibiting profound intellect there, in the act of reasoning. Through ascension, becoming Jesus Christ all of the negative human traits were then shed, expanding upon the gathered positive. The human load was lightened with the divine ascension and in the lifting up He rose to an ‘all knowing’ being, becoming one with God. Although Jesus the man may have been divine in the sense of His direct connection to God, he also appeared to exhibit traits of fallibility, although he was clearly a highly evolved being in human form, He clearly appeared to be human. While teaching us of what we can rise up to be, to become that which God intends us to be, Jesus became infallible only after his ascension. However, that entire positive, to me, appeared to be greatly enhanced with the Ascension, the positive evacuated the negative to what I know today, the divine embodiment of God’s word and love. All gentle patience and accepting kindness, what we all long for, strive to be and pray for.

Understanding God

2009-03-10T21:14:00.000-07:00

My childhood understanding of God, as I remember it, would be described mostly as an overwhelming awe at the knowledge and recognition of God’s presence and power. I really can’t place any physical image that I might have conjured up when thinking of God other than an extreme bright and warming light, that would surround me and the world around me. When I thought of God, I think that I would always bring about images of my mother and my father, the people that I respected, trusted and loved most in the world, the people that made up my world and made it safe and possible for me to exist. I never pictured God as that old, white haired and bearded man, I saved that description for Moses. To me, God had no physical capsule that could be described as a body. Indeed, He was beyond that, God had no need of a physical body.

I can remember moments, as a young child, just before drifting off to sleep, when I would experience a flutter of knowing, recognizing my own mortality. Knowing that I may not wake again to this realm of consciousness, that I might find myself in the presence of God in heaven (perhaps conjured up from my nightly, “ Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…”), and there was no fear. There was only an odd flicker of anticipation of things to come, things that were not yet known in my young life. It was not fear, but perhaps a healthy respect for the mysterious, I imagined that calming anticipation as God’s slightest touch, perhaps, maybe a micro-spasm of the Holy Spirit. That flicker could cleanse my soul, a baptism of thought and fill my heart with unmistakable faith.

I was a shy and quiet child, I spent many hours of many afternoons entertaining myself in solitary play, and I was completely contented in doing so. I can also remember moments in my adolescent past, times that started out carefree with no time constraints or schedules, when the harshest thing in my life was exhaustion from a hard day of play in the sun. I would collapse onto a grassy slope in front of our house, gazing up into the endless blue sky, looking for clouds and naming the shapes that they might resemble, from my bed of green clover. I guess that I have always been prone to deep thinking, because eventually, even then my thoughts would wander to wonder of the beautiful design of God’s many creations in the world around me. I would study bugs and animals in their movements, the colors, shades and patterns within flowers and the shadows dancing of the sunlight filtering through leaves. Many times as I lay in the sun, I would find myself overcome with the awe at the witness of the beauty and perfection that surrounded me. I would again gain a sense of my mortality and the great vastness of the endless blue would humble me with reminders of my miniscule stance in the overall scope of universal existence. At these times I would say that in my childlike way, I was acutely aware of God’s presence and power. That is what I remember of my childhood understanding of God, that would have been the images that brought God to mind for me, natural beauty and simple perfection of the mastery of the designs around me.

Now I imagine that my image of God is very similar to that of adolescence, and childhood, only now I find God’s presence more often in the life aura of many of the human beings that I might come into contact with. I see God in my son’s face, innocent and clean, a reflection of nothing but pure love and honesty. I see God in the face of my mother, in her sixth year of the Alzheimer’s journey, where as in many ways she has returned to innocence and new experiences while retaining a glimmer of her gentle wisdom, all done with inner strength and dignity.

I find and feel God in the process of my artwork, which sometimes is completed inexplicably through and before me. When the textures become apparent and real and the emotions that I felt at the inner sight of conception are perfectly expressed through the medium on the canvas. When the music that I write comes to me in a flash, words, rhythm, and melody flowing together with no effort on my part. When the message is conveyed with such a strong image that my own creation brings me to tears, I fall into bed exhausted and dream of God. Now I see God, and His beauty in practically everything that I come into contact with, when I take the time to really think about it I find more than just a flicker of that awe, I find everything good that I carry within myself and I am filled with an indescribable gratitude and joy. Everything that is love brings thoughts of God to me.

I think that God always acts within our best interests, but we (being human kind) want God always to answer in the way and manner that we want Him/Her to. Much like spoiled children, we tantrum and act out when we do not get our way of immediate gratification. God may say no when answering some of our prayers, but only because he knows in the end, what is best for us. God is always there to guide us, if we would just ask for direction. And we will only get to the correct destination if we listen and follow those directions. God is there to comfort us, if only we would lay back into His arms and allow ourselves to be carried. God will always love the world, no matter the count of how many times we look away and choose to hurt Him. I believe that God acts out of mercy, compassion and definite love.

John of the Bible

2009-02-24T19:55:00.000-08:00

John was the son of Zebedee, his mother’s name was Salome. (Salome is believed to be a sister of Jesus’ mother Mary.) John was the brother of James, both were fishermen. Originally, from Galilee, it is unclear as to the exact year of John’s birth, approximately 6 CE. John was the youngest of the twelve, he was unmarried and lived with his parents in Bethsaida. He was twenty-four years old when he became an apostle.

John was the third fisherman that Jesus called to service, after Andrew and Peter and before James, his brother. He left his somewhat wealthy father Zebedee, and immediately followed the Lord. (Mark 1:19-20). It is said that John was partnered with his brother James, as a fisherman and also had business affiliations with Peter and Andrew.

John generally sat on Jesus’ right-hand when ‘the Twelve’ were at meal. He functioned as the personal agent to Jesus in dealing with the Master’s family and he continued to bear this responsibility as long as Mary the mother of Jesus lived. It was John along with Peter who was selected to prepare the Last Supper. It is written that John was present at the Transfiguration, the raising of Jairus’ daughter and at the Garden the night Jesus was arrested. He was said to be one of the closest friends of the Savior and apparently one of the bravest, as he remained there with Jesus from the “Trial” right through to the end, despite very real danger to himself. John is written to be called the “Beloved One” to Jesus.

It is also written that John was present when Jesus was on the cross and Jesus asked John to care for his mother, Mary. “When Jesus saw His mother there, and the disciple whom He loved standing nearby, He said to His mother, “Dear woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From this time on, this disciple took her into his home. (John 19:26-27 NIV) Apparently, John owned a home and this is where Mary lived out the rest of her life. There is reference that it was in this same home where the interview Nicodemus had with Jesus took place.

John was one of the first to go to the empty tomb of Jesus. He was the first of the twelve to really and fully to believe in the resurrection and he was the first to recognize the Master when he came to them on the seashore after his resurrection.

John functioned as the right-hand support of Peter on the day of Pentecost. He, along with Peter, was arrested after healing in the name of Jesus and he preached to the authorities with Peter. It is said that John was in Rome, preaching for a time.

After his older brother’s death as a martyr, John married James’ wife in a Leverite marriage and they settled in Ephesus, were he became pastor of the area church as is evidence from the letters to the seven churches in Asia, in the book of Revelation. It is said that it is in this house that Mary resided in the care of John. While in Ephesus, by order of the Roman emperor Domitan, John was exiled to an island called Patmos and imprisoned in what is known as the cave of the Apocalypse located on the island. It is said that the Book of Revelation was given to the Apostle John by Jesus, and it was during this exile that John recorded what is written in the New Testament, Book of Revelation.

After he was released from exile, he returned to Esphesus and lived till the time of the Roman Emperor Trajan. Throughout the last twenties years of his life John was under the care of a granddaughter. John was the last of the Apostles to die, and he lived to an advanced aged, he died in approximately 100 A.D., sixty-eight years after Christ’s crucifixion. His was not a martyr’s death but he experienced a peaceful and gentle passing. He was buried in Esphesus, near his home.

John’s strongest character was his dependability, he was prompt and courageous, faithful and devoted. His greatest weakness’ would have been the characteristic of conceit and he was known for his fiery temper. He along with his brother James were often referred to as the ‘Son’s of Thunder’, (Bo-aner’ges) (Mark 3:17) whether this be in regards to his infamous temperament or as a testament to the humor of Christ it is not known. John was a man of few words, except when his temper was aroused, but he loved to write. He thought much, but said little. He was gifted, with a remarkable and creative imagination, this is in evidence throughout his writings.

As he grew older, his temper became subdued and better controlled, though he never overcame his disinclination to talk; he never fully mastered this reticence. He was known in his latter years for his continual utterance of “My little children, love one another.”

John is believed to have written five books in the New Testament, the Gospel According to John, 1 John, 2 John, 3 John and Revelation. It is said that John founded and built several churches throughout Asia. And to this day he has remained the ‘Beloved disciple ‘ to Christians around the world.

References:
1. William Stewart McBirnie, Ph.D., The Search for the Twelve Apostles, 3rd edition, (USA: BiblePath, 2008).
2. Wayne Blank, The Apostle John, 1st edition, (USA: Keyway Publishing 2002).
3. The Urantia – Part IV – paper 139, pgs. 1553-1555.
4. Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History, Book 3 Chapters 18, pg. 83, chapter 20, pg. 84,Chapter 23, pg. 86, Chapter 31, pg. 96
Fifth Printing, (Peabody, Massachusetts, USA: Hendrickson, 2006).
5. Holy Bible, NRSV, New Testament, introduction to the Gospel According to John, 1 John, 2 John, 3 John and Revelation.
6. Holy Bible, NIV, New Testament, introduction to the Gospel According to John, 1 John, 2 John, 3 John and Revelation.

(This is maybe just a copout filler, such as it is, it is what it is, maybe someone will learn something.)

The Shack

2009-01-27T17:03:00.000-08:00

In case you haven't noticed, I have a fair amount of respect for this book, The Shack. I have an advertisement link to the left as well as the fact that you will find it within my reading list on my shelf. I have read it two times now and I loved it even more the second time. When I read it the second time around I went through and highlighted all of the passages that I found profound or personally moving. When I finished this process, I went through and reread only the highlighted portions yet again, it read in a seamless and flowing manner. It was as if I was reading a personal journal entry. It spoke to me in a profound message. This sent chills down my spine, like the times when you have questions in your life that you can't find answers to, so you turn to the Bible, you decide that the first passage that you randomly turn to, you will read and take away from this message, will derive what God wants you to learn from his word. Don't get me wrong, I am not placing the Shack on the same level with the Bible, but perhaps it is divinely inspired in some nature of it's writing. I am not stating that the author is a prophet, but I think that maybe the writing of this book received a nudge from someplace deep within his soul or an outside source, a God-source perhaps. My husband and I have given the book out as gifts to several other people. I told them of my experience and asked them to try the same, as did my husband, many spoke of similar feelings and experiences to mine. My husband read and practiced the same technique from the same paperback that I read and highlighted, much of our highlights overlapped, some were different but he also found the experience to be rather profound. As a matter of fact he stated that he believes the Shack to be the best book he has ever read. Friends that received this gift from us stated much of the same attitudes towards this novel.

I have heard and read some criticisms of this book, mostly from conservative Christians that really surprise and bother me. As a matter of fact the author provides links to some of the broadcasts of said criticisms, which I think is very commendable. First of all I find them to be rather silly and believe them to be based on narrow minded prejudices. The main and biggest complaint seems to be that the author chose to portray God as a black woman. To this I say, can't God appear in any form that HE (or She) chooses? I think that the author is making the statement that God comes to us in a form that will make us (mere) humans feel safe and loved, in a form that will be inviting rather than intimidating, in the moments when we need comfort rather than reproach. The critics seem to take great issue with not only the fact the this God/woman is black but also that she is a woman! Geez! In my limited wisdom and knowledge I have always thought of God as being sexless, possessing no genitalia. God made man in His image...not the other way around. But perhaps not in every way, why is it that men keep placing human characteristics and limitation on God? God is all-powerful. If He can appear as a burning bush to Moses, and look like George Burns or Morgan Freeman in the movies, why can't he appear as a black woman in this book? I wonder how many of these same squeaky tight-assed self-righteous "Christians" would be screaming as loud if God had been described as a middle-aged white man, who looked just like them. Now that's what they secretly believe God would look and be like, because they think that they are GOD! Oh, yeah, that's what I said!! So, lighten up dudes! (No pun intended!!)

Now, I will give a synopsis of the storyline without ruining it for those of you who have not read it yet. The story centers around a man who is grieving over the loss of his youngest daughter. His world has stopped. This story is about forgiveness, not only about forgiving the man whom took his child away from him, but about forgiving himself for what he percieves himself at fault for. He comes to a place where the Holy Trinity can help him find his way back to a life of joy and how his daughter does not hold him accountable for her death nor does his God and her love for him shall never perish. God shows this man that he is worthy of happiness and love. I think this book conveys God's nature in a beautiful and eloquent manner. I also think that God would treat all of his children as he did the character in the story. In the end the story just saying this, God loves all of his children, even the pedophiles and errant parents, Jesus and the Holy Spirit are both active and a part of this HOLY LOVE, and this has always been and will always be. There other, similar twists and message throughout, I think that this book will give you the reader what you choose to take away from it.

My husband bought the hard-back copy of this book for our library, that means that he feels it is pretty darn important also. So open up your minds and your hearts, get a box of tissues and a cup of your favorite tea and plan on spending a long afternoon lost within a wonderful book. You will come away a different person than when you first opened the book. Try my thing with the highlighter and let me know how it turns out. I think that if you can take little snippets and your favorite passages from a book and then read only those portions and it flows as if it is a story within the story, a personal message meant just for you, yourself, then maybe, just maybe it is something beyond just ourselves at hand here, beyond the human author. I don't care what anyone says or cries out, this story, though it be a work of fiction sheds light upon the heart of our God's acceptance and love for HIS children. And for me, this is good, very good.

With God's many wonders and blessings.

History, Now for the Future.

2009-01-20T09:24:00.001-08:00

Today I stood in my living room, (I could not sit down, I was too excited) I watched with my son as he cheered, "Go Obama!" We watched together, wrapped in the others arms, smiling and in awe. I shed a few tears as I witnessed the history of our country, our world, our generation, changing. History is made by change, it is created in the winds. Our history is our sojourn, it promotes our future. Our own personal history is converged from the moment, the now.

And in the now of today, an American man of mixed ethnic origins, was inaugurated into the office of President of the United States of American. He is now our forty-forth president, he is Barack Hussein Obama II ; born August 4, 1961. He is the first African American to hold the office. Obama was the junior United States Senator from Illinois from January 3, 2005 until his resignation on November 16, 2008, following his election to the presidency. He was sworn in as the forty-forth President of the United States today, on January 20, 2009 in an inaugural ceremony at the U.S. Capitol.

I heard a statement yesterday that resonated within my soul, it went; Rosa (Parks) sat so that Martin could walk. Martin (Luther King) walked so that Obama could run. Obama ran so that our children could fly. And so in voting this man into office, a man of brilliant intellect and uncompromising integrity, a man of great strength, a man of extreme promise, we the people have afforded the generations to come; wings. We have bestowed a providence for flight, so I sing, soar sweet children, soar. Follow the flight of the Dove.

Obama is a graduate of Columbia University and Harvard Law School, where he was the first African-American president of the Harvard Law Review. He worked as a community organizer, and practiced as a civil rights attorney in Chicago before serving three terms in the Illinois Senate from 1997 to 2004. He also taught constitutional law at the University of Chicago Law School from 1992 to 2004. Obama was elected to the Senate in November of 2004. He delivered the keynote address at the Democratic National Convention in July of 2004. I can remember hearing him speak and there was a shock wave of pre-cognitive recognition, of things to come, there was a strong sense of knowing. This man is America's future.

Born in Honolulu, Hawaii,to Ann Dunham, a white American from Wichita, Kansas who is of English and Irish descent. Obama's father was Barack Obama, Sr., a Luo from Nyanza Province, in Kenya. His parents met in 1960 while attending the University of Hawaii at Mānoa, where his father was a foreign student. The couple married on February 2, 1961; they separated when Barack was two years old and divorced in 1964.Obama's father returned to Kenya and saw his son only once more before dying in an automobile accident in 1982.

And so by the now of this moment in history, we turn to where it is that the sun rises, we look towards tomorrow, to the future and chant with prayers of hope, that the changes riding upon the winds of today are for the positive. There is much work to be done, and this is not just work set out for the presidency, but indeed must ride upon the backs of every individual who treads upon the soils of this great land. We must come together as a great mass e'n collective to become united within the states of this America, for it will take all of us in order to lift the great weight of the current status quot. We are currently distressed with economic depression, we must pray and work to rise above and move beyond this stress, we must remind ourselves that patience is to be the main dish, this place where we find ourselves today, a place with layoffs, and bankruptcies, homes lost, and meals passed by, did not come about overnight, no that train took the last seven years to get to down the tracks and has now pulled into the station, hopefully it will disembark and leave once again. So let us stoke up the engines, build up the steam, and head back to where it did come.

Now the dream takes seed and gains fruition, the green of new leafs peek out of the fertile soil and perhaps our children are the flowers of that dream, this is the garden that we now sow and nurture. We shall plant it and watch the blossoms lean and point towards the warmth and promise of tomorrows sun.

Now I ask you all to take a moment and pray for a future of replenishment and splendour. That this mans strength will grow along with that of our future. But for now, relish this moment of great power and promise.

I HAVE A DREAM!!

2009-01-19T00:12:00.000-08:00

Martin Luther King, Jr. was born on January 15, 1929 and died on April 4, 1968, he was not only an African American clergyman, but one of quintessential activist and prominent leader in the American civil rights movement. His main legacy was to secure progress on civil rights in the United States and he is frequently referenced as a human rights icon today. Some claim him a prophet, most a martyr, whatever you choose to refer to King, he changed the fabric and flavor of American history forever.

King, a Baptist minister, became a civil rights activist early in his career. He led the 1955 Montgomery Bus Boycott and helped found the Southern Christian Leadership Conference in 1957, serving as its first president.

King's efforts led to the 1963 March on Washington, where King delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech. There, he raised public consciousness of the civil rights movement and established himself as one of the greatest orators in U.S. history.

But the art of oration was not his single skill, his remarkable writing and diplomatic skills shine brightly, throughout his historical writing, "Letter from Birmingham Jail" (read it if you get the chance, there are many online sources readily available), but his intellect is in undeniable evidence here. If you have to stop and think about it, this letter was written while incarcerated, (unjustly I might add)he makes constant, valid and accurate biblical references throughout, without the luxury of a research staff and quite possibly even a Bible on hand. He had to have been surrounded by chaos and negative feelings. It couldn't have been a quiet and peaceful atmosphere, but still he sat down and addressed his critics, who were also his clergy colleagues, the end product is a work of art, thought provoking and incredibly moving. Possibly a divine action.

In 1964, King became the youngest person to receive the Nobel Peace Prize for his work to end racial segregation and racial discrimination through civil disobedience and other non-violent means. By the time of his death in 1968, he had refocused his efforts on ending poverty and opposing the Vietnam War, both from a religious perspective.

Martin Luther King Jr galvanized black and white alike on the quest for true equality. He does so through an ingenious appeal that combines the ideals of the American constitution and Christianity—both of which become the moral backbone of the civil rights movement. King very consciously draws upon both of these traditions in trying to argue that the black freedom struggle is the fulfillment of the principles that America had been founded on both in terms of the Jewish and Christian traditions and the civic religious traditions expressed in the Declaration of Independence.

“I have a dream, that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creeds, we hold these truths to be self-evident.” The Civil War had freed the slaves a 100 years earlier. Now another war, a conflict in Vietnam, would give King a national stage. As America reexamines it’s own social fabric, King used nonviolent protest, pioneered by Gandhi, and supported by Biblical verse to expose the social inequities at home. King’s enemies resisted his message with fury. They frequently resorted to beating, burning and bombing. King’s famous response to these barbaric actions is non-violence. Embracing the ideals of Jesus, he invokes the Gospel of Matthew. “It was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you do not resist one who is evil. If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” (Matthew 5:38).

On April 3, 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr. landed in Memphis, Tennessee in an ocean of hostility. Just 24 hours later, King was slain. A great voice in Christianity was silenced. Tragically, King struggled for justice and paid with his life.

King was assassinated on April 4, 1968, in Memphis, Tennessee. He was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1977 and Congressional Gold Medal in 2004; Martin Luther King, Jr. Day was established as a U.S. national holiday in 1986,and it shames me to admit this, but I have heard so many religious leaders in Utah condemn and move to ignore this holiday, so today his colleagues, supposed men of God deny him his rightful respect. He was denied backing by his contemporaries during his lifetime and today I still hear grumblings. Is there to be unity in the understanding and commitment to live 'God's Word'? The shameful part for me is that sometimes when I have heard this prejudice I have not spoken out against it. I know that Reverend King would not neglect an other's memory as I have. But no more, so be fore warned, I have found my voice, and it will ring out,with the sound and strength of glory from this point forward.

During the 1950s, Martin Luther King, Jr. studied the methods of nonviolent protest of the Indian nationalist leader Mohandas K. Gandhi and successfully implemented them in a civil rights movement in the United States. King expertly led the movement and forced discussion of inequality in the United States. His work inspired thousands of blacks and led to long-range changes in the lives of countless others. In 1963, five years before his death at the hands of an assassin, King addressed a gathering of more than 200,000 people at the Lincoln Memorial in the nation’s capital. There he delivered his famous “I Have a Dream” speech.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

I now ask that all of you, having read this posting accept my thanks, take a moment of silence for yourselves and in remembrance of Rev. Martin Luther King and pray that from this moment on his dream may become our own and flourish into fruition. Blessings,...

A New Resolve

2009-01-01T08:42:00.000-08:00

NEW YEARS RESOLUTION? WE DON'T NEED NO STINKIN NEW YEARS RESOLUTION! HAPPY STINKIN NEW YEARS!!!!! So anyways...., sorry I haven't written for so long, ( nobody has been reading and commenting anyway, nobody likes me, everbody hates me, I'm gonna go eat worms! Is there anybody out there? Holla back! ) I have been on vacation and writing many, many papers during this time, throw a little reading (four text books) into the mix and you have "What I Did on My Christmas Vacation". I'm still not completely ready for our next class, to be held in January. I won't promise that I will write more often, I don't want to lie and break any promises. My husband, son, and I took my parents to Phoenix for a visit with my oldest sister and her family. My mother has been waiting for this moment for more than six months, she could hardly wait to get here.

We have had a nice time. My sister and her husband have put up with having five more people invade their space and for that I thank them. Wil, my nephew has given me a few cooking lessons and has been very generous during our stay here, for that I thank him. And my niece Heather in all her sweet cuteness has been adorable. It has been so nice seeing everyone, and really nice to escape the freezing cold weather of Utah. I could really get used to this. It has been nice not shoveling out of the ten inches of snow that has fallen in our absence, but I am sure that we will return home and end up spending all of tomorrow digging out our humble home.

But it will be good to get home and back to work, I am a creature of habit and routine. I am also a work-aholic and I get very nervous to be away from my office for this long. I geuss that's just the control freak nazi that I am. I miss my cuddle dog Dos too, so it's time to head home and lap in the luxury of the mad paced life of chaos once again. Pretty soon I'll be day dreaming about how wonderful it was here in the Az, and missin my 'Sundog' peeps like crazy. I did miss having my other sibs here for the holidays, but what can ya do. You can only do, what ya can do, then forget the rest. I will sign off now, my HUSBAND is lookin over my shoulder and wanting attention.

Theological Education Institute - fulfilling some requests

2008-12-10T08:15:00.000-08:00

Okay, I have had two separate requests for information about my current schooling, so here we go; I am currently attending the Theological Education Institute (TEI). It is located in Denver and run by the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in cooperation with the United Church of Christ in the Rocky Mountain Region. It is structured towards providing educational services to potential church leaders, especially the laity, for a variety of ministries, in order that we may become better equipped to handle our various positions in a more effective and responsible manner. We attend classes one weekend, every other month, which include two separate class sessions lasting four hours each. Every semester we have three class sessions for a total of twelve hours spent within the actual classroom for each subject, with two unit/classes per semester, this adds up to a grand total of twenty-four hours physically spent within the confines of the class per semester. We are also required to attend three separate, weekend retreats, over a two year period of time. These retreats involve, Friday evening meeting sessions of approximately four hours, and Saturday meeting sessions of approximately eight hours, so this is about equal to one semester of class for the subject matter. The retreats involve a sleep over situation, you can get to know your classmates and instructor very well and the classes can become very intense and inspiring. In these and all sessions we review and hand in the material that we have been assigned during the previous two months, via the internet and through the class syllabus’ or outline. We read and converse, sharing individual ideas and findings, we listen to lectures, criticisms (if any), and occasionally we are given written exams (not often), there have also been video learning materials.

Things can get pretty fast spaced and exciting, it can be a very stimulating environment, an intimate group of about twelve students at a time, all passionate about what they are learning and very involved in the process. You see, for these students, the process of their education is a very personal and deeply inset investment and commitment. It can be a method used for enrichment, for a deeper understanding of their personal faith in the Christian experience, as well as to broaden leadership in their congregations ministry. Nothing is set in stone, the reasons for attending are as individual and different as every person attending. The majority of the work and research is done on an independent basis, so a certain amount of self discipline and structure are involved. This calls for a mature approach and tenacious work ethic, a priority and willingness to invest several hours a week to reading, research and writing. T’is not a program geared toward the weak of heart and lacking in spirit.

These courses are designed to meet the licensing procedures of both the Christian church and the United Church of Christ. The Theological Education Institute is designed for and deals only with educational end of the process and does not deal in licensing issues. All of the licensing procedures and issues are handled by the Region/Conference Orders of Ministry.

The current curriculum is designed as a two-year program, with additional learning opportunities offered in preparation for ministry or for lay leadership. The extra-curriculum events may include classes set up around one-day workshops, retreats, or practices in specialized fields, focusing on specialized ministry skills such as youth ministry, Christian education, ethical analysis and advocacy, preaching, and clinical pastoral education.

THE REQUIRED COURSES ARE AS SUCH;
INTRODUCTION TO THE BIBLE FOR CHURCH LEADERS I AND II; (The name almost speaks for itself) This is a one year class, with six sessions and twenty-four hours of classroom time. This class is designed to aide Church leaders to objectively read and interpret, assist and guide others in the study of the Bible. We are supposed to gain the ability to move beyond our personal interpretations and beliefs in order to avoid our personal bias’ from being inserted into our teachings. We must allow individuals the privilege of their own thoughts while study of the original historical context of the Bible. (This is a tough one for me, I hold the Bible so sacred within it’s influence in my life and ideology, to/for me the Bible is the most personal text and message to behold, this makes it rather difficult for me to step back and take an objective approach to such things, but I’m working on it. I know I have my work cut out for me in this area, I have to throw myself back into the arms of God and allow myself, my mind and soul to become more pliable. I almost think that students with no or little Bible reading experience have an advantage over students with vast prior experience, because they have no preconceived notions and tend to be more pliable and less stubborn in their idioms.)

In this class students should gain a basic working knowledge of the sweep of Biblical history, various types of writings found in the Bible and some major issues in Biblical interpretation. Assignments offer students opportunity to engage Biblical texts in preparation for their own ministerial contexts.

BEGINNING HOMILETICS: THE ART OF PREACHING AND BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION;
This is a six months course with three sessions and twelve hours of classroom time. This course is designed to teach the basics of public speaking and sermon development and presentation. Students should be able to gain the ability of effective public oration, without hesitation, when called upon to share the message of Jesus Christ. (This one scares me, I have a bad case of stage fright for public speaking and performance. But does not this say something, that I am striving to step way beyond my comfort zone because of the strength and convictions of my beliefs? I haven’t taken this course yet, so I’m hoping and praying that I can learn and grow out of my long term fears from this class when the time comes.)

CHURCH HISTORY:
This is a six months course with three sessions and twelve hours of classroom time. This course involves the study of the 2000+ year history of the Christian experience. It is meant to focus on the important turning points, influences, and structural changes that have occurred within Christianity. If you don’t know where you have been, then how are you going know the proper way to navigate where you are going? We are meant to learn from past patterns in order to modify, adjust and expand on the gifts and problems from the past. (I really loved this course, I have done expansive reading and taken other classes in this area on a personal basis, so this only stands to reason.)

SYSTEMATIC THEOLOGY:
This is a six months course with three sessions and twelve hours of classroom time. This course involves the study of THE Christian theological tradition in order to see the importance and nature of systematic theological thinking, in order to see its relationship to the practical life of faith in the church and to articulate the faith theology. (I haven’t taken this course yet, but I am looking forward to it, I have taken a systematic theology course online and find the premise and content very interesting,)

PASTORAL CARE:
This is a six months course with three sessions and twelve hours of classroom time. This course involves the study the experience of the pastoral caregiver and care-receiver: the context in which care occurs: the sacraments, rituals, traditions, scriptural foundations and theological frameworks through which care is offered. Student have several opportunities to participate in pastoral care case studies. (I am currently enrolled in this class and have enjoyed and gotten a lot out of my reading so far.) P.S. I just completed this class and it was a most wonderful and helpful learnign opportunity for me. I really loved it!

WORSHIP AS THE LIFE OF THE CHURCH:
This is a six months course with three sessions and twelve hours of classroom time. This course is designed for the review of theological and practical tools to be used in designed and leading worship, and focus on skills useful for engaging in creative dialogue about worship. (I haven’t taken this course yet, but it looks and sounds interesting.)

CHURCH IN THE WORLD:
This is a six months course with three sessions and twelve hours of classroom time. This course is designed to analyze the cultural, sociological, psychological, demographic and theological aspects of the church’s mission in the world. Within this class we explore the need for ministry and transformation in light of the gospel mission and will develop a mission practicum for each student related to the local, regional/conference and global mission of the church. (I am currently enrolled in this class and have enjoyed my reading so far. And so far there has been a lot of required reading and research, right up my alley.) P.S. I just completed this class, I learned a lot and enjoyed this class, I learned things that I had never even thought about before.

THE STUDENT RETREAT COURSES INCLUDE;
HISTORY AND POLITY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH (DOC) AND THE UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST; This retreat involves a Friday evening meeting session of approximately four hours, and Saturday meeting sessions of approximately eight hours, twelve hours total of classroom/learning time. This course focuses on the history, organization and polity of our two denominations and our partnership. The various orders of ministry will be examined. (I haven’t taken this course yet, but it looks and sounds interesting and intimidating.)

LEADERSHIP FOR HEALTHY CHURCHES; This retreat involves a Friday evening meeting session of approximately four hours, and Saturday meeting sessions of approximately eight hours, twelve hours total of classroom/learning time. This course is an exploration of growing healthy and vital churches and the nature and boundaries of the leadership required for such churches. Essential qualities of a healthy congregation as identified by Natural Church Development will be examined (Pub. ChurchSmart Resources, Carol Stream, IL). (I haven’t taken this course yet, but I believe that I could and must learn so much in this area.)

SPIRITUAL LIFE AND FORMATION; This retreat involves a Friday evening meeting session of approximately four hours, and Saturday meeting sessions of approximately eight hours, twelve hours total of classroom/learning time. This course looks not only at our own concept of spirituality, but the current culture’s conceptions and ‘myth’-conceptions of it. From the deep wells of Christian tradition, we find tools and resources for a lifetime of spiritual growth. (I have taken this course and I loved it. I found it to be very uplifting and moving.) We learned about different prayer practices and spiritual practices. I found this to be an overall positive experience.

This outline is mostly in my words, some of the courses that I have not yet taken, I copied almost verbatim from the brochure that you can download from the TEI website at http://www.teinstitute.net. I hope that I have been fairly accurate and thorough enough to give you the information you wanted, if not visit the website, they can probably do a better job than I can. If you are a member of a different church, other then the Disciples of Christ or the United Church of Christ, but you are interested in a leadership roll or in becoming involved with similar/like schooling, look up the website for your denominations diocese, they may have similar educational opportunities available. You can also enroll in a seminary or divinity school, the options are endless. I know that there are many online courses available.

For the most part this has been a very fulfilling and enriching experience for me, and I would strongly recommend this to any of you out there whom feel a need for spiritual and religious educational growth. I promise you that you will not regret the experience, and your peers, your fellow classmates will become lifelong, close friends with a strong spiritual connection. Remember you are not alone out there, you are never alone.

Spilled Milk on Thanksgiving Day

2008-11-27T18:12:00.000-08:00

You know I have had an aversion to Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember, not what it stands for, I'm all about gratitude, only I believe that we should find gratitude everyday and make it a daily practice to give thanks for all that we have. No, you see, my distaste was a long time coming.

Through many of my early years while growing up, my birthday, which is actually on November 20th, was always delayed and celebrated on whichever Thursday date that Thanksgiving feel upon. Now if you did that to me today, it wouldn't be that big of a deal, as an adult I can appreciate the fact that other working adults could take the time off of work as it being a Federal Holiday, children would by off and out of school, so it may make complete common sense and appear totally logical, to an adult. But just try and tell and to explain all this to a small child, all sensible hearing would end with the words,"We're not going to celebrate your birthday on your birthday, we're going to wait for a week or so, on Thanksgiving Day we will have your birthday, isn't that great? Would that be wonderful?" Now to my then, child's ear, I heard this, "We're not going to celebrate your birthday on your actual birthday, you are not important enough to have a sole celebration for the day that you were born. We are all too busy for a celebration of Ray Day, let's just push it back to when it is convenient, we simply can't be bothered with making you fell special."

I know, I know, I'm just a whinny little ninny and way too sensitive, but I was a brat, this much I know and confess. I am doing nothing more here than serving up a little slice of Ray pie, an explanatory dessert. Thanksgiving became a resentful time for me, because I felt pushed aside, I felt inconsequential and extremely insignificant within the world of my family and the way that they showed me love. Now don't get me wrong, I know that as a child I was well loved and I know that my family loves me now. All that I am saying is that as a child, at times like those that I am writing about, I felt greatly slighted and it affects me to this day. I would pout on my birthday every year when it was ignored until a later date, here is a list of the results;
- I cannot stand the taste or smell of turkey, I have attempted to eat for my mother, but I gag.
Another thing that always bothered me was when I said, "No thank you, I don't care for turkey." And they look at me incredulous, "Since when? Your birthday in on Thanksgiving, you love turkey!" Then they proceed to lay a big ole chunk of the offending bird on my plate, once again ignoring my wishes, once again making me feel like that child who didn't matter.
-I don't really care for stuffing, I make it and I have been told I make a very tasty rendition, but no matter how I make it, it always tastes completely dry and gagging to me.
-Every year between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I tend to get noticeably depressed and down, no matter how grateful I wake up in the morning, through out the day I begin to drag.
-I get anxious at family holiday gatherings, nothing against my family, and this may seem very normal to many people, but I wish that I could just relax, and enjoy the presence of the people that I love the most.
-I hate my birthday, every year I get down and somewhat angry on my birthday, my poor husband wants to rush around a fix it and me. He wants my birthday to be a perfect day, he just wants to see me smile, when all I long to do is pull the covers up over my head and forget about it. Perhaps unconsciously I truly feel that I don't deserve to have a happy birthday or maybe it's the pessimist in me saying/whispering in my head, "Go to bed and hide, cause no matter what, it ain't gonna turn out like you wished it to be." I have even forgotten my birthday, totally by accident, not on purpose.

So now here I am, attempting to clean up forty-nine years of spilled milk and sour grapes. Perhaps I am still that spoiled and sulking, pouting little brat. To all those around me throughout my life I say one thing, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE! I am still open while under construction.

I am however, on this very long day and always, very grateful for the much love that I receive on a constant basis. I have a life full of beauty and gentle kindness. I am a person surrounded by the people that I love beyond words and that is all the feast that I require and now my soul is full. I am sated.

I'm gonna say it! Happy Thanksgiving, God Bless and my love to you all.

Improper Prop. 8 - part 2

2008-11-25T12:12:00.000-08:00

(Okay kids, let’s just jump right back into it. Here we go!!)

Spirituality (continued): Did you ever wonder why it is that the only thing that every human being, ever born into existence, no matter who it is, has one thing in common with every other human being, and this thing is always a singular common thread, just one thing, and that one thing is ultimately the most important thing in our lives? We all work for it, pray for it, hope and dream about it. Whether you think of yourself as a Christian or not. Well, that one big thing is love and that love is the ever present intangible gene of our Father God that we all carry within us as His children. Now maybe I’m dumb, but I have always been under the impression that love is the very essence and core of God’s teaching foundation. Isn’t that why He has even bothered with us, He gave us His words of teaching because He loves us and wants to nurture us into success. He has given us humans His love and the ability to love as an incredible freeing gift, this gift is our constant and fragile tether between us and our Creator. It is the umbilical braid of our faith, woven by the Holy Spirit. We are all tethered/connected to our Father. We his children offspring through Creation and we are all His children.

And speaking from a design point of view if we build a structure, the foundation being God/Love, and we keep building upon that very same foundation, with more and more various stones and bricks of rhetoric and judgment, hypocrisy, this structure that we refer to as our house of God, over time becomes much like an inverted or upside down pyramid. With the foundation becoming overshadowed by the stacked bricks that we stubbornly but loosely, mortar into place, as beliefs, laws, and the like. Now if the thought comes to your mind, that this type of structure would be rather wobbly and unstable, you’re absolutely right. I know that I don’t want to enter into such a structure, and I don’t really understand why any one with a modicum of intellect and common sense, would. Shouldn’t our houses be designed and built from the foundation, up, rather than from the last brick laid, down? And if this hold’s true, shouldn’t we always be building everything in life from the foundation of our God/Love, first working from there, and then straight and true, up from there, with love as the foundation, then brick beliefs and practices, like sharing, understanding, accepting and welcoming fellowship community. Them being firmly mortared into place upon that foundation? Wouldn’t it make sense to limit building materials, using only those that work harmoniously in conjunction with our fundamental design setup? I would rather live in a house that I know to be structurally sound and with every brick and bit of mortar set in place with God’s knowing and loving hand, (The Ultimate Intelligent Design Builder) rather than any willy nilly, silly amateur hypocrite that claims himself to be a mason, throwing stones at the walls and calling it good. (That might be a little deep for some of you out there, so give it some time, think about it for a while.) We as God’s children should all live within the walls of this house that God has lovingly built for us, as brother and sister, as family, God’s family.

So when you go out into the world, when you look at a stranger and point fingers, just remember that stranger that you are judging and belittling, bashing and oppressing is your brother or your sister and God never asked a human to do that. Isn’t God’s judgment the only one that counts? God’s word does not say, “Judge your neighbor, hold him down and oppress him and his.” No, even though it seems to be the normal, modus operandi of many current day, so called Christians and/or others of the religious “righteous”. God’s word says, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” I think/believe that this statement takes the task of judging other human beings, right out of the job description for us as Christians. So what say you? That we all leave the judging for the Judge, God’s judgment is ultimately the only one that really counts. So all of this blustering and condemnation of others that is going on now is for not, a waste of time, other than saying to God by example, I will only love my brothers and sisters conditionally, only when they are just exactly like me will I love and accept my brothers and sister’s out there in the world, no matter what you say Father, for I know better than you.” And when you choose to judge others in the name of Christian morals and God based teaching beliefs, aren’t you in all actuality placing yourself above/over God? Aren’t you saying, “Here, God, stand aside. I can do a better job at this than you can, so just sit down, shut up and watch the real master at work.” Isn’t that what you are doing? Have you ever, in your rush to be right and righteous, and controlling of your environment and everything and everyone within it, thought about what you are doing? What you are saying in your small minded humanness to your/our God? Do you believe that our benevolent Lord is inadequate in His ability to fulfill the promises that He has made to the human race of His creation? Goodness gracious! Do you just say your prayers in rote, and not listen to what you saying, asking for, or promising? Do you even listen to the words as you speak them and truly mean them? Do you ‘Christians’ not quiet yourselves enough, and stop fighting long enough to open up the doors of your minds and spirits in order that God can speak and be heard? Can you allow yourselves to trust and have faith in God enough to accept all within His creation? Can you trust Him long enough that He might come into the house of your heart?

Biblically Speaking: If you look at John 8:15; You judge by human standards; I pass judgment on no one. (Sit back and think about that one for a while.)
These were the words of Jesus Christ, the physical embodiment of God, I believe that he was once again attempting to teach by example. Sadly, another lesson ignored, failed, not learned. As Christians is not our creed to strive towards Christ like behaviors and living? Wow, have we gone off on a tangent with this context!

Okay, so after many hours of research, I have found various different references made by the more conservative of the finger pointing and judgmental, Christians whom think that they can do God’s job better than God can. They direct us to different biblical passages that supposedly condemn same sex coupling. I am not about to paste every single one of them here, because this post would go on for double digit count of pages, and it would produce a completely different forum, but if you would like them, in a full and unedited version, just email me and at your request I will be happy to send you the package that I have put together, but be warned they all have my commentaries included. Now the Catholic church has thirteen biblical passages referenced. Certain Christian churches (not the one that I attend), Southern Baptist and the like, have seventeen biblical passages referenced. With the Evangelical and Pentecostal Churches coming in with a whooping count of twenty-seven passages referenced. Now please note that the majority of these references differ from Church to Church. After studying all of them and taking notes, making commentary, losing sleep and much prayer I will state the following; About 20% of said passages had me saying, “What?” Your grasping at straws here boys, another 20% are referenced back to the Old Testament, which in all fairness should probably be eliminated on the grounds that if we carry over one law we must uphold all laws stated within the Old Testament, which would mean that we all are to totally change the way we dress, eat, communicate, worship and practice business, and sorry girls, but we are all totally screwed in an extreme way. Actually, if we were to go by the Old Testament text and are going to judge through these grounds, thereby then we are all screwed and hell bound by all of our previous and current behaviors, so what’s the use? Sorry, but you can’t have it both ways. If you are going live by the ancient standards of the Old Testament then you had better stick to it by the letter of the law, all of the laws. And in that case, we may as well, all convert to the Jewish faith. By what standard and by who’s word do we change the ‘laws’ of righteousness? By who ever screams the loudest, stamps their feet the hardest? By whichever church has the richest coffer or largest, most ruthless army, the most attorney’s?

In about 70 A.D., with the fall of Jerusalem, the Christian church and some of it’s leaders decided to break away from it’s Judaic origins, (abandon the sinking ship) in an attempt to build an identity for itself, thus many of the Jewish laws and practices where deemed inconsequential to the Christian standards, previous practices fell by the wayside. Was this right or wrong? I can’t say, it just happened, it is all a point within the history of the Christian Church and I was not there to do anything about it anyway. In the stead, these ‘antiquated’ Judaic practices and textual readings were to be forgotten. Meanwhile, many Greek and Roman, pagan practices and rites were filtered into the common Christian way of worship. Including the practice of the Sunday Sabbath and the date in which we Christians celebrate the anniversary of our Lord’s birth . The Old Testament is fundamentally the Jewish Bible that Jesus Christ knew by heart from his childhood. But then of the Old Testament and some of the Jewish laws, it was somehow seen fitting to take steps away from and to eliminate. There are so many incongruent and convoluted steps taken along the historical path that have led us to this spot today that we consider the Christian Church. Is it any wonder at how confusing it is for the common Christian today? What do I do, what should I read, how do I believe? And in the end, how should I convey my Christianity? What would Jesus do? (I am thinking of writing several more blog postings about and regarding various points in Christian history, would you like that?)

Anyway and besides, if you go back to the early Hebrew Bibles and to the passages that are referenced, they have the term Sodomites where the new translations have inserted homosexuals, this is nothing more than an editorial choice. Now in all fairness, were there was a term, Sodomite, it could actually be a reference to a citizen of Sodom, (as in Sodom and Gomorrah), in this time of history, apparently there was a great amount of animosity and judging going on also, regions had extreme prejudice and hatred for one another for no reason other then the fact that it was not the place in which you and your followers were located, or geographical/cultural differences may have played into such statements as well. Or this could simply be a reference of condemnation of the practice of sexual orgies and promiscuous behavior or immoral sexual deviant behavior. But let’s get into that now, let’s make an attempt to provide an accurate, and broken down, definition of deviant sexual behavior and what was intended within the bible regard of such: sexual immorality (n.) 1.the evil ascribed to sexual acts that violate social conventions" Okay lets break this down; the evil ascribed to sexual acts, well evil would be an act with the intention to hurt or cause harm, so maybe the act of rape or molestation, but not the act of mutual and loving, same sex relations. And sexual acts, do we really have to get into that. Social convention; that which is a standard practice within the general society, well if twenty percent of society loves another individual of the same sex, although it would be considered a minority percentage, it is a viable one, and if you choose to discriminate against one minority faction why not discriminate against all of the other minority factions. And seeing as how the majority of the contemporary American population is either Hispanic or African American, then the Christian, Caucasian ‘straight’ and employed, well educated, middle class male would fit into a minority, should we hold this minority faction group down? (Are you laughing at the ironic idiotism of it all?) America is supposed to be the one place in the world were we can supposedly live outside the fear of dictatorial oppression and discrimination.

Also, let’s not forget the completion of the passages, regarding the thieves, murders and adulterers. Do you honestly believe that mutual relations of sodomy rank up there with theft and murder or maybe even above? And what about adultery? You know in societies strong arm tactics, disallowing same sex couples the right/rite to civil or church sanctioned marriage are we in reality, dissuading 20% of the population away from monogamous stable domestic lifestyles? The very type of lifestyle that God touts upon, in many of the referenced bible verses, look in Genesis. Now if you say, “ Oh, they can marry, we just don’t want it called ‘Marriage’, maybe they could call it, domestic partnership or something!” Sounds to me like the Sneeches on the beaches, who just want the stars upon thars, and if you don’t have the belly star you have got no right to come to the star belly parties, or schools or restaurants, etc. Huh, children? Perhaps some of you whom are having difficulty following my line of thought should run to the library and check out a Dr. Suess book for a little insight and enlightenment. This also brings to mind the African American churches across the United States. I find it so difficult to fathom the short term memories here, how can anyone growing up with the ingrained history of the oppression of slavery and the many horrendous indignations which provoked the great civil rights movement in all consciousness stand behind anything even close to what we are talking bout right now. Is it oppress, be the oppressor, so as not to fall under oppression? I am very incredulous to this action, are we back sliding here? As the wise woman, Whoopie Goldberg put it, “If you have a problem with gay marriage, then don’t marry a gay person!”

So much of the history of the Christian Church is wrought with acts of complete insane evil and vile cruelty, extreme dominance, like the inquisitions, the crusades (let’s see by a show of hands, who out there thinks that the term ‘Holy War’ is a term of Muslim origins? No, thanks to our old friend Pope Gregory, slaying and raping in the name of God is a part of our sordid history.) and let’s not forget one of the scared sainted early leaders, referred to as the first Pope, Saul/Paul, who murdered uncounted, but vast numbers of Christians in what he believed to be his quest in God’s name, that is before he was supposedly paid a visit by Jesus himself. By all accounts, Paul claims himself hellbound. So do we forgive all this, do we forget it all so quickly? And do we hold the words and passages of Paul in his letters of Roman’s, Galatian’s, Colossian’s, and Philippian’s God sent or do we discount him as a suspicious character much the way that James and Simeon did. No, we call the murderer Paul sainted, because he was forgiven. Forgive; this is another prevalent word and wish that Jesus teaches through out his preaching’s within the New Testament. And it seems very sad to say that in today’s world of Christian faith, this is an extremely foreign concept.

(And getting back to, what would Jesus do?) Of the passages referenced back to the New Testament, nine quotes from Jesus are listed; these are the passages that carry and hold the most validity for me, they are not the interpretations of a human being, striving to understand what God intends to say and command, but supposed direct quotes from the mouth of the physical God. There is one issue that is continually repeated throughout the Lord’s teachings, and that is to love one another, to share and make equal all within society. Is that what is going here? According to The words of Jesus within the Books of Luke 11:9-13 and Matthew 25:35-40: You should love every brother and sister before first sight, welcome that stranger into your heart as you would Jesus himself, for how you accept others is how you accept Jesus? How you treat that stranger is how you attend yourself to your God.

Throughout the New Testament there are also references to the extreme dislikes of Jesus Christ, he greatly discounted and spoke very feveredly against hypocrisy, the act of lying and adultery and let’s not forget his words against the condemnation of your brothers in society. Jesus was an extreme rebel against the bureaucratic law makers in the Jewish courts, he resisted for change in what he believed to be the true wishes of his Father, not the misinterpretations of humans playing God. Thoughtless, hypocrisy greatly angered Jesus, as he swept through the Temple grounds, scattering the money changers, and the sellers of sacrifices, whom he claimed were tainting the sacred grounds of His Father, God. How do you think that he would react today, with the many churches who are lobbying, spending immeasurable amounts from their over flowing coffers in order force their supposed Christian beliefs into political reality. Monies wasted, when there are countless children who are hungry and cold. Millions in need of food for sustenance, and clothing for relief from the elements. Is it okay with you to allow the innocent to suffer? Is your pursuit to be ‘right’, more important than one of those children. If you say or even think yes, then go to your children and try to explain that idiom to them, do you think that they would understand and be proud of you? Do you think that God is proud? When I think, about all this, I break down and weep, it becomes so difficult to write, but I will. The LDS church members alone spent well over 22 million dollars on their side of this sordid little project, think about how many children could have been fed with this amount. (I intend to write an entire post regarding “the Separation of Church and State”. So stay tuned, same bat time, same bat channel, same batty blog.) Jesus stated that he felt children to be the closest to him, are our choices and our priorities a statement towards what we really worship? Are you reading and angry with me or is it against the actions of others, or perhaps your own actions? Are you feeling like a righteous Christian at this very moment, in your heart and soul. Time to think, hard, reach deep, and pray to God, what are to be the true/real priorities of the Christian nations? It is at times like these that I struggle not to become disillusioned with supposed Christian ideology.

I want to state that I am not writing these posts as a direct representative of my church, (The Disciples of Christ) but as an individual, struggling with conscience in my pursuit to honor my Father God. I think and speak from my heart and soul, while I reach for my own truths. I do not claim to be a teacher of history, theology or civics; I am not a sociologist or psychologist. I am nothing more than a big mouthed blogger of humble origins, asking you to think in the least about the words I have placed before you. Thank you for your time. May God Bless us all, every one.

Improper Prop. 8

2008-11-18T08:16:00.000-08:00

Proposition 8, Hmmm, let me see; well this is going to be a difficult one for me. Why, you ask? Well that’s pretty simple, because this means so much to me. Why does it mean so much to me? It is important to me, because I STRONGLY believe this goes way beyond a personal issue, I believe this to be a civil rights issue, and anyone who knows me, knows how I feel about civil rights. I feel very strongly about civil rights and when I discuss things that I care so much about I become emotional. (Silly me) If there is one thing that my Momma taught me, and the Christian heart within me has to do is, when you see an injustice, make it right, in whatever manner that you legally can. Is that enough said? So, here we go….let’s start here…(Hang on folks this is going to be blong and thorough, but hopefully educating.)

Same sex marriage, why in our precious God and Savior’s name is this concept so difficult for so many to accept? Forgive me, but I am going to break it down into pretty simple forms here, so that those of you who might have a hard time seeing the truth from up there on your thrones of self righteousness, you can get a good clear view.

-On what precept do I believe that denying couples of the same sex the right to have a legal marriage is a civil rights issue? (To me, this is a BIG no-brainer.) If and when you deny another, human being the very same rights that you, yourself take for granted and practice on a normal/regular basis, then you my friend are discriminating against and oppressing the individual of whom you are denying said ‘rights’. Oppression is birthed through prejudice, prejudice stems from ignorance. Oppression and discrimination are at the very heart of civil rights. “What?!” You say, with great indignation in your voice, “But I’m not one bit prejudiced! I have gay and black friends alike, I don’t treat them any different than anyone else, honest, I’m not prejudiced! Why, I don’t have a prejudiced bone in my body!” But, you cannot, by any definition of the word equality, hold a person up before you, have them walk beside you, and say, “I accept you as you are.” and truly mean and believe this statement and then in the next breath say, “But you can’t live the same way that I do, you don’t have the right to, you don’t deserve what I have, because you are different than me and mine.” And not file this under prejudice. (But I can hear the narrow little doors to so many of the thinner minds out there slamming shut, narrow minds have cold hearts and small, clogged ears. Please, for my sake, try to unclench your brains and your butts and think with an open mind and a willing heart.) Who knows? You might end up not hating me after all. (And besides, more relaxed/ unclenched sphincters have much more healthy and pleasant B.M.’s, and what better way to put a smile on your face. And you know- I want to see your smile!)

-There are so many people who talk to me about this issue, and try to justify their supposed ‘higher ground’ stance by stating that’s it’s a moral issue. “I have nothing against gay people or gay couples, I just believe that marriage should only be legal between a man and a woman, it’s a religious, moral issue for me.” To this I say bunk! I also say the following:
Let’s break down the origins and definition of the word ‘marriage’. –

Semantics; marriage is the legitimate, (legitimate meaning as being sanctioned by some kind of civil or evangelical law set in place) contractually binding agreement/ceremony of union by where two people vow to enter into an enduring, monogamous civil relationship of domestic, co-habitation, which implies mutual rights of sexual intercourse. (Now folks, this is from the origins of the word, don’t shoot at the messenger!) Later the church at hand addend med, (added in) in order, as a natural means to propagate the species. – Meaning,,.. a man wants to assure himself that his lineage will live on, he will build heirs to his amassed fortunes.

History-The later definition including the wording within this addendum first received some historical attention in 1084, when Roman Catholic Pope Gregory VII decided, that is was no longer correct for clergy to marry and composed an edict stating that all clergy should from that time on practice abstinence, and be strictly celibate. Since most of the clergy was married the imposition of celibacy on the priests and their wives produced enormous personal suffering. They were suddenly told that they were not respectable wives, that they were concubines or whores and that they had to repudiate these women immediately. All married priests were forced to divorce their wives and abandon their families. Thousands of women must have been told that they could no longer live with their husbands who were priests. You see, from all research I have done, I have found only evidence to the fact that Pope Gregory VII was not only a supposedly devout Catholic but also an extremely devout misogynist (that means he hated women), nor did he like sex, and apparently nothing close to happiness. Not only where the clergy expected to practice abstinence, but within the congregations, conjugal relations between husband and wife should occur only at the time and as a means to propagate the species, sexual intercourse was not intended to be an expression of a marital couples love, nor a pleasurable experience, but rather strictly an act of procreation. The hope of an act of sex, the thoughts/sexual fantasies were to be extinguished or hell bound you were. (What a party pooper! What is that stench? Perhaps spilled milk and sour grapes.) Excuse me, but why would God create the experience as not an act of love, if not to express, or pleasurable, if that is not what you supposed to experience. And don’t you dare, even think that this can possibly be the influence of the devil or whomever you choose to call it.

However this last statement was not legally inserted until 1534 by King Henry VIII, at the time, he was hoping to achieve a legal divorce from his then wife Catherine of Aragon, in order to marry his pregnant mistress Anne Boleyn (Oops!), he was desperate for a male heir . But to no avail, the Pope in Rome, Clement, (The Catholic Church thinking that they were all of Christendom at the time, either Orthodox or Roman, forget about Martin Luther and the affects of Protestantism was beginning to have, The Catholic church in their arrogance overlooked future possibilities.) continually denied Henry’s request for a legal Christian divorce. Well, not only was the King royally pissed, he was in a great hurry, you see, he had to legally marry the woman with whom he had been having extra-marital relations (and had ‘knocked-up’ ) in order for the impending bundle of joy to be a legitimate and legal heir to the throne, this Infidel's marriage must take place prior to the birth. But the stubborn old pope, he just would not relent and grant the king a church divorce, so Henry stomped his feet, threw a royal tantrum and said, “Fine, if you will not give me my way, I shall make my way! I will make my own church, in which I, the King will be the leader/(dictator) of the church and I will get my divorce,…by my order!” (Na na na, na na! Go eat worms and boogers! I’m only paraphrasing here.) This was no idol threat. He did just that, and then he got the Catholic Church where it really hurt, in the old bulging, pocket book by withholding all of England’s tithing funds from Rome and putting them into the now, newly established Church of England. (Aah, the humble and hypocritical beginnings of yet another ‘divinely inspired’ institution.) But as you may well know (or not) the process was taking too long and Catherine died under overtly-suspicious circumstances, leaving poor King Henry a weeping widower and free to marry Anne ‘get your shotgun’ Boleyn- which he promptly did. But guess what folks? Justice is rich with irony. Anne gave birth to a healthy baby GIRL (D’oh! Drats, foiled again!), Mary. But wait!, the story gets better. For their six month wedding anniversary, Henry, being the old romantic that he was, gave his beloved Anne a huge piece of silver. A custom made guillotine blade, it was to die for, Anne lost her head over this one. But don’t worry. I’m quiet sure it was a church sanctioned beheading. And not only that, even though Mary was a yucky old worthless girly, girl, much to Henry’s dismay, she turned out to be a pretty smart little pip,…but lets leave that for another history lesson, altogether, at another time. Anyway now you can see how your definition came to fruition, and it has been abused in much the same manner ever since.

Sociology/Psychology: Why is that we as human beings have such an urgent and overwhelming need to control the environment around us, including the populace? Why is it that we start to sweat and question ethics whenever another human being might deviate from the plain that we travel along, if even in the slightest? Fear and insecurity. Our fear stems from our lack of knowledge and our own lack of enthusiasm or willingness to learn, and that fear and laziness keeps us all locked tight and trapped within our known but unenlightened, little boxes. Our fear controls us, holds us back, so we in return, whether consciously or unconsciously fear being left behind or proven wrong, so in return we strike out to control others. (which of course is silly) Insecurity stems from our lack of conviction, our belief system and structure is not strong enough to hold up our personal creeds and outward perceptions of who we appear to be and this really bothers our egos. So we work for and are drawn to individuals with like and similar systems and structures, so that they agree with us, they pat us on the back and say, “You’re right! You believe just like I do, so you must be right.” And so this makes us feel better about ourselves and our weak convictions, making us feel stronger. It’s the old ‘strength in numbers’ idiom. Then we start to look around and collect even more clones, drawing them into our cluster, and it all becomes one big back slapping feast and agreement session. (Does this sound productive?) But then, wait a minute, just one darn minute here! A stranger enters the scene, someone different, not at all like any of us in our big cluster _____ here, and they don’t believe like us, they don’t look like us, they don’t worship or live like us, there are more of us, and we all agree, so we must be right and they must be wrong, that just isn’t right. Then the old ‘us and them’ mentality steps in and builds schisms, and prejudices, bias and hatred. Kind of childish and very sad isn’t it? And where does all the hubbub get us, nowhere, and certainly not closer to God. I was always under the impression that it was our job lay back into the arms of God and rely upon his wisdom when it comes to judging peoples lives and actions. (And this brings us on to the next form I want to discuss, Spirituality.)

Spirituality: Now, notice that I didn’t put religion in the header. That is, because I’m sorry to say, more often than not, much of organized religion has very little to do with spirituality. So many hold the Holy Bible up, while pointing fingers, condemning others, because they don’t believe and worship in the exact same manner that they and their ‘ safety cluster’ do. I think that when you do this, you take/rob the sacred quality right out of the ‘Good Book’, you vacuum the very essence of our Holy God right out of it. To me that is a grave sin within itself. Let me ask you something, look into your heart and be completely honest. Think of your children and how much you love them, how proud you are of them, how much you love your children as their parent. Now, how does it make you feel when someone, a stranger, makes condemning remarks and judgments against one of your children or all of them, especially when it is a trait or characteristic that your child has absolutely no control over, they were born that way? Statistics show that about 2 out of every 10 of the human population is gay/lesbian, that’s 20 percent of God’s children. Let me tell you, I have a son with autism and a daughter who is hearing impaired, and a daughter who is in love with a woman. I am so proud of all of them, they are beautiful and wonderful, I would die for any of them. I love them more then I love myself. Not one of them is responsible for any of their differences, and when someone holds these ‘differences’ against them in condemnation, well it kills me a little every time, it saddens me more than words can say. Now think about you and your narrow minded judgments and condemnation of 20 percent of God’s children, how do think your words make God our Creator feel? You are knowingly hurting your God every time, how thoughtless does that make you? Have you ever thought about that? And don’t you dare say that gay people are an abomination, because an abomination is a mistake, then you would be accusing God of making a mistake 20 percent of the time, the God I worship is infallible. The words within Proposition 8, are not God’s words, but only the words of human beings playing god. (You in your ignorance’s don’t deserve a capitol ‘G’!) How spiritual is the feeling of hate, is there any essence of spirituality within condemning words, there is only hypocritical bias!

~To be continued~

(You know what? I am going to cut this post into 2 parts, it is going to be so long and I am eager to have you all begin reading it. I will post the continuing saga as soon as I complete it, I would humbly ask that you take the time away from your busy schedules to continue reading my insignificant little blog, and I would like to extend my gratitude for your patience. T.T.F.N.)

T.T.F.N. ~ Ta Ta for Now

2008-11-02T18:53:00.000-08:00

Hey Kids,

Well the big crunch is on, next week is finals, I think that I had better not write any postings and get my ample butt to studying, don't you think? Please pray for me to get through this, I need all the help I can get

I promise that I will try to think up some fun and semi-interesting snoozers for two weeks down the road. If you want, you can send me a comment/request on what you would like to read about, I promise that I will give anything my best shot.

Remember and never forget, I love you all as big as the sky and twice as blue, I wish you blessings and rainbows and all that good jazz and razzamatazz.

See ya (or at least post ya) in a couple of weeks.
Raynola
P.S. I'm a little goofball, short and stout, tip me over and I'll probably pull you down with me.
T.T.F.N...... Ta Ta for now!!!!!

How's Tricks? Your in for a Treat!

2008-10-31T17:28:00.000-07:00

So what’s all the hoopla? What’s all the hubbub bud? The other day I was listening to a Christian based radio program, and the preacher gets all huffy, condemning the celebration of Halloween. I can just imagine how red faced this dude was, he was really getting into it, screaming about how Halloween is a holiday for pagan, witches and devil worshippers and children of night. Now I know plenty of people whom practice the Wiccan religion (we’ll get into that later) and while my friends enjoy a good costume party and practice the celebration of Samhain, they are no more evil than I am, an ordained minister in the Christian church, and in the end we are all God’s children. I thought that you might like to be enlightened by the true facts. A little education never hurt anyone.

Halloween's origins date back to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced sow-in). The Celts, who lived 2,000 years ago in the area that is now Ireland, the United Kingdom, and northern France, celebrated their new year on November 1. This day marked the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time of year that was often associated with human death. Celts believed that on the night before the new year, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred. On the night of October 31, they celebrated Samhain, when it was believed that the ghosts of the dead returned to earth. In addition to causing trouble and damaging crops, Celts thought that the presence of the otherworldly spirits made it easier for the Druids, or Celtic priests, to make predictions about the future. For a people entirely dependent on the volatile natural world, these prophecies were an important source of comfort and direction during the long, dark winter. It was also believed that revenge would be sought be murder victims, coming back to pull the murderer into damnation with them. Early on, the only costumes worn were by those who feared that those they had wronged would pay them a visit. In an attempt to disguise their identity or living condition the evil doer would dress up as a dead person, and then find a good hiding place until first light. Later to commemorate the event, Druids built huge sacred bonfires, where the people gathered to burn crops and animals as sacrifices to the Celtic deities. During the celebration, the Celts wore costumes, typically consisting of animal heads and skins, and attempted to tell each other's fortunes. When the celebration was over, they re-lit their hearth fires, which they had extinguished earlier that evening, from the sacred bonfire to help protect them during the coming winter. By A.D. 43, Romans had conquered the majority of Celtic territory. In the course of the four hundred years that they ruled the Celtic lands, two festivals of Roman origin were combined with the traditional Celtic celebration of Samhain. The first was Feralia, a day in late October when the Romans traditionally commemorated the passing of the dead. The second was a day to honor Pomona, the Roman goddess of fruit and trees. The symbol of Pomona is the apple and the incorporation of this celebration into Samhain probably explains the tradition of "bobbing" for apples that is practiced today on Halloween. By the 800s, the influence of Christianity had spread into Celtic lands. In the seventh century, Pope Boniface IV designated November 1 All Saints' Day, a time to honor saints and martyrs. It is widely believed today that the pope was attempting to replace the Celtic festival of the dead with a related, but church- and it's evolution from Samhain, an ancient Celtic Harvest Festival.

So I say that in today's society, for the majority of society Halloween is not much more than an occasion for children and adults alike to dress up in costumes, gather treats and have an over all good times, enjoying one another's good company. Oh, and a select few to harp and complain, as if they had nothing better to do. To them I say, "BOO!!!"

Steele a Hero of Mine

2008-10-30T09:12:00.000-07:00

Bob Steele passed away last night at 11 p.m., his wonderful life/wife, my niece Michelle was with him. Below is the last post that Bob wrote for his blog about a week and a half ago. I hope they all know that our love and prayers are with them. I would like to humbly ask that you all to please pray for them. You can also read more about Bob in my earlier post called “Man of Steele” or log onto his blog at caring bridge, I have the link to the left or his direct link in my post called "I Know, I KNOW". Bob was a good and valiant man.

Hello to ALL!!
More vital and important than all this is that the family and I are opening up to many NEW things, growing closer to the peace that comes in knowing that a pain free "New Creation" is on the horizon, soul feasting as God's unconditional love and promises of eternal life are in full flow to and through me. To say we've been blanketed with love is the understatement of the millennium but please accept our deepest heartfelt thank you for all the TLC extended to myself and the family over the years. Sorry, Lou Gehrig, but I am truly the luckiest man ever on the face of the earth. May the blessings of our loving God be upon you and yours this day and always. Amen.
Until I see you, goodbye for now and God Bless.

Bob

His Eye Is on the Sparrow

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,

Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heav’n and home,

When Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He:

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know

He watches me;

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know

He watches me.

I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free,

For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know

He watches me.

“Let not your heart be troubled,”His tender word I hear,

And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;

Though by the path He leadeth,but one step I may see;

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know

He watches me;

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know

He watches me.

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,

When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,

I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know

He watches me;

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know

He watches me.
Civilla D. Martin 1905

Is that a stick in your head? Or are you just really, really happy to see me?

2008-10-27T16:31:00.000-07:00

After the rough and tumble, Billy the Kid had left my life, there was a new kid in town and his name was Brett. Instead of a buzzed crew cut, Brett sported a pompadour; he was the very echo of his father. Now were as I was the youngest of five children, Brett was the oldest of three children. My mother was thirty years old when I was born; Brett’s mother was barely seventeen years old when he was born. His parents seemed so young and hip. (What did I know, I was a kid.) So the family dynamic and setup of Brett’s family compared to that of my family appeared so exotic, different and exciting.

First of all the biggest difference would be that you never saw either one of Brett’s parents without a cigarette or some kind of alcoholic drink in their hand, maybe, sometimes coffee. This was not the case with my folks, my folks drank coffee in the morning but no alcohol to speak of, and although my father smoked when we were very young, it ended quickly. Both of Brett’s parents were loud and boisterous in their behavior, my parents seemed to be naturally quiet and refined in comparison, my dad could talk a line of bull, but he did it in a much milder manner and form than anyone in Brett’s family. Brett’s home was decorated in one color, a sixties shade of bright blue. The walls were all painted a light pastel shade of blue, the carpet was the exact same shade of blue as the velvet couches and the heavy velvet curtains, and this was the same throughout the entire house, at least in all the parts I was allowed to explore. Blue was Big Betty’s favorite color, oh yeah, Betty was really big into blue. Even when Christmas came around, all of the ornaments were blue, the lights were blue, as was the tinsel or at least it looked blue from the lights and ornaments. The tree skirt was a deep royal blue and many times the wrapping paper was a foil blue. Therefore, it goes, Big Betty’s house was the blue house, and she loved it that way.

The other end of the exotic spectrum was the back yard, as soon as they moved in, Dale, Brett’s father started to assemble a very large shed on the west side of the house, it had it’s own chain link fence surround, the shed was even heated. This structure housed birds, many, many birds. Seemingly, the most exotic among the bird village were the peacocks! The peacocks were very large to a child my age, and very aggressive, I always kept a respectful distance from these fellas. You see, of all of the birds housed within the structure, the peacocks where allowed to wander free within the backyard. Thus the backyard became very intimidating and taboo, so all that much more exciting in a scary sort of way. I must say, it was always a great adventure when you found a fallen peacock feather. I also remember a few parrots and parrot keets, and while they were beautiful, they were very, very, loud, so I lost my fascination with these characters very quickly. Birds were supposed to make beautiful songs within their chirping not loud and aggressive squawks. They also had somewhat exotic choice of trees in their yard landscaping, the back yard had no less that four large globe willows, which seemed to go in first thing, even before the blue carpet! Therefore, the backyard seemed to be in a constant state of shade. For loud people they sure seemed to have peaceful surroundings, at least on the outside. Another thing I remember is that Brett’s parents seldom ventured outdoors during the day, unless there was a party or drinking going on, maybe this happened during a time when I was in school or napping or something, but I seldom ever saw them outside in the heat of the day. The entire yard was surrounded by a high wooden fence, while most of the other yards in the neighborhood were fenced with chain link.

Another big draw in Brett’s backyard was a large and framed sand box, it was the only formal sandbox in the neighborhood that I know of. So needless to say, the new kid town, quickly became my new friend. I was just starting to attend kindergarten, it lasted half the school day and there was only one kindergarten class with two sessions per day in the school we went to, so Brett was in my class, sweet. I distinctly remember the first real day of class, Brett knocked at the door, he had come to pick me up, and we were going to walk to school together and all on our own. (I later found out that our mother’s followed secretly, at a discreet distance, to make sure that we were safe and going the right direction.) Brett was freshly scrubbed with rosy cheeks, his hair Breel Creamed to perfection, he was wearing dress pants, dress shoes and a shirt with buttons! Wow, did he look sharp, Brett cleaned up rather nicely, I was impressed. I too had been run through the perfect kid machine, but then again my mother had done just that every day of my life, all the neighbors used to exclaim, “I swear you kids always look like you walked right out of a machine or a catalog or something!” Anyway, both Brett and I had brand spanking new book bags, I remember stepping out into the sunlight, the morning fresh and promising with adventure. As we made our way down the street, Brett reached out and took my hand, and we made our way down the street like that, hand in hand, Brett carried both book bags and suddenly I wasn’t so scared. Brett explained to me that we had to stop by Randell’s house on the way to school to pick Randell up, he was going to be walking with us to school. Randell was Brett’s other best friend, I was a little jealous, that is until I met Randell.

Randell looked as if we could have been related, as a matter of fact he looked just like my cousin Marky, and he was so polite and likeable. He was slim, had dark eyes that twinkled, short dark hair, cut in a modified crewcut, lifting up in front with butch wax with a charming cowlick affect, deep dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, and very white teeth. And Randell smiled all the time and this worked well for him. We walked to his house around the corner, picked him up, I met him, and I liked him immediately, I met his mother, and away we went. As we started walking again, I had shiny new school boy bookends, Brett on one side and Randell on the other. Brett reached for my hand again, and then to my surprise, Randell smiled shyly at me and took my other hand and I couldn’t help but think slyly, “Hey this is alright!” We made it to school without too much excitement, the three of us, hand in hand, in hand. I am sure that we got quiet a few smiles from all of the adults we encountered along the way, my mother has stated to that we brought tears to her eyes, with our innocent beauty. I know that my teacher, Mrs. Brown gave me a big smile and a wink when she saw us, walking up to stand in line outside the school. Brett and Randell and I even sat next to one another in the classroom, we lay in a group at naptime and we ate our snacks together. This was very reassuring to me, you see, I am very shy by nature and there is comfort in a known group. I didn’t like to talk much, and I don’t remember ever feeling pressure from either of these two in that area, we just seemed to have a comfortable relationship with just our company and presence being enough for the three of us. We would go through the day, with our finger paints and the alphabet and learning to count while indulging in a tasty treat on cinnamon graham crackers and milk, then we would head on home. The same way we started out, holding hands and with bright eyed enthusiasm.

After school I would change in my play clothes and tell Mom all about my day, what we did in school. Then I would have my lunch with Mom, this was one of my favorite parts of the day, when I got sacred one on one time with my Mom. She would tell me stories about when she was a little girl and all the things that she liked to do at my age. Then I would help clear up the table. Mom’s favorite soap opera came on after lunch, so I would head out to play after that. At this time in my life I would head straight for Brett’s house, if he wasn’t already knocking on the our front door, we were completely in tuned with one another’s patterns, or so it seems today.

One day, like most other days, our play ended up in Brett’s magical backyard. We were playing in the sand box, playing house, but not like most kids our age. We used to make little roads in the sand, with box houses and match box cars. Brett was the dad and I was the mom, Brett would take he little car and drive it on our little roads to the box that was his work but mostly Brett just drove around, making engine noises. I would take my little match box car and drive to the grocery box store, and to the park and take our invisible and very well behaved children to school or the doctor and so forth, it was the same game every time, but it worked for us. We could remain occupied with this same game for hours on end, go home for dinner and then pick up where we left off the very next day or the next week even. We would build a very elaborate road system, make lakes and ponds and entire citys, this took up the majority of the time, rather than the pretend play, but we were very happy with this. Isn’t childhood wonderful? This particular day we must have been at it for hours, because before I knew it my brother Ralphie had come to fetch me for dinner. We didn’t even notice Ralphie when he came into the backyard and watched us play for I don’t know how long. I farily jumped when he spoke up, “Nolie, you haveta come home for dinner now!” I was so startled that I jumped up from where I was crouching along the rim of the sandbox frame. There was a huge maple tree which shaded the sand box, this tree contained many low hanging branches. After standing up I glared at Ralphie for scaring me, his eyes opened wide and his mouth made an “O” shape but nothing came out. This puzzled me, I looked at him in askeance, (Do ya like how I threw that in there?) and he simply pointed to my head. Brett was staring at me also, his face turned pale, “YOUR BLEEDIN!!!” I reached up for my head, and felt something sticking out of the top, my fingers came back slick, with a considerable amount of blood on them. One of the low hanging branches had stabbed into my head when I stood up, it broke off when I turned to looked and see what was sticking in my head. It wasn’t a large branch, a twig really, but it was big enough.

As with any other head wound the blood started to flow, Ralphie just stood there dumbfounded, “Nolie, you better get home, NOW!” I turned and ran towards home. Our house was three doors down from Brett’s house and by the time I made it home I couldn’t see, there was so much blood and it was running down and into my eyes, all I could see was red. I was kind of feeling my way to the front door, but I couldn’t get it open, my hands were slick with blood, everything was red. I finally rang the door bell in hopes of being rescued. June, my oldest sister was helping my mother prepare dinner, she answered the door when I rang the bell, she took one look at me, gave out a very loud scream and slammed the door in my blood drenched face. My mother then came to the door, pulled me into the house and then led me into the bathroom. She plopped me in the tub, told me to sit still and then she pulled the stick/branch out or my head and cleaned me up, dowsing my hair with what I believe to be either peroxide or rubbing alcohol. This she all did in complete silence, like an old pro on the front lines of a battle, she being the triage doctor. Her hands were firm but gentle, I really don’t remember crying too much, I think I was more afraid than hurting. I was afraid that I might get in trouble for getting blood in my Mother’s spotless house, but nothing ever came about from the mess. And I don’t remember feeling any pain at all. It was all cleaned up before I came out of the tub, all set and clean as a whistle. The bleeding seemed to stop as quickly as it started, after mom applied pressure, some ice and antibiotic ointment. I stepped out of the bathroom rather hesitant, I guess I expected the world to have changed in some way, but no.

My mother calmly sat me down to eat my dinner, my siblings all seemed to vanish as if my minor head wound was highly contagious. Perhaps I had been in the tub long enough for all of them to finish and head off to bigger and better things, my young mind did not think of such things. I sat alone, eating my dinner in silence, I really didn’t feel like eating, but I was too scared not to eat every bite of food. Half way through my meal there was a knock at the door, Mother answered, I heard Betty (Brett’s Mother) and my mother talking in a hush, my Mother called to me. I climbed down from my chair and shuffled over to the door, a little timid, I was apprehensive, I didn’t have any idea what I was in for. Betty stepped into the house, along with Brett, who gave me a long look before stepping closer to me, then he gave a great heaving sigh of relief and a shy smile. I smiled right back, I think that Brett was just a scared as I was. Big Betty stuck her ever present cigarette into her mouth, put her mixed drink down on the counter and took a good long look at me, “Well, you don’t look too worse for wear, last I heard you were runnin down the street covered in blood! Let me take a look at yer head.” I saw my mother cringe as Betty blew smoke into the air, talking with her cigarette still sticking out of the side of her mouth, my mother pulled me closer to her and turned me around, she pointed out the hole in the top of my head, Big Betty pulled at my hair, causing it to part around the wound. Both women seemed to inspect the hole very carefully, I really couldn’t see anything but the tops of their feet while I was looking down. “Hmph, well I’ll be damned, if that don’t beat all. Ya sure did a good job of cleanin it up Bert, I don’t know. Do ya think she should have stitches?” Betty inquired, (no doubt she was wondering if my parents held she and her husband responsible) My mother responded in her ever calm and even voice, “I don’t think so, the bleeding stopped pretty quickly, head wounds always bleed more than others, it’s really not that bad and Nolie doesn’t seem to be in any pain” She put her hand under my chin so that I was looking into her eyes, “Does your head hurt honey?” “No Momma, I”m okay” She smiled at me and my heart filled up, she pulled me closer to her side and held me there with an arm around my shoulder, all of my fears were soothed away. Betty left quickly afterwards, much to my mother’s relief. My mother wrinkled her nose and opened all of the windows in the house to get rid of the cigarette smell. She put some of her favorite perfume onto a hankie and waved it around as she walked through the house.

Mom let me stay up and out of bed a lot later than usual, we watched the Milton Berle Show together and then the news. She held me to her side sitting there on the couch, so that I could not lay down. I believe she didn’t want to fall asleep, I was even awake when my Dad got home from work at eleven o’clock that night. Dad inspected my head carefully, he told me that he had saved the dessert from his lunch, saved it just for me. He told me to go get it from his lunch bucket. I ran over to the kitchen table and flipped the lid open, oh joy! It was a hostess cherry pie, my favorite! I was in heaven, my traumatic experience was quickly painted over with happiness. I guess I ate my cherry pie and fell a sleep on the couch, that is were I woke up the next day. My mother kept me close to her for the next couple of days and everything seemed to go on as usual.

I didn’t go over to Brett’s house much for quiet a while after that, but we still walked to school together, along with Randell. We were still best friends, that is until we got into the second grade and Brett and Randell started to get teased by the other boys, you weren’t supposed to have a girl friend! YUCK!!! I started hanging out with my sister Cindy more after that anyway, but Brett always had a secret smile for me if we passed in the hallways. And life goes on.

I Don't Know Much

2008-10-26T15:11:00.001-07:00

Many of you know that I am currently attending the Theological Education Institute. It is located in Denver, Colorado. My husband Mark and I physically attend classes on the second Saturday of every other month. Mark is a new Christian, having grown up in the LDS Church, but not being an active member for many years, he felt a need to find something to fill up the hole in his soul, and he is attending the T.E.I. as a way of gaining knowledge and ability, he wants to educate himself as much as possible about his newly chosen religion. He has many questions and insecurities. I pray that he finds the answers to all of his questions and that his hunger for knowledge is satiated. I am very proud of Mark, and thankful that he is willing to go through this process with me, and I love him for his endless support.

Now, I am attending with the intention of eventually becoming a minister or pastor, with the Disciples of Christ, Christian Church. Why, you ask, well because I feel as though I have a 'calling'. (Stop laughing!!) I have already gone through some classes and I am currently a licensed Christian Minister, however, a little over a year ago, Mark and I joined the Disciples of Christ Church here in Salt Lake, it is the only one in Utah and we have decided to make it our home church. Because it feels just that, it feels like a safe haven, it feels like home, and it is. It is a loving and truely spirit filled sancutary, a real House Of God. And so we came Home. And the Disciples of Christ Church requires that I attend classes and go through schooling, fulfilling requirements of curriculim that they have specifically set in place, and so I go forth and endeavor to learn.

This time around, when we attend classes in Denver, we are supposed to write our own psalm. You know I have never in my academic carreer, felt more inadequate, perhaps my insecurities stem from the fact that it has been so many years since I have attended to higher learning.
Now the dictionary defines a psalm as such: A sacred song or poem; a hymn. Any of the scared songs in praise of God. Now I don't know much, and I don't know how I did, but this is what I came up with, I just write from my heart and pray that what I provide is merely adequate and does justice to the Big Guy above, so here we go:

God is that light on the other side of any closed door, always there.

If and when you open that door the light comes in,

It/He has always been there, to chase away the darkness.

It/He fills your world, your breath, your life.

It/He lights the way, shows you the way.

God knows you're on the other side.

Even though you may not knock or rattle the handle.

He is always waiting with endless patience and boundless love.

His light is nuritment that feeds your soul, just open The Door!

So tell me, how did I do? Tell me what do you think, be honest.

With God's many Blessings, until next time.

Blog Action Day 2008

2008-10-15T11:24:00.000-07:00

I would like to strongly encourage all who may read my humble little blog today and whenever, to pay a visit to F is for Fischer as soon as possible. As many of you know this blog is written by Lisa, my blog guru. It is a wonderful site, her posting today is of extreme importance, please read the post concerning Blog Action Day 2008: Poverty - Let's cure it with a girl! the subject is poverty. I feel so strongly about it that I was sorely tempted to just copy the whole post and paste it unto my blog. GOOD JOB GURU LISA BOO!! When my blog grows up I want it to be just like your blog. (Is this just a lazy way to opt out?)

The Old Ball and Chain Letter!! @X0/@x\!

2008-10-14T15:46:00.000-07:00

Sorry that I haven't written in a couple of days, I have been bogged down and inundated with chain emails of late, on Saturday, no less than 37, on Sunday 23, on Monday a whopping 49. Excuse me, but what the hell is going on?! You know I truly do love all of my friends and family, but this is getting ridiculous, I'm sorry to report this but I am going on a chain letter strike and boycott! NO More. Please don't be offended or hurt, I just can't do it any more.

You know I think the worst ones are the spiritual or religious ones, people send them to me and I feel so guilty if I don't comply, what if God is watching and thinks that I don't care? I do care, I really do, however I truly believe down in the recesses of my dark little heart that it is wrong to play on ones conscience in the name of the Lord, or playing on a person's guilt or belief system in order to get them to play what may amount to a trivial waste of mind , time and energy. Now I am totally aware of the fact that many people take this kind of stuff very seriously, and think it will bring on bad luck or something, so if you do, and don't want me to get a big old fat case of bad luck, please don't inflict it upon me.

I really don't mind the tags, or questionnaires, (On occasion) if I have absolutely nothing to do. But let me assure you all, that is a very rare thing these days. I work, running my own little business, so it's more than full time. I am going to theology school, with lot's and lot's of homework, then there's bible study, choir practice and food pantry, not to mention volunteering at the museum. Oh, yeah, in between all this chaos I make feeble attempts at being a half decent mother, running Robert to tutoring twice a week, helping him with his homework. I try to make decent meals by actually cooking on occasion, this means going to the store and doing some grocery shopping and meal planning. Let's not forget the house cleaning, doing the yard work, laundry and somewhere in all this I have a husband whom demands a far amount of time and lovin'. And I also help out my aging parents whenever I can. I'm not complaining but the list I just mentioned is way up on my priority list, answering trivial emails is way, way down at the bottom. I gotta get some sleep sometime!

On Monday it took over an hour and a half just to shuffle through all of my emails and decide which ones should be answered and which ones sent to the trash, then I had to answer my correspondence which took another two hours. People I have got to get some work done! I didn't get to my blog post cause I just got too tired, my days are long enough as it is. If this all comes across as big long bitch session, that's acause it is! Sorry, sometimes a woman just has to vent and this is my time!

So be on the alert, if I get an email and it has the earmarks of a chain letter it will be sent directly to the trash bin. You know I have said this once before and guess what happened? I got even more! Some may think it funny, but I seriously don't have the time, get back to me when I retire, (or maybe never) I find it all more than slightly irritating, I'll tell you what though, if you take the time to sit down and write me an honest to goodness letter, just meant for me, I promise to respond, those I will take the time for, those mean something to me, a good letter let's me know that you care enough to really make an attempt to reach out to me and I think that they deserve the respect of my time.

I am fully aware that there are some bruised feelings at this moment, but I just got to be honest. And I honestly don't intend to open, read or pass on anymore chains letters, sorry, signing out. (Now I'm a whistlin', I'm not bitchin, I'm whistlin'!)

Thinking Outside the Boxes

2008-10-10T15:19:00.000-07:00

I so wish that I could take my children back to my childhood days, so that they could know and experience the simple innocence and joy that came with life in those days, that they could be my peer playmates for just one day each season. So that they could know the child, innocent and untainted me. I know what I wrote about just the opposite, in an earlier posting, but as my sister Cindy points out, I did have some playmates, including my siblings and we did have many good times. But then again I was talking about personal memories and perceptions, which will differ from individual to individual, so I feel compelled to state that what I write about are my memories, how I remember things from when I was a child. In addition, as I also wrote in that same posting, these same memories may seem very trivial to an adult reading it now, but to a small child it may be very traumatic or frightening. Sometimes my memories were frightening but sometimes magical, I write it exactly as I remember it.

To broach the subject of how can I remember all of these things from such an early age, well I just can. Perhaps it is the same way I can draw or paint a portrait from memory. How I can remember the emotions that come up when I look at something, the senses, the smells and the feeling of the moment. Maybe my memory works differently from some of my readers. I am not trying to offend anyone, and I am not putting on an elitist attitude here, I am just trying to explain away or answer some of the questions. I do not remember every single day of my childhood, but I do have very distinct and vivid memories of the things that I am writing about, that is just the way it is. Maybe these said memories stuck with me because of some sort trauma or strong emotional effect they had upon me, the child within the experience. (Am I sounding bitchy?) So I will just write it the way that I remember, another person may have a different perspective on the whole thing, it is just that simple. (Well yeah, I am a bitch, but I’m so good at it, besides that I’m a brat too, remember?)

Anyway, back to my childhood. One thing that I can remember about my childhood very distinctly is how wonderful we felt large appliance boxes were. The bigger the better and the more the merrier. We could do so many creative things with large, strong, and versatile appliance boxes.

In the summer months, they would become playhouses, or lemonade stands, forts, caves or tunnels. It was simply wondrous when we got our hands on more than one box, we could have neighbors or a multi-room house. We would cut out windows, the doors were usually made out of the open ends, the other must have/necessary building material that would be on hand was duct tape, and we could make many a home repair such as mending a hole in the wall, installing the doors, reinforcing the seams and walls. We would grab the crayons, color flowers, and other decorations on the outside, and then on the inside, we would draw and color TV sets and other furnishings. I loved the coloring that was probably my favorite part/thing to do. Our trikes and bikes would become the family vehicles. My sister Cindy would in veritably bring in a few of the books that she was reading, (she was always quite the reader), bring in a flashlight and an old piece of carpet and we were set. They were not always this elaborate; when you are a kid with an imagination, you could make-believe anything. We could bring in our dolls and maybe a tea set and every thing was hunky-dory.

In the winter months, after the snow fell we could still make use of an appliance box. You see, on the inside of the box walls there was often a waxy type surface. I have no idea what the reasoning was/or is behind this design concept perhaps for ease of packing or unpacking. We would cut the boxes apart, curl up the end, the side with the handle holes were the prime pieces, and off we would head for the foothills about a half a mile from our home. The wax side down, you had a fantastic toboggan, all free. Sleds, we don’t need no stinkin’ sleds. The corners of the box were double walled, double thickness, if you cut them up you could make four sets of skis, the foot holds were of course made with loops made out of none other than the trusty duct tape, this often had to be stapled down as well as taping. Boy was this fun, good clean, cold and free fun. This may sound crazy and strange, but I remember most of our cardboard box outings as to be at night. The sledding path would be icy and fast, albeit the trips to the foothills would probably be shorter, at night, because of the cold. You had fewer crowds to deal with, not that there were traditionally that many people sledding all the time. There were plenty of big, steep hills to go around in those days. I can remember the ground crunching beneath our footfalls, and when the moon was full, with a new snowfall the world would be covered with glistening silver quilt. These are magical memories. The sight of our breathe before our faces, hanging in the air with laughter cutting through the night. Trudging up the long slopes for ten minutes for ninety seconds of thrilling ride. My parents would always go with us, they always made time for us, and mom would always have hot chocolate on hand. Love equals time and hot chocolate, and getting your parental ass bumped around and bruised while riding down an icy slope with your kid in the starlight.

Smaller boxes could come in handy as well, the apple crate boxes were the best, they had the thickest walls and were the strongest. We would line the bottom with one of our coats and then the rest of our coats were thrown at the bottom of the stairs leading to the basement, as well as anything else we could get our hands on. Then one of we children would sit in the box and get a nice sharp shove from the top of the stairs, it was a thrilling/frightening freight train of a ride. A very condensed version of a roller coaster or our sled rides. This was great fun until one of us went toppling over. Mom and Dad really didn’t approve off this particular activity that we children tried our hand at almost every grocery day. Love also equals not letting your child take foolish chances with their bones and ligaments.

We didn’t have much money, but fun in those days didn’t take much money. We never went without. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t know that, to us we had every thing. And when I look back on those times, maybe, just maybe we did. You see what you get when you dare to think outside of the box. Anything and everything.

Rough & Tumble, Billy the Kid

2008-10-07T11:39:00.000-07:00

When I was young, our neighborhood was the beginning of a new suburb, it used to be fields and farmland, and there were just a few streets and blocks in our subdivision. There were not that many children in my age bracket around, a few a year younger, a few a couple of years older but very few my exact age. However there were new families moving in as the houses were completed. Kitty-corner from my family’s house a new family moved in, they had two children, a baby girl named Janie and a red haired devil by the name of Billy, he was my age.

Now Billy was the ultimate boy’s boy, he had square and husky features, a thick chest, round cheeks and freckles, that barely showed under a constant burnishing from the sun and a healthy layer of ‘boysoil’. Oh yeah, and a head of brilliant red hair, fashioned in a crew cut, a swirling cowlick on the left side of his forehead. He had corn-silk blue eyes, that held more than a hint of mischief. He was all rough and tumble, full of spit and vinegar. He was not the slightest bit shy, no sooner had his father’s station wagon pulled into their new drive, Billy came bursting out onto the street.

I was watching from our driveway with caution, it was always a big deal around the neighborhood when a new family showed up, my brother had halted his quest in search of trouble to watch with me just long enough to see who got out of the car, he was getting ready to leave when Billy spotted us. He turned in our direction, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and started walking straight towards us with a swagger and no hesitation in his gait what so ever, stopping not three feet from were we stood. He was the spittin’ image of the Lolly Pop kid from the Wizard of Oz. I had cowered moving back a step, to peek from behind Ralphie’s back. Billy looked straight into my brother eyes with great bravado and said, “You aren’t very big, how old are you?” “I’m ten, you little squirt. How old are you?” “I’m gonna be five.” He bent around my brother to look at me, “Who’s that?” “That’s Nolie, she’s a squirt like you, why don’t you two get married?” Chuckling with great delight at his own wit, Ralphie then quickly ran off down the street to find boys his own age. I thought of running after him, but the soles of my feet were glued to the concrete, I looked at him uncomfortably, then down at my feet.

Billy’s shadow shifted closer to me, then suddenly he stuck his nose but an inch from mine, with a huge grin he winked at me! “Hey, how ya doin kid?” I jumbed back, startled by his brazen behavior, and looked up at him from underneath my lashes. “What’sa matter, can’t you talk?” “YES!” I spit back at him, indignant. “That’s good. So what kinda name is Nolie?” “That’s NOT my name! I hate it when they call me that!” “Then what’s your name?” “I’m not gonna tell ya!” I kicked at the ground and mumbled, “I hate my name.” “My name’s Billy!” He smiled wide at me. “Come on kid, tell me your name.” “Raynola,” I whispered. “Wow, that’s a long name, that’s differenter than Nolie! Can I just call ya kid or something?” He gave me a light slug on the arm, I looked at him again and he raised a single brow, and gave me a tough guy shrug. “Hey is this were you live? I’m gonna be livin over there.” He pointed towards his family’s new home, I noticed his Mother standing next to an old station wagon, holding a baby, watching us, Billy noticed too and waved, she gave a hesitant wave back. “That’s my mom and little sista.” Then he turned and walked towards my house, making a casual inspection along the way, he stopped when he came to the garden hose, looked at me and asked, “Can I get a drink outta this?” I don’t remember nodding, but I do remember Billy taking a big long drink and then turning my way with a certain look on his face, then he squirt me with the water! After I ran out the way, he said, “Hey, don’t get mad! Look!” With that he thoroughly doused his own head with the hose, then squirt water directly up in to air above him. “That feels good, don’t it?” Just then my dad came home and promptly turned off the water with a stern look, he then went over to introduce himself to Billy’s parents, pulling my mother along behind him. Billy and I followed, when we got to where his mother was waiting, “Look I got a friend, her brother says she’s Nolie, but don’t call her that, she don’t like it, I cant say her real name, I don’t know what to call her.” He shrugged at his mother, the adults all gave out amused laughs and started in with their own introductions. We went to explore his new house and yard, while waiting for the moving trucks to arrive.

That’s how I remember meeting Billy Houston, me awkward and shy, him brazen and talkative enough for the two of us. I don’t remember when I started to love Billy, I think it was the first time he called me ‘kid’. At the time I was pretty infatuated with Spencer Tracy (an odd choice for a young girl, but then again I was an odd girl, perhaps it was my Mother’s influence) and in one of the many movies he starred in with Katherine Hepurn (who undoubtedly played his love interest) he called her kid all the time, so I immediately perceived Billy as being quite sophisticated in a roguish sort of way, anyway I was star struck. After that Billy and I spent a good deal of time together, getting into all kinds of mischief. Sometimes we even took naps together, his yellow walled cowboy decorated bedroom or in the bunk beds in the bedroom I shared with my sister Cindy and Ralphie times were good.

With all of the houses being new in our neighborhood, the landscaping was far from complete, to this point our yard and those of all the yards around ours were yet unfinished. When Billy and his family were moving in, my father and a few of the neighbors had just begun to ready the soil for laying sod. My father had borrowed a flat bed truck from my uncle, they had attached a wood pallet with chains to the back of the truck bed. The pallet was weighed down with a man or two, these two men held rakes, the whole lot was dragged behind the truck at very slow speed. The pallet worked at flattening and leveling the soil, the men worked the soil behind them with the rakes, it was all a pretty effective process. With the yards not yet having fences, three or four yards were worked at once, all of the men involved were very happy, as well as the wives, their yards were finally getting completed!

My father had been working full time at Kennecott and part time with the home builder in lieu of a down payment for our family’s new home, this he did proudly, but there wasn’t much time for yard work until now. His obligation to the builder was now complete, time to turn to his obligations within my mother’s household, time to make this house a home. So my father had devised the soil preparation process, along with one or two of the neighbor-hood men, the days were getting warmer and the work was hot. The men had moved from the front yards into the backyards, which would have to be done the following day, my father had parked the truck in our back yard, with the pallet still attached. This delighted Billy and I to no end, we were constantly in quest for something to do, looking for a purpose to our days.

No sooner had my father parked the truck, then Billy and I began to use it as our own personal jungle gym, it was great. Billy immediately made it into a will adventure. Swiss Family Robinson, Treasure Island and Peter Pan were our favorite movies of the time, we were fascinated with the life of pirates, it was one of our favorite pretend games, at least it was Billy’s favorite. I played along because Billy was my favorite playmate, he certainly kept things hopping. Anyway, Billy got really enthusiastic about our pretend game of pirates. The flatbed of the truck was our ship, the cab of the truck was the cabin of that ship and of course the pallet would be the dingy raft, chained to the ship, we even had a flag. Well it wasn’t a real flag, it was an empty bag of fertilizer, stretched over an old screbb pipe which had been shoved into a side guard hole of truck bed. We were all set, things were running along smoothly, two shipmates working in unison to keep the ship enroute to Treasure Island.

We took turns jumping off of the side of the truckbed, taking a cooling swim with the local playful dirt dolphins and imaginary mermaids. We would run around the backyard, making stroking circular motions with our arms, move back to the side of the ship and climb back on board via the nearest back wheel, we soon tired of the swim factor of the game. Billy decided to swim up onto the dingy, he climbed up onto the truckbed by way of the heavy chain attached to the ‘dingy’. Billy was very animated in his pretend play, he was an exuberant pirate, I just tried to keep up as the second mate. I can remember Billy making circle with his hands and raising them to an eye, as his spy glass telescope, he scanned the short horizon and shouted out with excitement, “Land ho, Land ho!!” He turned and looked at me with a squinty eye (I believe this was to be in lieu of an eye patch), “Hold down the fort Matey, I’m goin ashore to explore!” (But Captain it’s a ship!) With this he took a great leap onto the pallet/dingy, “I’m goin ashore an find me some treasure! Watch out for pirates!” (Never mind that we were in fact supposed to be the pirates) I think this last line made me laugh with distraction, I didn’t realize what he was doing, he began to give hard yanks on the heavy chain which attached the pallet/ dingy to the truck/ship, he grunted out as he began to pull with all of his might, “Help me, unhook the raft, I gotta get ashore!” I reached down but my short little arms could not reach the hook which had been latched into the empty trailer hitch hole, I had to step down onto the bumper, it was a precarious trek down from the flatbed, I was holding onto the flagpole/screbb pipe. I remember looking back up towards the wobbly pole it see that the fertilizer bag had fallen off. My hand finally stretched out far enough, I grasped the top of the hook and pulled it out at just the same moment when Billy put all of his weight into a huge pull of the chain, the chain whipped out of the hole and through the air. It happened so quickly that I could not move my hand out of the way in time, my knuckles and fingers received a sharp wrapping, I jumped up onto the truck bed with the intention of scolding Billy the pirate for hurting my hand but when I looked down at Billy everything changed.

The world moved in slow motion, to my young horror the hook at the end of the chain was now protruding out of Billy’s forehead, as in every head wound there was lots and lots of blood, and it was all over Billy. Billy was still conscious, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Hey what happened! Hey, hey, I’n bleedin!” I now screamed and jumped of the truck, it seemed like it took me forever to get to the house. My Father was shaving, getting ready to leave for work, I couldn’t even tell him what had happened, I just grabbed his hand and pulled, he took one look at me and saw that I was covered in blood, he didn’t realize it was Billy’s blood, “What happened? Where are you hurt?!!!” He was turned me this way and that, all the while I was trying to pull him towards the door, he shook me, “Are your hurt?” “NO, Billy!!!” My Father picked me up and ran with me outside, I pointed to the backyard, but that wasn’t necessary, Billy’s screams could be heard by now. By now another neighbor poked his head out the door, “Hey what’s goin on?”

As soon as my father got a good look at Billy he started swearing up a storm, he ran into the house and called my mother, they grabbed some toilet paper and kitchen towels. My mother calmly took over, she sat Billy down, who was still conscious and yelling, she slowly removed the hook from Billy’s head, tilted it back and applied pressure with the towel she had in her hand, she look over her shoulder at the gawking neighbor, “Get some ice, quick, do it now!!” My older sisters were now on the scene, “Run and get his mom, run fast, now!!” About three of the neighbors showed up with bowls of ice, my mom wrapped a handful of cubes in a towel and applied it to the crying mass of blood, who now began to protest, “Don’t move Billy, this will make the bleeding slow down, stop moving, that only makes it worse!” (I find it ironic that the boy who had a big hook sticking out of his head protested louder about ice being placed on his head) I don’t know if Billy knew that my mother meant business or he was getting weak from blood loss, but he seemed to stop fighting. Just then Billy’s mom showed up and starting screaming and crying, “Oh my God! What happened, what happened to my baby?” My Dad lead her to the car, “No Helen stop, it look’s worse than it is, head wounds always bleed a lot, please don’t scare him, just calm down for Billy’s sake!” “But, but Sonny’s at work, and we don’t have a phone, what am I going to do, what am I going to do?” “Relax, I’ll take you, June and Sharon can watch after Janie.” With that he led her to the passenger side of our station wagon, then he came back for Billy, but my mother had already scooped him up as if he weighed nothing, she was already heading for the car, my father opened the tailgate up, she slid right in with the bleeding boy in hand as quick as a fox.

I was forgotten there on the truck bed, I started to cry, thinking that my dear friend was bound to die. No one told me what to do, so I sat there. I don’t remember how I got in the house, maybe I was suffering from a slight case of shock. I only remember crying on my own, the sun beating down on me, with my head down, looking at my shadow and then waking up sometime the next day. I remember opening my eyes to focus on the corner of the off-white ceiling and wall, the room being lit by the sun, listening to the sounds of a quiet house, then crawling out of bed. I moved toward the sound of my mothers, housework. I asked my mother if Billy was dead, she smiled at me, “No, sweetie, Billy’s perfectly okay.” She cleaned me up for the day, I asked again, with that she took me by the hand and walked me across the street, and to my surprise Billy opened the door himself. His face lit up at the sight of me, “Hey, kid! Do ya wanna play or something?” His mother Helen came around the corner with baby Jane in her arms, “William S. Houston, you are not to go outside, your supposed to be in bed!” Billy cowered back a bit, I was so scared, there was a bandage stretched across Billy’s forehead, but not as large as you would have expected, I don’t even remember seeing any bruises, though I’m sure there had to be some. Billy must have noticed me looking at his forehead, he pointed at the bandage, “I got stitches and a sucker!” He looked up at his mom, “I throwed up. But I’n okay now, but I gotta stay in the house, for how long momma?” “At least a few days Honey.” Our mothers talked in the back ground while Billy and I watched a local cartoon program, everything seemed to be okay, but I was still scared, I can remember watching Billy more than the television and the sounds in the house making an echo in my head. And feeling a hollow thunder of fear and relief mixing with the hunger in my empty stomach.

Billy’s family didn’t stay in our neighborhood much longer, Sonny, his father had lost his job. Apparently he found a job in another town. It was never addressed with us kids, I don’t even remember saying goodbye to Billy, I just remember all the rough and tumble games of pretend, being called ‘Kid’ and being happy. I also don’t even remember missing Billy that much, after he was gone, just the times we had together. I guess that’s okay and the way it should be.

I Know I KNOW

2008-10-03T07:17:00.000-07:00

Hey Folks,
I know I haven't posted in over a week. There is a reason, I havent been lazy. I just want the story about Bob and Michelle Steele to be in the forefront for a while so that everyone can get the chance to know these wonderful people. To know them is to love them, so sorry it will be a couple of more days. Below is the latest posting from their blog on Caring Bridge, you should really visit and give it a read. I am sure you will find it inspiring.
Here's Michelle's posting, I hope I'm not stepping outside anyone's right's here:

Don't get me wrong....this week has been exhausting, but also it's been full of blessings just to name a few....Jim, Dick & Doug built our shed, good news from Ftl. H.R., seeing Bob smile at the Jackson Browne concert (we bought these tickets months ago to celebrate our anniv. didn't think we'd actually get to go), having my brother-in-law babysit the kids, the battery went dead and our mechanic took good care of us, Josh received the Pride award for "friendship", my brother in law and I made a big dent in cleaning out the garage, got an electric garage door opener installed, visits/calls/help from lots of friends, sunny days, rain to water the flowers friends planted that I don't have time to water :), Bob ringing the bell at the cancer center today signifying he's done with chemo and having the patients receiving chemo cheer him on!!!! God is so Good, he's blessed our lives in the middle of a major storm!!!
Yes, Bob did ring the chemo bell today! You get to ring it when you're done with chemo. if you're in good health or bad. Bob's earthly body is in bad health but his faith is stronger than ever! I feel a peace about him today after he decided to stop chemo. I know it was a tough and emotional decision but there is a peace about it as well. Tomorrow we'll officially sign on with hospice and other details have fallen into place this week as well. Bob has stated that he does want to see or talk to friends so if you would like to visit please call and we'll see how Bob feels....it varies hour to hour really and usually early evening is the best in general, but call.....if we don't pick up then it's probably just a bad time, but do try. We'll be at home a lot now with hospice and not having to go out for appointments.
Michelle
Read the latest update now by using this link: http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/bobsteele

The Man of Steele

2008-09-27T20:32:00.001-07:00

What is a super hero? I think that all of our definitions of such a person may differ greatly, but I can attest to the fact that I know a few super heroes myself. I want to tell you a story about a super man. His name is Bob Steele; he is married to my sister’s stepdaughter Michelle. Bob and Michelle have two children, Rebecca and Josh. By any outward appearance, Bob may appear to be a normal man, he is a hard working Christian man who loves his family and friends and his God. He is a man of great faith. So what makes him a super hero?

You see, in June of 2004, Bob was diagnosed with cancer of the stomach and esophagus. In July of that same year, he had surgery that removed his stomach, part of the lower esophagus. A cancerous spleen and numerous lymph nodes were removed for biopsies. Then in July he went through just his first round of chemotherapy, ending on December 31st, 2004. Bob returned to work shortly after these episodes, in March 2005, going on with his daily life as usual.

In January of 2007, a blood work-up detected the possibility of tumor growths. As feared, cancer was found in the colon. This was surgically removed on April 17th. Yet there were still cancerous cells found in the lower abdominal area. Another round of chemotherapy treatment was called for. This was to be repeated every three weeks. Fast forward to 2008, Bob has now gone through four rounds of Chemo and countless surgeries.

Okay, so I am sure that we are all agreement that all of this an awful lot for one man to endure, but some of you may ask, “So, does that make him a superman?” I tell you, most men would have given up to bitterness, self-pity and anger, but not Bob. He still goes to work every chance he can, he spends as much time as possible with his wife and children, and all of his extended family and friends. And most of all Bob Steele has the strength and conviction of faith to thank God for all that he has been given. Through all this Bob has simply asked for the ever-present mercy, love and grace of our God to continue His work in all this. He also humbly requests your prayers for himself, but more for his family.

Bob still smiles when he looks at his children. He makes sure to participate in special activities with both his son and daughter when ever physically possible. He strives to help and love his neighbor whenever the need arises. He wants their lives to remain as normal as possible for as long as possible. He wants nothing more than for his children and wife to have a happy life. He wants to be the father and husband that they need.

But I don’t think that Bob is the only super hero in this family. I turn to Michelle and I see another super hero. She works hard everyday, striving to keep her family going. She carries the load as often as required. She sleeps very little, and prays for her husband’s health and her children’s happiness and well- being. She coordinates and carries on with an unbelievable attitude of great faith. Michelle is the picture of a true Christian woman. She works at being the best mother her children could ever ask for, and she does this with a quiet strength and grace. She seeks very little for herself, she asks for your prayers, mostly for her husband and her children. She wants ease to enter into her husband’s pain filled existence.

My sister Cindy and her husband Big John, stand by. They hold hands and catch tears. They shoulder the burden when ever they are allowed. They fill in as the parent figure as loving grandparents. They provide support of many kinds, some times they hold up the world for their struggling daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. In my eyes, they too are heroes. They are all a family of my superheroes. They seem to keep on keeping on, mostly with the welfare of the children in the forefront of their minds, actions and hearts. At the bottom, the foundation to all of whatever may happen now and in the future is a great and unending love. And this all makes God happy.

So, as you can see my definition of superhero is a picture of inner and outer strength, faith, conviction, but mostly actions through the emotion of love. No cape necessary. I think that if more people lived their life with the same ideals and practices the world would be better off for it. Isn't that what a super hero does, makes the world a better place through their existence? God has truly blessed us with your presence, Bob, Michelle and kids in our lives.

mEAN gIRL? I Am Who I Am

2008-09-27T13:29:00.000-07:00

You know the other day, after reading my; welcome to my world postings; someone asked me why I was so mean when I was a kid. I replied, “I don’t know, I guess I was just a mean kid.” “No, there has to be a reason, kids aren’t born mean, you’re very nice as an adult. I don’t believe it.” I just shrugged, “I don’t know”. I really could not answer the question, I decided to think about it, and I have. I wracked my brain over this one, looking back over all of my childhood memories repeatedly. I spent a lot of time in introspection.

I know that I was relatively happy as a young child, as far as my parents are concerned; my parents were strict disciplinarians, but loving and demonstrative as parents. My parents were hard working, and with five kids, we did not have much money, but my parents always provided for we children before their own needs, and they were always very generous with their time. They were the best parents any child could ask for, we never went without clean clothes or shoes, and we never missed a meal. We never had to spend a night out in the cold, and as children we never knew that we were not rich, we never wanted and we always knew that we were loved, we never had to question that. We were taught good morals, a strong work ethic and liberal Christian values. So I couldn’t blame it on my parents.

When I talk to my parents about it they just smile. My mother stated, “You weren’t mean, you just had to fight back when the other kids picked on you, that’s all. You were quiet and you played by yourself a lot, but you weren’t mean, at least I didn’t think so.” Dad just smiles and gets all misty eyed, “No, you weren’t mean, you were a scrappy little thing and you wouldn’t take too much bull.”

Of all of my memories with my siblings, I get a slightly detached feeling, maybe because in most of my memories I was the brunt of their jokes and cruelty. And although I may have perceived it as cruel I really don’t think that they saw it the same way. (They might read this post and call to ask if I want cheese with this whine) I was the runt, pushed to the back of the line, chided for my size and looks. Perhaps it looks as though I am crying over spilt milk, but I’m not, just attempting to analyze and get to the bottom of this, ‘mean girl image’. The truth is the memories that stand out the most are the ones that I think I considered traumatic in some way as a young child, to any adult mind they may seem mild, but for some reason they stuck with me. Maybe I am just too sensitive, but perhaps that’s what makes me an artist.

For instance I can remember a favorite toy, a stuffed dog, with wheels at the bottom of the legs, a leash and collar. At the end of the leash there was a little ball, you would squeeze the ball and the dog would bark and do a flip. At night you could twist its head to the side and a lullaby would play. I loved that dog, I received it for my birthday one year. The day after I got it, it went missing, it finally turned up, I found it decapitated. My older brother and sister had taken a hatchet to the poor thing. Their explanation being, that they wanted to find out how it made the barking noise, they wanted to see if it would have a brain. I can remember seeing it without its head, the stuffing all pulled out, I was horrified. My dad made an attempt to fix it, but to no avail, I didn’t receive an apology or another gift to make up for it that year. After that I kind of developed an aversion to stuffed animals. But upon further consideration, perhaps I was just afraid that any other stuffed animal I might get would succumb to the same demise.

Another time I can remember being told that down in our basement, underneath the stairs was a hidden trap door, which led to hell. And if ever I was down there alone and got caught in the dark, Satan’s demon minions would come up, grab me, and drag me down to hell to burn with the other losers. My older brother even went as far as to place a scrap piece of plywood on the floor down there to convince me. After I was shown the ‘door’, I was promptly pushed down by my older siblings, who then ran upstairs and locking me in the basement with the lights off, making terrible moaning and screaming noises through the heater vents. I was alone in the dark and terrified for what seemed like a very long time. I was not let out until my parents came home, I was then threatened not to tell or I would be pushed down the trap door and then no one could save me. After that , I was never able to play alone in the basement and be comfortable, it was never the same for me.

And the names. My sister has referred to one in particular as a nickname, I would just say that it was a name that they called me in my youth, a nickname is used as a term of endearment, there is nothing endearing about that name, it can still make tears come to my eyes, I can’t even repeat it. If you think that simple names or teasing do not affect a child in later life you are wrong. Those names affected the way I look at myself, to this day I have low self esteem as far as my body image is concerned, I don’t like to look in the mirror, even today, and I don’t like my nose or face. (Much to my husband’s dismay). Kids always remember, just because you think it’s funny, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. And such things coming from the people you love and look up to; hurt all the more. I am very ashamed to confess that I, myself am guilty of such acts, and sometimes when I am feeling low about myself I think of some of the things that I have done, thoughtless, stupid and mean acts that were unprovoked, and I cringe and admonish myself internally. I think about that all the time, and it may sound corny but I ask God for forgiveness.

There was a large ‘smoke tree’ in the front yard of our house, I spent a good amount of my childhood in the high branches of that tree, I would take a book up there with me and stay for hours. I would also prefer to sleep on the couch or outside in the warmer seasons. I spent many hours wandering the foothills surrounding our neighborhood. These things I did in order to avoid the torment, I preferred to be alone, to being hurt. I know that it may sound crazy, with having four other siblings and two parents at home, but I think that I was relatively lonely as a child. Taking an honest look back on all that time I think that I found out that I needed certain skills for self preservation. Generally in any crowd or click there is always one person whom takes the brunt of such actions, it is usually the smallest, weakest, who has little chance of self defense. And that was me. I have no bitter feelings, it is just a reality, I was the youngest and the smallest. I’ll say one thing for this, I grew accustomed to my own company. I learned how to entertain myself, I became very self reliant and my imagination flourished.

In my lone hours I would invent things. Create miniature villages and artwork, I began writing poetry and songs. (Not that I would sing them for anyone for many years, I still suffer from performance anxiety) All in all we become the adults that we are now, having lived through the childhoods that we knew, good or bad. Maybe I was a mean little kid, fighting her way through life the only way I knew how, but I am an adult now, and I am working at being a happy and contented adult at that. And a nice one too.

The Three Year Old Artist

2008-09-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

As I state in my profile, I first proclaimed myself an artist at the age of three years. I don’t exactly remember how I came about this conclusion, all I know is that as far back as I can remember art has always an important force in my life. It just was. In my early years, before I reached the proper age of school attendance, after my older siblings were off supposedly learning, I would have my mother ready me, as if I too attended. I actually thought that going to school was exactly like going to work. Book bags were briefcases and math problems may as well have been accounting ledgers. I have always had a warped and delusional mind, reading this far you should be well aware of that fact. So, after the sibs had scampered off, after I had been bathed and combed, a fairly glistening child, I would march straight to my own little desk.

When my parents installed new counter tops, where the large double kitchen sink was to be placed, a fair sized rectangular shape was cut from the laminate material. My father having the industrious and frugal imagination that he has always had, noticed that this rectangle laminate scrap was the exact, perfect size for a children’s desktop. He took the legs from an old stool that was no longer of use, cut them down to the proper height and then attached them to the bottom of the makeshift tabletop, add some pipe caps to the leg ends and viola!, I had my desk. How I loved that desk, not only because my father had made it for me, but also because in a family with five children, on a limited income, individual possessions were a great rarity. This little beauty was all mine, and it was indeed beautiful, it was gray with a tinge of pink and sparkly speckles that I believed to be magical fairy dust trapped below the resin surface.

The upper portion of the aforementioned stool received pipe caps to the cut ends as well, I had my chair. In its previous life, it had been a foreman’s stool from the truck shop up at Kennecott, which is where my father worked. Apparently, it had been discarded and my father saw potential within this grease-covered piece of scrap. He brought it home and cleaned it thoroughly with mechanics hand cleaner, then my mother cleaned it again with Clorox bleach, and then a third time with lemon scented ammonia in an effort to get rid of the greasy smell from the many years of being in a machine shop. As far as I was concerned it may as well as been bathed in lemon verbena. The legs were chrome plated metal, the seat and backrest were red vinyl, and the cleaning had it gleaming. It was a throne to my young eyes. I even had a little box on the side for storage, my mother had wrapped it with old gift wrap-paper, and the bottom was lined with the comics from the Sunday funnies. It doesn’t get any better than this!

For my birthdays, during my younger years I would always ask for and undoubtedly get the same thing- crayons, coloring books and tablets. Sometimes water-based paints and brushes would come my way. I would get hand-me-down colored pencils from the older kids at the end of every school year, as well as any pencil I could lay my hands on. Wow, was I livin’ large or what?

So, anyway every morning after the house was cleared out and quiet I would head straight for my mini-me executive suite and get to work. I would color and draw for hours on end without looking up. As a matter of fact, if left to my own accord, I would stay there until the older kids got home from to school. And because I truly believed this to be my calling or job, I was extremely diligent in my work, making the colors and shading perfect, always staying within the lines, and it had to be ‘art’. At first my work station which was set up down in a corner of the basement, I would bend over my desk, the perfume of 48 count Crayola wafting in the air around me, leaving me feeling heady but intense with pleasure. (To this day, I keep a box of crayons close at hand, for the feeling that the familiar old smell can put in my heart). I would lose myself and all sense of time in my ‘work’. My mother would bring down a plate at lunchtime, but for the most part, it went untouched. I really did believe that the other kids did not get a lunch at ‘real’ school/work (with their complaints, I had more of a ‘work house/sweat shop’ environment in mind) and if they could tough it out so could I. After a while, when the winter months set in and the temperature in the basement dropped to cooler than my mother was comfortable with. My workstation was moved upstairs to the dining area. Later when I was an adult my mother confessed to me that my long hours down there without uttering a sound or peep had made her feel uncomfortable and very concerned about my development. In reality, she had placed me closer to her, so that she could keep an eye on me and my activities. She also stated that during this time I was a very easy child to rear. (I guess I couldn’t be all bad all the time.)

The coloring books that were my favorites were the ones that had very light grey linework, I even tried my hand at a few paint by number projects but they never seemed to feed that peculiar hungry that festered within my soul. After a time I built up a preference of just getting drawing tablets or sketchpads to produce my own pictures. I would draw mostly horses, motorcycles and people, (portraits). I was fascinated with how colors blend together. How lines connected in a certain manner could make a shape and then a collection of shapes could make an object. And if I were to color that object just so, with the perfect shading it could evoke particular emotions, the very emotions I had intended to convey, that which I felt at the time. This all came together to develop into my adult theory of what art really is. What an artist is, anyone can draw or paint, but an artist is an individual that has the ability to convey and evoke emotions through his/her work. Whether it be on canvas, in music or the written word, anything else is just so much matter, that at the time, really didn’t matter much at all to me, but that’s just me.

Anyway,…. I would happily spend my workday at my desk, creating what I felt was important pictures. My siblings would eventually come crashing in and tease me, about how not going outside, about my humble workstation, about my age and runt size, you name it. And I would change out of my work clothes and skin and slide back into the bad me skin. Then watch out, thank God above I had down time, otherwise who knows how I might have turned out. I may be looney now, but I am pretty sure that I’m harmless. Just don’t cross me!

God is good all the time, all the time God is good, and I have always been a brat. (And probably always will be)

Me On Meditation

2008-09-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

If it is that when we pray, we are speaking to God and when we meditate, we are quieting ourselves/minds in order to gain the ability to listen to what God has to say to us. (Refer to my earlier post - Me on Prayer) Then maybe that is why the world turns quiet towards dusk, God is ready to speak, turning towards his audience of half the world. And so with darkness then many of us turn to prayer and then we quiet ourselves in our lives. And why is it that often just before we drift off into sleep when our minds are in that fragile and uninhibited state of innocent, silent, thoughtlessness, that the edges of our consciousness flickers around the thoughts of our own mortality and the great awe and wonders of this life. The raw feelings of how precious our heartbeat and breaths are really come to the forefront. Perhaps it is that when we are in our waking state, our minds become too overcome with worldly thoughts and worried stress that the very tips of our thoughts, minds and souls become closed off to the greater capacity of Grace and God’s light. Maybe, perchance we are all practiced in the art of meditation, with the gift and need for sleep. Just one of the endless gifts that our Creator has seen fit to grant we humble and ignorant humans. Maybe unknowingly it is within this state of sleep that some of us can only shed our inhibitions to the extent that we might be able to receive and hear God’s voice and message. That is why we dream and have the need for the dream state to live a sane and healthy life. Then with our life turning senseless with worry and heedless arrogance during the daylight, waking hours, the teachings slip away from our thoughts, to be hidden like a ghost in the shadows, that we might catch a passing glance in the askeance of our live long search for contentment and peace.

A dear friend in church made the comment that he feels as though meditation is the act of concentrated worry. He asked us to worry en mass during a meditation exercise in service. But I gently and respectfully disagree. I believe that meditation is the very opposite. My definition of meditation would tend to lean more in agreement with that aforementioned. We must shed our minds of all worry. We must abandon ourselves of worldly thoughts. Our minds need to be totally and honestly open in order to receive the spirit and grace of our God’s message.

In vision if you will, or imagine yourself to be a beautiful and fragile day lily blossom, (even you rough and burly guys) new and nubile with each new day’s dewy bath. Your blossom being closed and ignorant with the cold, pedals held snug tight with fright of the dark unknown, your only protection. But then the Creator’s magnificent sun clears the horizon, (this is the knowledge that can seep in) the young petals begin to open and expand to reveal the flowers true beauty. As the sun rises higher, beaming down, it’s loving warmth, you, the young crocus, blossom into full glory taking in that love and heat, your soul and spirit is then exposed. (Ahh the true magic of intelligent design). That heat would be God’s love and tender, gentle teachings (nurturing). Though your petals may shed with the eventual and descending darkness, you have truly witnessed and known a full and glorious life in your short time, you have expanded to your true and full potential that God intended. And even with your petals withered and descending down to earth, they will provide new life with your death, not being in vain. A life lived within the glory of God’s light shall never be in vain, your soul is like the pestles of that crocus blossom, they must be exposed and you an open and hungry pestle in need of the sun’s heat and your neighbor’s friendly lending hand of pollination.

And so in closing, I would beseech you all to take some time within your daily life to bring still your busy minds. Shed your thoughts of worry, the petals of your flowering life you might believe to be a flimsy protection, listen to the sound of your breathing and heartbeat. Quiet your world, become open, allow the light of our God’s love to nourish your wanting soul, and listen, just listen. God has much to say, much to teach, if we just take a moment to listen. Be quiet, stop talking, stop running, and listen. Shhh,…God is talking.

This posting is dedicated to my friend Dale Elton and our loving church/community family.

Brattitude the Sequel or My Achey Breaky Ass

2008-09-19T18:33:00.001-07:00

Okay, so I regress. This happened when I was the cheery old age of three years. People talk about the terrible two’s; well I think my parents are still waiting for me to grow out of that stage. (Maybe next year).

It was Christmas, the snow was about a foot deep out in the back yard and the thanks to the wind, the chill factor was about 2 degrees (BELOW zero!!). My parents had splurged and we children had received a swing set for a collective Christmas gift- knowing my parents, it was probably a great buy at that time of year. Talk about cool, I think we were the first on the street to get anything like this. COOL! The only problem was that we wouldn’t be able to use it until the weather changed and the snow melted, you would think. However, my father being the industrious individual that he has always been, (Did I mention that?) after much whining, decided to appease the whiners. Dad decided that he would try to put up at least the slide down in the unfinished basement of our house. Our basement was a big open space at that time; we used it as our play area for the most part. So up the slide went- I wanted the whole swing set to go up and I can now imagine how difficult it was to convince me that this would not be possible. However, I guess that I eventually conceded and let the matter drop as soon as the slide was up and running (or sliding).

I can remember it like it was yesterday. All five of us kids would climb up and then slide down, run around, climb up and slide down again. This was the newest and coolest thing since peanut butter and jelly was invented. Now my brother, (I don’t know let’s call him Ralphie) used to tease me and my sisters at a ceaseless pace, he could really get on a girls nerves. Me, I was kind of a no nonsense kind of a kid, few words and lot’s of action, so I had very little tolerance for Ralphie’s shenanigans, and today I was all business. Therefore, when Ralphie suddenly stopped the constant flow of traffic on the slide ladder, I did not like it, not one little bit. I was right behind Ralphie in the line, when suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, he started shaking his butt right in front of my face and yelling, “You gotta pay a toll! You can’t go down unless you pay the toll!”

The older girls behind me in line started to groan and yell back at Ralphie, insisting that he go down the slide. This did not work. He just repeated his chant, “Gotta pay the toll, you gotta pay me, I’n the toll operator, you gotta pay the toll or you can’t go down!” Now the girls started pushing me to get to Ralphie, but he would not budge, he just grabbed on to the ladder handles and shook his butt. This went on for what seemed in my young mind like a very long time. Finally, I had had enough. I said one simple word. It was a pronounced and firm order, “MOVE!” “NO, you gotta pay the toll, I’n the toll man, you gotta pay me, you gotta pay me!” His butt was shaking in front of my face, oh so very close and the moment that it stopped, I saw my opportunity. I leaned into it, opened my mouth as wide as I could and bit down as hard as I could. I bit down until my teeth touched and I did not let go. At least not until Ralphie blasted out a scream that would wake the dead, and then my oldest sister behind me decided that she would join in the scream fest with Ralphie. The shrill siren of her voice, now this surprised me enough to get me to let go. My sister Cindy who was directly behind me had eyes the size of saucers, Sharon behind her was laughing herself into tears, and June the oldest was still screaming in horror. Ralphie went down the slide now! He ran upstairs, there was already blood seeping through the fabric on the seat of his pants, my oldest sister June was right behind him.

By this time the racket had alerted my parents that a disaster had occurred, I could hear Ralphie meet them in the stairwell to the basement, June almost tripped over him, he had stopped so abruptly. It took a few minutes for my parents to calm the two of them down enough to get the story straight. Ralphie’s pants were then pulled down in order that the wound could be examined, “He may need stitches,” my father announced, trying very hard not to laugh. My sisters Sharon and Cindy both told my parents, “He wouldn’t let us go down the slide!” Then taking a gulp of air,” He was teasing Nolie, she got mad!” My parents approached me; did I mention that I had continued to go down the slide, then come around, climb the ladder and go down the slide again, go along my merry pyshco way the entire time that this chaos was going on around me? I can remember them stopping my progress, bending over me to ask what I had done, “He wouldn’t let me go down the slide.” I answered very calmly, Ralphie ran up to me, pointing, “You bit me!” I looked at him and restated, “You wouldn’t let me go down the slide.” Ralphie started to cry again, all the while holding his butt. I just smiled at him, as Mom and Dad led him away to proceed to the doctor’s office.

Funny, I don’t remember getting into any trouble for this little trick. Man being cute and a little runt, you sure can get away with a lot of s__t. I don’t know if my brother Ralph still has scars, either emotional or physical (Sorry, bro!). But he still insisted on teasing me every chance that he could after this event, so I guess he didn’t learn the lesson that I tried to teach him, in my ever oblique way. He must not have been that deeply injured. However, as they always say, God is good all the time, and I have always been a brat.

BRATTITUDE

2008-09-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

Four (At least I think I was four) was a very eventful year for me. (maybe that’s why I have O.C.D. for the number four) I think I may have been going through some growing pains or something, maybe reality set in, I had to come to terms with the fact that the world did not in fact revolve around me. I was knocked off of my delusional little axis.

So, anyway, I shall never forget it, you know. Picture this, I was the savory old age of four years, my father being the industrious individual that he has always been, tried a little experiment. He and a friend welded the front end of a front pedal tricycle to the back end of a back pedal tricycle, it was extended in length, so very easily ridden by two small children. BRILLIANT!!!! A tricycle built for two! After they got it together, straight, and true they put a couple of coats of white paint on it with pink pin striping, a true and rare thing of beauty. I loved this trike beyond what all words could convey, my father could have produced a unicorn for me and still I would not looked away from this new marvel. It was the Corvette of tricycles and I wanted it.

Unfortunately I was the youngest of five children, also the smallest. I was short in stature, a wiry and quiet child, but if there is one thing that I had learned at that young age, being the runt, it was that you had to fight for what you wanted, so I was pretty scrappy. NO, wait a minute, I had grown downright mean. ( I was small, quiet and mean. It’s always the quiet one’s you have to watch out for.) But, needless to say, I didn’t get much time on the trike, I was so forlorn. Poor me!! My older sister, Cindy and her friend Sherry Kay would snub my presence and requests for a fair turn. My cries were greatly ignored, much to my dismay. But there is one thing that those two did not take into account, me left sitting there with nothing to do but watch them as they wheeled around like big shots, I had absolutely nothing to do but sit there and let my resentment grow. And with the resentment came the plotting, yes folks, a four year old can indeed plot, at least this four year old did.

I was smart enough to know that brute strength was not going to get me what I wanted. Because I had no brute strength, but I did have brains and a diabolical plan. The two older girls had been playing dolls with the trike being their vehicle to get around. Mind you, I had made more than a few attempts at getting the tricycle in a peaceful manner, first, while it was parked I would sneak up from behind and try to get on the trike, but they would chase me away. The next time around I stood my ground, with hands on my hips, I demanded that I receive my turn at the trike, but to no avail. They actually laughed at me! Making statements like, “Go away, your nothing but a pipsqueak, go in the house, you baby, take a nap!” “We’re bigger than you, so you can’t do nothing!” They stuck their wiggling tongues out at me, then shook their butts in my direction, well I was indignant. I stomped away and thus began the plotting.

My two enemies had taken the bike back and were riding around the house like crazy, taunting me every time they passed me by. The driveway ran along the right side of the house. There was a walkway that trailed off of the side of the driveway along the front of the house, the walkway led up to a small patio on the left side of the house. I was sitting under the canopy of the small patio, sulking and watching, waiting for my opportunity to arise.
The two riders would ride down the sloping driveway, circle around, up the driveway along the walkway, around into the small patio, circle in front of me, taunting in a singsong way. This happened several times, my mind was going wild, my anger building with the minutes. I did not retort in answer, I just got quiet, very quiet. (Dangerous) I looked around in anger, and I noticed a push broom leaning against the wall of the patio, it looked huge to me in my miniscule form. I gathered up a plan, and pulled the broom over to my side, and tucked up behind the corner. I was hidden from view of the riders, (Not that they were paying much attention to me or my presence at this time, anyway.) I listened from my hiding place, peeking around the corner when I dared, my two victims were very intent upon their purpose. As the sound of their progress neared I held my breath and grabbed for the broom handle and said a little pray. When I was sure that they were just about turn the corner around onto the small patio I swung the broom around, heaving with all my tiny might. I had closed my eyes in my effort, opening them as I felt the top of the arching swing, just into time to witness the impact. The broom head and upper handle hit my sister square in the chest, with a close line affect, both Cindy and Sherry went flying backwards off of the trike. I believe that they were too much in shock to react too quickly, but I on the other hand did react extremely quickly. I threw the broom behind me, jumped on the tricycle and tore off without looking back, I dared not. I was just leaving the my families property as I heard the screams rise up, I pedaled even faster, intent on my escape.

I kept right on going, I knew that if I stopped I was going to get caught, and I was more then likely to get in very BIG trouble. In my young mind I did not equate the fact that my actions may very well have caused grave injuries to both my sister Cindy and the back rider Sherry Kay, ( My adult mind cringes and shrieks at this thought! ) that had not even occurred to me until after I heard the screams of pain, which sounded high and shrill into the air all the way up the street. I did not stop, one part of my thought process being, if I’m going to get into trouble I better make this last and make the crime worth the punishment, (In simpler terminology of course) the other part of my thought process was, this is my bike and I’m not giving it back!! I did not want to get the spanking that was surely coming my evil little way.

My little legs were cranking as fast as this little hamster could peddle. By the time I rounded the corner at the top end of the street I don’t even think I could remember what I was running from (or rather riding from) or why, I just knew that I had keep on truckin’. Now mind you, in my every day life I was allowed to travel as far as the neighbors far side borderline on either side of my family’s home yard, so already I was way beyond my element, but I just kept on moving. I don’t know were I thought I was going, I was just going. I rounded two corners and was on the far side of the next block, which at that time was a two lane road and very busy, I do remember being very intimidated and scared, my pace slowed greatly as I looked across the extremely wide road, and cowered as many loud cars sped by. I remember very vividly thinking, “Oh, oh, now what do I do?” I kept looking around in bewilderment, I don’t remember crying, I just remember the noise, fright, and fear. I don’t remember exactly how I got home, I just think that I kept moving and stayed to the right, luckily I rounded another corner, and then I think one of our neighbors found me. I vaguely remember someone pushing me and the tricycle up the small hill at the bottom of our street and then being home. My mother ran down the street, from where she was undoubtedly franticly searching for me, she scoped me up in her arms with slight murmurs of admonishment whispered in my ear, her tears wet my neck. Mom was crying so this was really bad.

All of the adults in the neighborhood had congregated in our driveways, everyone cheered and laughed when I was carried home. I don’t even remember receiving any punishment. I think that my parents just forgot all about that in their relief of having me home. My homecoming turned into a block party that lasted into the night, all of the adults sitting around on lawn chairs drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, (common in those days) and telling stories. I remember lying in my mother’s lap, feeling safe, she held me very firm. And then it was morning, so I must have drifted off to sleep, running away is hard work. I don’t remember my sister taking revenge and any feelings of animosity, however I don’t have much of a memory concerning that wonderful and beautiful tricycle built for two after that time. (Did it really exist?)

I only know that I have ridden it many times in my dreams. I ride like the wind. I don’t have to run away from anything in my dreams, I just fly with a wicked laugh dancing up and into the air. I weep for mother thinking back on what I must have put her through, (“So, so, sorry mom!”) I do know that karma gets back at you, because I have gone through similar experiences with my son who has autism, the very thought scares the hell out of me. (but not the brat out of me.) Payback is a bitch, but I was always a brat!

Posting a Proverb

2008-09-14T18:24:00.000-07:00

This time around at our T.E.I. class we were asked to write an original proverb, I racked my brain for hours and spent a couple of restless nights. I have written many short stories, many songs, poems and papers, but never have I attempted such a thing. I don’t know why I had such a difficult time coming up with anything, maybe I felt as though I was not worthy of writing a true proverb. I finally just gave myself up to instinct and faith, I sat down and wrote the following:

The man who lives his life only trusting himself,
Caring only about himself,
When he falls back he lands hard, on the cold hard ground
And he complains to the world that no one has broken his fall,
And in the end he sinks into a fitful sleep, alone
He dreams not, with worries of what tomorrow holds
His face cold and wet with his own tears,
No one is there to wipe away his sorrow
And he is alone with all of his objects.

The man who lives his life with faith, trusting in God,
Cares about the world around himself,
When he falls back he fears not
for he knows that God will catch him
And he gives thanks to his God for all he has been given.
And this man prays before an easy sleep
His family’s love warms his dreams
Tears of gratitude and joy cleanse his face
He is never alone in his simple bliss.
He worries not for he knows that he has everything.

Now I won’t pretend to know whether or not this actually could be considered a true proverb and whether it is worthy of a respectful grade, but please read it and let me know what you think. I tried to keep it simple and on the short side, I don’t think that it bears any explanation, it speaks or rather reads for itself.

Yes Folks, We Do Take Requests

2008-09-08T20:57:00.001-07:00

So anyway, I asked one of my children the other day (sometime ago) if there is anything that they would like me to write about, Madison was quick to suggest, “Write, about your childhood, stories about you, growing up.” I have stinking suspicion this may only be a ploy to get me from actually writing about Madison, but that's okay, I started this blog in order to leave some written gift to my children and family, words to remember me by, even though I truly believe that Madison really doesn’t read my blog, maybe someday she may find herself in a terrible state of complete boredom, desperate for something to read, she reads this and sees that I have complied with her wish. Remember baby, careful what you wish for. So, for the next six to a dozen installments or so I will be regaling you all with my vivid and delusional memories of my childhood days. Yay!! (Umm must be a slow news day!)

-When I was about three or four years old, my parents had the children of two of their closest friends left in their care for a weekend. The middle child was a fair haired girl, one year younger than I. Now I was the youngest child in my family and used to getting a fair amount of attention from my parents and older siblings. To say that I was a spoiled little brat is putting it lightly. But not this weekend, my mother seemed to be doting on and cooing over this strange little girl and I did not like it, not one little bit!

As the first morning progressed, we children were placed in the sunny front yard to play. I was advised that I must ‘play nice’, share what few toys I did have and make sure that Angie was happy and safe, I was to make sure that she stay out of the road. Well I was seething, my life had changed for the worse and this little miscreant was the cause. I wasn’t about to let this little imposter take over and steal all of my attention and love, no way! I am sure that I was fairly glaring while receiving my simple instructions from my mother, but in the end I gave her what I believed to be an angelic smile. I had a plan.

As soon as my mother was in the house and out of sight, I walked over and stood close to Angie, she smiled shyly at me reaching for my small cold hand, perfect! I gave her back a smile and gently led her to the edge of the road, where the gutter still contained some dirty water from a nightly rain. I pointed to a well of water which had gathered with leaves and debris, showing her the floating and pretty leaves, I leaned in closer for emphasis. We were still holding hands so Angie leaned forward along with me. At just the right moment with her weight off balance, I braced myself and gave her little arm a sharp hard tug, she toppled over and into the dirty water. With her small hand still within my grip, I ran down along the edge of the gutter pulling the surprised Angie behind. When the slightest bit of resistance hit she screamed, I let go but kept running.

By the time my mother reacted to the wails that pierced the air I was a good fifteen feet away. I had suddenly found something very interesting in the shade of a nearby tree. I tried to put on a face of complete and sincere innocence. Mommy came out and ran directly to where Angie lay sprawled out in the gutter, covered from head to toe in filth. She picked up the wailing mud ball
and brushed off what leaves covered her as quickly as possible. Then she gathered up the crying child and carried her into the house, giving me a long hard look as she passed by me. I played with glee as a solo act for a good half an hour, every now and then a small chuckle would escape my smiling little lips. I was very delighted with myself.

But soon enough my delusions were chattered. My mother came back out with the now spotless and delighted Angie in her arms, Angie was no longer crying, she was chewing on a slice of peeled apple, she seemed very contented. To my new horror Angie the angel was now dressed in my favorite pair of Osh-B-Gosh bib overalls, I looked at my mother beseechingly. My mother returned my gaze with a knowing look, I attempted to fane indifference as she called me to her side. I wearily approached, hoping that she would offer me a slice of the apple, but she just held out her free hand to me, “It’s time for you to come in the house now Nolie.” She said it with a no nonsense kind of gentleness that told me I had better not resist.
I was taken into the house were my mother pointed out the mud splattered along the bottoms of my pants, she looked me very sternly in the eye and told me, “That was not very nice of you, Angie is our guest and you were mean to her, weren’t you?”
I just nodded knowing that I was busted, the jig was up, I looked down at my shoes and waited for my punishment.

I was led to the corner, by the window were my bench stood, there I sat for what seemed like a very long time. I sat watching my mother and Angie playing out in the front yard, I was pretty miserable. I eventually fell asleep sitting there, I was awakened by Angie as she offered me a new slice of apple, I looked at my mother before accepting it, making sure that this was acceptable, she gave me a smile and nod, I took it but felt pretty bad, but only for a while, I was always a brat.

A Comment on the Lack of Comments

2008-09-06T08:34:00.000-07:00

Hello? Is there anybody out there? I know you're out there, I can hear you scrolling!!!

I just wanted make a request of all of you out there, and I know you are out there, take a look at the counter at the bottom of the blog. Say something!!!!

Okay, so I was having a conversation with Lisa, my blog guru, and she made a comment about being my only blog commenter. And I snapped out of my delusional fog and said, "Hey! Yeah! Ouch!" Scrolling back through my comment section Lisa does seem to dominate, but I know she isn't the only one reading, I do get email responses to my blog, even phone calls or comments in person, but very seldom do any of you post your thoughts and input on my blog. Why? The ever perceptive Lisa also mentioned that maybe my readers don't know how to post a comment, I know that my own husband, Mark stated as much, ( I know that he reads, because he's afraid that I may divulge the secret recipe to his manhood or something ) so I have decided that maybe it may be slightly my fault, I'm sorry.

I am going to post this, an informational essay on how to get the most out of using this and other blogs. Now mind you, I am rather ignorant and innocent when it comes to blogging, I'm pretty new to this, but I will share what I do know, including the secrets of my blog. Ready, set, go!

First, you may have noticed that I have little comments where the type is italicized and in (parentheses), these are nothing more than my secret little thoughts. Imagine if you will, when Groucho Marx, during a chaotic scene in one of his many comedies, he stops dead in his tracks, looks straight into the camera and makes a snide little comment, as if he is sharing his deepest secret or his thoughts with you, the viewer. Now replace Groucho with Raynola, now do you get it? I am sharing my secret little thoughts that run rampant through my mind, with you, my reader and closest confidante. (Now don't you feel special?) If it is an extra special secret the type may be smaller then that in the rest of the post, this is a whispered secret.

All bloggers long for the validation of comments, it makes us feel as though we are not writing on in vain. Each separate article is called a posting. After reading my blog post, if you wish to make a comment, just below the posting article you will see a little note stating, either post a comment or simply, comment. You can click on this note, it will take you to a screen that states ~ leave your comment; type your comment in the box, it's okay, don't be shy, say whatever you feel (I do) Next scroll down a short ways, you will see some jumbled up letters with a label below and next to a box saying, word verification, now in the box type in the characters you see above in the order that you see them. Next scroll down, choose your identity, either use your google account name, or if you don't have a googel account you can just choose anonymous or open ID. If this is the case just type in your name in the box. Then just click on the box - publish your comment, it may come back and ask you to do the last three steps again, don't freak out, be patient, do the last three steps again. After this process is complete your comment will show at the top left corner with the date and time. Above your comment The Askeance (or whichever blog title) will come up- click on these words to return to the original blog page.

All blog postings are shown in reverse order, with the latest posting being at the top. You can read any or all postings, by simply scrolling down to the post that you are looking for, at the bottom of the current postings you will see a note, older posts, simply click on this note to reach older posts. The other option would be to visit the menus at the left of the blog.

Now we come to the left side of the blog. -
You will notice that on this side of the page are such things as About me, which is pretty self explanatory, it tell you all about me, you can click on the the note at the bottom which states more about me to read more. Next down the list you will see;
-The 'R' Word a cause and opinion which is important to me.
-Then there are important sites listed, these are shortcut links to these sites, if you wish to visit any of these, simply click on the name and you will find yourself on the actual internet site. I suggest that you make a visit to each of these, you may find yourself to be pleasantly surprised.
-Next comes my daily reads, I have 'F' is for Fischer listed here, it's a cute and informative blog put out by my guru Lisa, I visit every day, I love it.
-Then comes Recent comments, which right now are a bunch of input/validations from guru Lisa.
-Next on the list is filed under; this is a list of my files that my postings are stored in. You can search through these files if you wish, say if you are interested in reading stories about my son Robert, click on Letters to Robert or just go down to Archival Evidence.
-And lastly you will find Archival Evidence, here you can find my postings listed by the month in which they were posted. You can click on the arrow next to the month to get a list of the actual post titles, you can click on any title and it will pop up on screen for you to view. You can post comments on any of the posted articles you wish, even the older ones.

Now down at the bottom of my blog you will find some statistical information. There is the counter, this shows you how many hits or visits my blog has received (since I put the counter on).
-Below the counter you will see a live feed box, this show the sites or email addresses that have visited or are currently viewing my blog.
-Down at the very bottom you will see a very small map, if you click on this map it will enlarge, then you can see where all of my readers are located on the map. These are just for fun.

That's it. You can ask any question you like, if I have missed anything, feel free to make requests or reprimands.

The Five Phrases

2008-09-05T15:49:00.000-07:00

What? In my humble opinion there are five simple phrases in the American English language that are a necessity to the success of any long term healthy relationship, be it a marriage/spousal relationship (mostly), a family dynamic, a close friendship, or even a professional/working relationship. They are short, simple phrases, but can be very complicated. They are not always the easiest to say, but are of grave importance. They are as follows:
1. I love you
2. I'm sorry
3. I forgive you
4. Thank you
5. You're welcome
See easy, well maybe not. I am so surprised at how many people have hard time coming up with any or all of these.

Like I love you; who does not want to hear this? Most of us long to hear these words. But most of us find it very frightening and intimidating to say these words for the first time to someone we love. Sometimes we take these words and this emotion for granted. I think that these are probably the most powerful words that any one can ever say or hear. They are life changing and life/dream fulfilling. These three little words can make someones day, help them to sleep better or even save someones life. These three words are what make the world spin on it''s axis smoothly.

I'm sorry. These are really tough for a lot of people. Maybe because it means stepping up to the plate and accepting culpability for our actions, whether they be foolish and thoughtless or unintended or heaven forbid, intentional. These two words can save a relationship or salve a wounded spirit. They can smooth out a tense and difficult situation. Even if you are not in the wrong, but feel empathy for a hardship that the other person is experiencing these two words can be entirely soothing to even a stranger. It takes a good and very big person to bring these two words into conversation, and it takes even a bigger one to say them with meaning.

I forgive you. Wow, these are even tougher words to udder with meaning. But they can pull you over the rocks unscathed and stronger for it. In the past I have had a great deal of trouble with the concept of forgiveness myself, my young pride always seemed to get in the way. But let me tell you it isn't always better to be right than happy, and holding a grudge will get you nowhere but on the lonely road to unhappinessville. When you forgive someone whom has wronged you in some way it can help them to grow as a person as well, they will learn by your example and it is less likely that they will make the same mistake twice. Forgiving can be a gift to yourself as much as to that of the person whom you forgive. I keep working on this one, I think that it is a life long process but a very important skill to learn in order to become a more whole individual.

Thank you. We should always show our gratitude. Whether it be to our Creator or to another person. It is so nice not to feel as though we are taken for granted and it is just as nice to let the people we love know our appreciation for what they do for us. It can be a small ingratiation, for a simple gesture by a stranger or an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for all the gifts that you have received in your life. Showing gratitude makes people look at you differently, it is a sign of respect. And when you show respect for others you shall receive respect in return, it's as simple as that. It is said that the more gratitude that you throw out to the universe the more the universe gives back in return.

Your welcome. The tail end of the deal. This one shows that you have been paying attention and besides it's just good manners, besides these two words will also gain you respect and warm and fuzzy feelings from those you connect with, they are the deal closers, the gratuity repaid, good karma and all that.

So in closing, I love you all, I'm sorry if this posting was too oblique or boring. I forgive you if you haven't visited my blog in a while, thank you for taking the time to stop in today, you are welcome back anytime. I am truly grateful, bye!!! OXOXOX

Riding the Tube With Mr. T

2008-09-02T20:34:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday the family and I spent the day at a nearby lake with my folks and a couple of friends. We spent the early morning hours fishing; it was so beautiful and quiet, save Robert’s occasional echoes, which sometimes can be trying and sometimes amusing. This morning it was on the amusing side, I guess because there were no other demands placed upon my mind and time but listening to my son’s sweet and innocent voice and looking out on the beautiful scenery. Sound carries on the lake at that time of the day; we could hear cows mooing and a bull braying from a mile away, all the way on the other side of the lake. No doubt, they could hear the echo games between Robert and me. It was a completely tranquil situation, perfect, and time seemed to stand still.

It is always surprising how Robert T’s. demeanor changes when we are out in the wilderness or on the water in a boat, he is so patient, and pleasant, he always has been. Most children his age would have been fidgeting around and complaining, wanting to get out of the boat or asking to go home, whining the whole time, but not Robert. He doles out the hugs and kisses that dreams are made of. He tells us stories and sings songs, playing echo games with great peels of laughter at compliance. I swear he could stay out there on the lake for eight hours straight without a bother; he is completely contented and well behaved. Seldom have we ever had problems with him when we are out camping. The only thing he asks of us is to go to the bathroom, have something to eat and for us to read an occasional book with him and give lots of love and affection (which is a complete pleasure and blessing). It makes me wish that we could spend our lives in the wilderness, just my family, and myself, living in a serenity capsule. My parents feel the same way. My mother, who suffers from Alzheimer’s, seems to feel much calmer and contented within this setting as well, it almost seems to be a magical cure for both ailments. What does that tell you, what does it tell me, that maybe our so-called civilized society amplifies such problems? (I know that I should not judge, but I wonder. Hmmm)

Anyway, after lunch it was time to start on the waterskiing, sea biscuit riding and knee boarding and such. The geriatric generation headed for the home front, it was a hot day and they were ready for a nap. Brandon and Madison decided to take try on the sea biscuit first. A sea biscuit is a large inner tube, with a lightweight nylon cover and many handles. One or two riders can hold on while being towed behind the boat. Madison and her boyfriend rode for quite some time; they had a lot of fun. Eventually both tumbled off and we pulled them into the boat. Now it was time for someone else to take a turn, we were very apprehensive about Robert trying it, but when asked, he stepped up to take his place. After both Robert and his father, Mark climbed on board the tube, the boat started out very slowly. I held my breath and watched Robert’s face like a hawk, at first there was no expression, it was kind of like he was taking a bite of a new food and he couldn’t decide on the taste. ( At least he wasn’t crying), after a moment Mark gave the signal and the boat picked up the slightest bit of speed, a smile broke out on Robert’s face, that smile could block out the sun, it could light up a dark night. His smile broadened even more, oh blessed Creator this is what heaven is filled with, this unhindered uninhibited, natural happiness. As the boat gained speed great peels of laughter lifted up and wafted through the air, even over the sound of the boat engine the songs of the angels could be heard. My world swung around and clicked into place, all was right in my world, all was more than right in my world all was perfect. To all of you parents whom love your children, you know what I mean when I say; THIS is what IT’S all about. Instantly this outing was the best we had ever had. (It’s funny how they all turn out that way) The bar keeps raising, things just keep getting better!

It’s funny how life is, a boy with autism, coming into manhood can give us all a lesson in how easy it is to be happy, and yet how priceless that happiness can be. He humbles me with his brilliance and the simple way in which he seems to master life’s trials and lessons.

This was a two-fold treasure, because for the first time in a long while Madison appeared to be truly happy and connected to us, those whom long to be her family. Hopefully it was a bonding experience all around, seeing Madison riding the sea biscuit tube with her father and smiling like there was no tomorrow was a beautiful gift to me. Witnessing the joy on her face as she watched her brother in his heavenly happiness fed my hungry heart. I know for sure that this day meant the world to Mark. He felt fulfilled as a Father, because for the day, he made his daughter happy, he made his son happy, he made his wife happy and he spent a beautiful day in the sun with his family, all of whom he loves beyond words. I know that he went to bed extremely tired, but with a smile on his face, he was completely contented, and I pray that he fell into happy, beautiful dreams full of the day’s laughter. I know that I did, I would bet that Robert T. did.

A special thanks to Gary and Gwen for helping to make this such a priceless memory, you are true friends.

Don't Worry Be Happy

2008-08-25T10:19:00.001-07:00

I generally do the majority of my heavy housework on Friday afternoons. But this last Friday I had a golf tournament, (don’t ask, I’ve had better, but I had worse games, kinda non-descript) so anyway I couldn’t get to my housework on Friday, so Saturday was the big day. (It’s kind of sad that my big plans are centered around my house keeping and grocery shopping, but that’s the life of a mother such as it is. What can I say, I don’t get out much, I’m kind of pathetic.) I hit it heavy and hard. I wasn’t really listening to music, just that which constantly plays in my head, I was stuck on a song, I can’t remember what it was. I’m dancing and singing to myself, all the while I’m dusting and vacuuming along, having a jolly old time. I was truly happy,

Madison, my middle child walks through the room and watches me for a few seconds and gives me a look of chagrined disbelief, shakes her head and goes on her way. I attempt to give her a look of total rapture, after all I am having a really good time. Now when I clean, I really clean, no half assed stuff here. As I have mentioned before, I am somewhat o.c.d., it is about cleaning (or everything), for instance when I vacuum or dust I have to do it four times in all four directions. (don’t judge me!!!!) So cleaning my house can take me some time. I come by this honestly, thanks mom. Anyway, back from the tangent which is my life, an hour or so later, Madison makes her return trip across my path again, I’m still singing, still dancing, still going strong, “Are you still cleaning?!!!” “Yupp, and I’m still dancing too!!” Maddie shakes her head at me and keeps moving, I think she’s afraid I’m going pull her into the action. Next Brandon, (Maddie’s boy toy) wanders through, to witness me singing into the vacuum hose wand, I look up at him, “What? This is my microphone!” I close my eyes and do my best Joe Cocker imitation. He blasts out a full chuckle, on his return trip through the room he attempts a stunt trip, yeah, funny Brandon, but can you sing?

Madison is relatively new to the household, so she doesn’t quite know what goes on in the vibrant world of Ray, she has a lot to learn about me. I believe she thinks me more than just a little crazy. I can see her thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?” But let me enlighten you just a little, my lovey girl. I don’t really love doing house work all that much, who does? But its gotta be done, does it not? We have to do things that we don’t necessarily like to do all the time, that’s life, it’s all part of being a human adult, or even a human. So I ask you why not choose to be happy while you are doing it, whatever the task at hand may be, it is your choice, you know? You could choose to be angry and pout your way through life, but why. When you stop to think about it, why not be happy. What or where will your anger get you? Will anger make your work get done faster? Will anger make your load lighter, will it make life easier? I shout out a great big NO!!!! Actually I truly believe anger and unhappiness to be toxic, life’s poison, it will only bring you down, it can kill you!! So, why choose to be unhappy.

And let me tell you something, on the other hand, when you allow yourself to be happy, (okay maybe even silly) when you are having a good time, the time seems to go faster, so your work seems to get done faster. You are so busy being happy you don’t seem to notice the load, no matter how heavy it may be. And when you allow yourself to be happy, it is so much easier to get happier. Happiness is so much more attractive than anger. Who wants to spend time with a grump? Anger really is ugly.

One of my favorite television episodes of all time is the “Friends” episode” where Rachel goes running in the Central Park with Phoebe. Rachel is dressed in her designer running togs, has her hair done just so, her appearance is very important to her, obviously. Now, there is nothing wrong with that, you should take pride in your appearance. But it is very obvious that what other people think of Rachel is very important to Rachel. Now, Phoebe is another story, she is real, totally honest. And the calamity ensues, Phoebe, runs with great abandon, she expresses great enthusiasm, her arms flying all akimbo. Of course as the two begin their trek, people stop and stare, Rachel is devastated with embarrassment. Phoebe, being Phoebe is completely oblivious to this fact, she is just having a jolly old time. Rachel starts to avoid running with her friend, making excuses and lying to Phoebe so that she doesn’t have to be seen in public. (What strangers think of her is more important to Rachel than having a good time with one of her best friends, to me this just so sad.)

Eventually Phoebe confronts Rachel, Rachel explains her embarrassment as gently as she can to her friend, she asks why Phoebe runs the way she does, after all they are there to get exercise in a refined manner, there is absolutely no room for silliness and having fun. What will people think. Phoebe looks at her friend with absolute pity and disbelief, “Rachel, don’t you remember when you were a kid and nothing mattered but having fun, you didn’t care what anybody thought, you were just a kid and life was wonderful. Running was great, cuz you did it like no one was watching you, you didn’t care, that’s the way I run now, and I’m having so much fun! It’s great!” (I’m paraphrasing, it’s been a while) Well in the end the two friends meet up in the park again, Rachel is running in the same manner that Phoebe has shown her in example, she is having a great time, laughing while she is running. She tells Phoebe that she was right, running like a kid is so fun, it makes you feel so happy. They both part company again running if opposite directions, arms flying, kicking their own butts and having the best time.

I don’t know if I’ll ever run in the park like that, I’d probably end up injuring myself. But I promise to do the best that I can to live my life this way. With pure abandon of an innocent child. So, my children, live like there is no tomorrow (within reason and law), sing like there is nobody listening, and dance like there is no one watching. And try running like Phoebe, I know that Robert T. does all the time, and it makes my love for him grow all the more. His purity and innocence make him so beautiful. I know this makes God smile. Always choose a smile over a grimace or pout. Choose to be happy, I promise I will try to do the same. I love you as big as the sky, and twice as blue. Keep looking for rainbows.

But Randy, What if I'm a Rabbit?

2008-08-15T10:01:00.000-07:00

About a month ago today, the author of the Last Lecture (one of my all time favorite books and philosophies) Randy Pausch passed away. He left the world a better place for having lived. As a matter of fact after watching Randy’s Last Lecture and reading his book, I was wholly inspired to start this blog. I have been sad, hearing of his death, left a little down, but I know that he would not have appreciated that, so I will attempt to do Randy proud by bringing some light into this posting.

Randy wrote his book and lectured that one last time as a legacy and inheritance for his children and Wife, the people he loved the most and left behind. He left a little something extra behind for them to know him better, his words, both written and verbal, that little thing added up to a lot. I am pretty sure that it will be the world to his children one day, on those days when they are most missing their daddy and just long to hear his voice. At those times when they have questions and needs their father's advice. He gave them that and more, he left behind a treasure, exposed from the heart. But in the process he left a treasure for the world also. maybe it was inadvertently done, but it was priceless gold given none the less.

This same great gift is what I long to give to my children. I want to share all I have, the most important thing I have, myself, my sacred thoughts. I love my husband and all three of my children so much I long to peel off a piece of my soul and paste it to each one of them and have them carry in their hearts for eternity so that I might always be with them. Sometimes my attempts at showing my love fail miserably, I'm not perfect, (not even close) but that doesn't mean I'm going just give up trying. My love for my family is my most valued and priceless possession, if I don't have that, I have nothing. That's one of the reasons I have created this blog, really it's why I do anything in my life. I breathe out love for my children, my husband, my family, my faith, my God. My children are my legacy to the world, they are my mirror, the reflection a picture of God.

To me, my children are indisputable evidence that there is a great and giving God Creator. And the creations that He has chosen to place within my life, that Intelligent Design is an act of immense beauty. There isn't a living person out there that can change my mind on that one. Everything that I do is prempted by the thought, "How is this going to affect my family?" before I preseed on to the motion at hand, I think and want for them before myself. That is what being a wife and mother is to me, I live with the most important extensions of myself, and sometimes they even let me give them a hug.

In his book and lecture Randy talks about having the choice of how you live your life, choosing your attitude toward the experiences you encounter in life. There are two diferent kind of people in the world, there are Tiggers and there are Eeyores. The Tiggers make the choice to be happy and have fun with life, the Eeyores are the woobegones of the world, miserable and drooping their way through life. Why not be a Tigger and enjoy life, why not choose to be happy. Randy Pausch had fun to the very end, he chose to be happy, a definite Tigger. That is a wonderful way to live your life, make magic and lemonade everyday, no matter what. But being the born anal rententive that I am, I can't help but think, "Yeah Randy, but what if I'm a Rabbit?" A constant worrier and fusspot (my poor kids), or a Goofer, constantly digging and hard at work, or even a Kanga, maternal and patient. Maybe a Roo is the closest thing to a Tigger, he just wants to have fun and be loved. He just wants to bounce with his old friend Tigger. I think I may be a little of all of these characters, I am a complex individual aren't we all?

I can be quiet a Tigger, I get goofy all the time, to the point of embarrassing my loved ones, but you know what, my kids may roll their eyes at me, but I catch them smiling. Kids, I promise to smile more, to bounce around life and have fun with you but that doesn't mean I stop being your mother, that I will always be. I promise that I will always love you, I will never stop, I will always think of you before myself. Everything I do is because I love you above everything else. I will attempt to paint your world with brighter colors and pull down the rainbows for you when I can. But when I can't I will tell you the truth, I will always be honest with you and you may not always like it. I may not always like what you choose to give to me, but no matter, I will always love you with all of my heart, you are my heart. (That goes for you too Big Daddy) I will always wish you rainbows.

I have attached the Last Lecture to follow, I hope that you all have the time to watch it and learn from it.

A Chance to Teach

2008-07-30T11:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Robert, Madison and Sarah

As a parent one of my most important responsibilities is to teach the values of life that make us all a stronger and happier persons to my children. (Please don't roll your eyes at my words). And I believe that the foundation of every thing in life is love, it is what we all want, dream of and reach for.

And true I can teach and show you by example, and it is there within my hugs, kisses, words of love and promises that I try to give on a daily basis. It is there when I tear up at your sorrow, (your sorrow is mine) and with pride at your accomplishments, it is there in our shared and little moments of joy (your laughter feeds my soul), it is there in the quiet and all through our lives. I am here on this earth to love you, I love being your mother, you are my breath.If ever I do not provide what it takes to make you feel loved please, I beg of you let me know.

I have been given the opportunity to once again share an example with you of what is love really is, (real love, the answer to life love) I want you to read the words below carefully, then watch the attached video several times, please stop and think about what you are watching and how much we all have. We can share about it later, share it with your significant others, talk about it, and never take it for granted. We are all blessed to have one another.

Always,
Mom

Sometimes things come along that are too awesome not to share.
A son asked his father, 'Dad, will you take part in a marathon with me?' The father who, despite having a heart condition, says 'Yes'. They went on to complete the marathon together. Father and son went on to join other marathons, the father always saying 'Yes' to his son's request of going through the race together. One day, the son asked his father, 'Dad, let's join the Ironman together.'
To which, his father said 'Yes' .

For those who didn't know, Ironman is the toughest triathlon ever. The race encompasses three endurance events of a 2.4 mile (3.86 kilometer) ocean swim, followed by a 112 mile (180.2 kilometer) bike ride, and ending with a 26.2 mile (42.195 kilometer) marathon along the coast of the Big Island
Father and son went on to complete the race together. View this

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Some People Call Me the Space Cowgirl

2008-07-26T11:54:00.000-07:00

People,

So, I’m lying there with my legs spread wide open and my feet are in the stirrups, (I’m back in the saddle again!) trying to look sophisticated and make small talk with none other than my gynecologist. As all of you women know, being in this precarious position is not all fun and games, it’s no Fifth Avenue fashion show. I assure you men, even if I would/could be doing this with the man I love, it is no day at the circus. In an effort to alleviate some of my discomfort and embarrassment I am constantly making glib, and what I imagine to be witty little remarks and jokes, I seldom hear much in the way of replies or guffaws from the land down under. I can’t help but wonder how often the doc is rolling her eyes or scrunching up her nose while listening to my banter and looking up my yoo-hoo. (Doc, can you tell me if my hats on straight?)

My doctor is brilliant. Her name is Catherine J. Wheeler. She’s my age, only it works for her. She’s tall, tan and has a runner’s lithe build. Catherine, (I think I can call her by her first name after a couple of years of rummaging through and being acquainted with my Netherland’s) exudes with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she is doing and was preordained to do it, thus the brilliance, and that confidence makes her beautiful (she is anyway) and somewhat intimidating. Sometimes she can be very serious which immediately puts my in the clown mode. I don’t know what it is, but I have this secret longing to hear Catherine just giggle with glee, and I have to be the one to provoke it. (I have experienced this phenomena before, while being in the presence of a few college professors and other such scholars. Perhaps I have an unconscious compulsion to prove how smart I really am, or what a smart ass I am.) I have managed to draw out a broad smile and maybe a slight chuckle, but man I want to hear a full blown, high pitched giggle of delight, were you get tears in your eyes and you have to hold your stomach. I think I have found my life’s purpose, I am in full pursuit of the magical golden giggle. (Am I sick? Don’t answer that question, it was rhetorical. The devil made me do it?) I can not explain my strange compulsions, sometimes I seem so normal, I often wonder what Catherine’s reaction might be if I confessed the truth. I can imagine her nodding her head without hesitation, writing a short note into my file, then looking up at me with an indifferent smile of professionalism and saying, “I understand, hmm, that’s totally normal. Would you please excuse me.” Then getting up, walking out of the room, never to return again, leaving me to wait there, naked from the waist down, my feet in the stirrups, until I nod off to sleep or die, or retire or something. So I don’t say a word, ever, instead I just banter on, mindlessly. (I guess she may know now, sorry Catherine, I'm a weird one.) Hey, it’s too hard too find a new gyn. that’s good, and having someone new look up your yoohoo is just too much pressure. Yet still, my compulsion pushes on.

As soon as I enter the back area where the exam rooms are located I start practicing on the nurse, she leads me into an exam room, hands me a paper smock and tells me, “The Doctor will be in shortly, she will want to see you naked from the waist down.” I shoot back, “Everybody does.” and smile sweetly. She gives me a calm look of slight amusement, but nothing more, (what a professional) after she leaves closing the door, I can hear her relay what I just told her to the other nurses and my doctor standing at the station nearby, I hear great peels of laughter. I actually raise two fists in victorious triumph, I lower them quickly as my doctor enters almost immediately afterward. I pretended that I was straightening out the paper sheet they provide you with in order to cover your naked parts. It doesn’t quite cover me completely, which leaves me in dismay. (But just for a second) Back to the full quest at hand. She tells me to lie down and place my heels into the stirrups, I comply, she tells me to move up closer to the edge, I stifle a remark (too easy) and comply. I am informed that I have healed nicely and in record time from my hysterectomy. I tell my doctor that I attribute that to the fact that I haven’t taken any pain pills since I got out of the hospital, “I guess I’m not such a good drug user after all, I guess the seventies were wasted on me, I ask her to promise not to tell anyone.” She gives me a serious look, and promises, I swear I spot a secret twinkle in her eye. A simple joy feels my heart. But as I walk out, I squint my eyes at her and concentrate, “Are you a mind reader?” I am thinking this, another attempt at telepathy. She smiles at me again and tells me to have a nice summer and reminds me to get a mammogram. Hmmm, torture for the jester?, Hmmm, I have to wonder. Oh well there’s always next time, and I have an entire year to plot and work on/write my standup routine.

This has been a slight glimpse into the jumble of quirks that make up who I am.

Come Fly With Me

2008-07-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

People,

Let me regale you with my latest adventures in the air. I recently flew from Salt Lake to Denver and back again, (and my arms didn’t even get tired) I won’t tell you why I went it doesn’t matter, most of you know already anyway. So, let’s slide back from my tangent, shall we? Anyway, on the return flight back to Salt Lake I had the experience from O.C.D. hell. We had checked in at the airport late to get our boarding passes so we were probably the last group boarding, there were three of us in our group, myself, my husband, and a friend, Wayne. We could not find three seats together, so Mark and I grabbed two and Wayne was off on his own. We sat in seats next to a perfectly normal looking man with grey hair. He was wearing dress slacks and a dress shirt with a button down collar, see, perfectly respectable, right? WRONG!!!

I was in the middle seat, between this stranger and Mark, my husband. The stranger to my left was chomping down on a sandwich, that from the smell of it was not all too fresh, I over looked this small factor, trying to be a compassionate fellow traveler. He quickly finished his meal and placed the wrappings into a bag which he crumpled up and placed between our feet! I inched a little closer to my husband in an effort not to have garbage remains on my pant leg. About ten minutes into the flight, I glanced over at the stranger and noticed that he was picking his nose, and not in a subtle way, he was going to town. I was horrified, I must have been staring because, he gave me a glance and quickly stopped. He picked up the lunch bag from between our feet and began rubbing his booger drenched fingers along the inside of the bag, (thank God for small favors) at least he chose to put the bag on the other side of his feet. After the initial nose-picking incident, I became slightly nauseated, most of you know that I have a very low gag tolerance, and my gorge was rising at a dangerous rate.

I chanced another look over my shoulder at Mr. Goldfinger, now he was sticking his fingers in his ears, digging in there and pulling them out, then closely examining what ever it was that he had managed to extract with the tips of his fingers. Enthralled he was. (What the hell is the matter with this guy? W hat is the proper etiquette under these circumstances? Should I say something, should I yell or attack him, no, can’t do that I might get stranger booger on me or put on the no fly list and arrested at my hometown airport! I would be on the ten o’clock news with stranger booger all over me, handcuffed and being led away by air marshals who don’t really want to touch me but they are highly professional, so I would be led away by two grim faced burly men in latex gloves. Quick somebody save me!) I looked up at my husband beseechingly, only to be annoyed finding him dozing, I gave him a sharp poke in the side and he jumped, giving me a questioning look. I tried to make my reply a subtle one (I don’t know why.) I shrugged while glancing over my shoulder at Mr. Goldfinger, now he was vigorously scratching at his scalp with both hands, large flakes of dandruff settled onto his dark shirt and to my increasing horror, his brushed them off of his shoulder in my direction!!! I was even closer to my husband now. He just didn’t get what I was trying to convey. I asked him if there were any other open seats on the plane, he looked around from his taller than average vantage point and shook his head no in reply, then he looked at me and asked, ”Why?” I pulled his ear closer to my mouth and as calmly as possible said, “I am going to have to kill this guy sitting next to me if I don’t get out away from him!” Mark was about to ask me what I was talking about when he looked over my shoulder at the stranger and stopped midsentence, then he burst out in stifled laughter, his faced turned red and he was in tears. “He’s up to the second knuckle!” he choked on the words. Now I was practically sitting on Mark’s lap, my faced pushed into the side of his arm, I was hiding from the booger man, if I can’t see him, he can’t see me, he won’t find me. He can’t get me. To make things worse he didn’t have any place to wipe now, so he used the seat back pocket in front of him! I was now beyond gagging and beyond frantic; I was in a full-blown panic attack!

The flight attendant showed up with the drinks and peanuts (will the horrors never stop?), he dug into the bag of peanuts with those very snot lacquered fingers, oh my goodness! This was getting beyond gross! I looked at the attendant and tried to convey my plea via extra sensory telepathy, but she didn’t stop, she just kept on moving down the isle. With her plastic smile plastered on her face. No doubt her mind was too muddled and crowded with thoughts of barf bags and escape exits to pick up on my inner screams for help. My personal crisis was like a volcano on the verge of eruption. I leaned ever closer to my constantly chuckling husband, who was now in hysterics, and ordered: “As soon as this plane lands and we can disembark I want you to get up and out of your seat as quickly as possible, I have to get out of this plane now, I don’t want to give this guy even the slightest opportunity to even touch me, I will go ballistic!" My husband gave me a sympathetic smile (although I just know that this was great source of hilarious amusement to him right now and no doubt for months to come)and a pat on the arm; he was not disguising his glee very well, he was quiet amused with my grave discomfort.

Again the booger man was back at scratching at his scalp, this time I looked him fully in the eye, he picked up on my telepathy and knew that I meant it, he dropped his hands and his eyes to his lap. I truly jumped up and out of my seat and gave my slow moving husband a strong shove into the isle pushing him ahead of me, we barely stopped in time to retrieve our carry on bags from the overhead compartment, I fairly ran out of the plane, pushing Mark along as he was almost doubled over with laughter and shaking, down the gate hallway. With Mark’s premature grey hair, I am sure that any passerby would observe a pale faced Hispanic woman abusing what would appear to be a stooped elderly individual. We had to stop and wait for Wayne to disembark, I sat down in one of the chairs of the staging area, farthest from the gate doors, sweeping off my clothing as if infested by ants or mosquitoes of something. I kept a wary eye out for the Booger Man, Mr. Goldfinger, he walked at a hurried pace, with what I’m sure was a maniacal little smile! Ewww, Oooh, I got cooties! I could hardly wait to get home and take a couple of dozen piping hot showers. I was in great need of sterilization and several years of psychiatric counseling! It has taken me a week to recover from this experience enough to even gather up the strength to write this post, I imagine I will have nightmares for years to come. (Don’t laugh, I’m serious!)

Just think, I have another opportunity do this all over again in two months.

So, you tell me, what you would do if you were in my place? Should I have said something to the man, possibly embarrassed him and the people around us? I could have started a fight and been thrown in jail. Should I have complained to one of the attendants? I gag at even the thought of the memory. Excuse me, I think I must go and take a shower.

An Angel Here On Earth

2008-07-20T18:51:00.000-07:00

In church today the children put on a wonderful show, it was the end of Vacation Bible Study week, there were lively songs and dancing. The kids were up on stage, it was the next to the last number in many, everyone was happy and dancing, I looked over and noticed that Mark my husband, and Robert my son were up dancing in the isle, Robert had such a beautific smile upon his face, it took my breath away. Robert then began dancing with one of the women, he was actually interacting with someone new. Tears sprang into my eyes, my heart opened up, and joy came rushing in, I was simply filled up. Is that the Holy Spirit I hear knocking? How could I be so blessed as to have such an angel placed within my care, how could I be so lucky as to be his mother? My son is such a pure soul, he could warm the coldest heart, his presence fills the surroundings with that pure loving light, I just know that God dances with my son.

If you can only imagine the gratitude I feel every time my son smiles at me. He still gives more hugs and kisses than any thirteen year old boy I know, he tells me he loves me more than tens times a day and shows it even more. Karma is smiling upon me, I just know it, thank you to my past self for doing something right. Most only see purity/innocence in their children when they are sleeping, yet at any given moment you could look at my son and witness that purity, believe me it is truly something to behold.

There are times when I become downright intimidated, how could I ever possibly live up to such altruistic standards as this? I pray that I can be good enough to live up to all this, that I can be the kind of mother that my son deserves and needs. Most times I feel greatly honored and gratitude, for God has truly smiled upon this lowly soul, what a gift He has bestowed within my arms and heart. I have an angel within my care, an angel here on earth and God has placed him here.

I think that Robert has been placed here as an example to all surrounding him, he teaches us all by example. I have learned more about what it means to be good and how to live a full life from Robert than I ever could have from an adult teacher, even if I attended college for the rest of my life. It is because of Robert that I want to be the best me that I can be, he makes me want to work harder at being a good person, and yet he is innocent of all this, he does all of this unknowingly. Robert will always be innocent and that innocence feeds my soul.

Robert doesn’t know how to lie, he never willingly hurts another, he doesn’t ask for more than he needs and he needs appear to be simple. Robert may take some time in getting to know and trust someone, but when that time comes he can be loving and loyal beyond belief. He asks for nothing but love and attention, and he is joyful and happy with whatever he is given. If only we could all be such an individual, who is the more evolved of us all, whom is the more Christ like and the better Christian? I think the answer to this question is quiet obvious.

I want to share with all of you what goes on in our house each and every night, a ritual that takes place, it has for as long as I can remember, since Robert was an infant. I sit at Robert’s bedside, I give him snuggles, hugs and kisses then I say these words clearly to him;

Robert,
I think that you are so wonderful,
And beautiful and magical and
Very handsome and very smart and
Extravagant and extraordinary and
Awesome!
You are my best friend and my hero.
I love you more than everything,
I am so lucky and blessed to be your
Mom.
(Then we say our Prayers)

You see I know that there is one thing within my power to do right. My son will never go to sleep or wake up and have to wonder if he is truly loved, he will never, ever have to ask that question.

And now I am going to close by sincerely thanking God and I thank you Robert. I am aware that I am infinitely blessed.

Not Just James - Some Credit Due

2008-07-14T11:24:00.000-07:00

Hello All,

I am enrolled at the Theological Education Institute for The Disciples of Christ, Christian Church (put your tongues back in your mouth, lift your jaw up off of the ground and read on). It entails flying into Denver Colorado and attend class lectures one weekend every other month. One of our recent assignments was as such, write a paper involving one of the original twelve disciples.
I chose James the Just and the calamity ensues.

James the Just
(James the Less)

(Preface: I think it important to bear in mind that I have a strong background in history and so my writings to follow are founded in some of my Christian history readings and research. I am fully aware of the unorthodox idioms which I convey, I am also aware that my writings may become controversial within the classroom setting, this paper is not meant to be as such, nor is it meant in disrespect, but as contrast not criticism. It is not meant to be overtly provocative, but perhaps thought provoking. My true hope and goal is that I will get the other students thinking and inspire them to read extra-theological writings on their own. And open their minds to utilize the intellect that God gave us. I believe that the more we think about and open our minds to the vast and immense possibilities of our God's outreach the closer we can only become to HIM. I have been reading extensively on the history of the church since the mid-nineteen eighties. I have decided to add references at the back of this paper, much of my writings are based upon statements within the referenced text.)

Religious historians, James Tabor and Michel Grant are just two of many whom have found genealogical/historical records documenting a link and seem to confirm the following; James the Lesser, James the Just, James the son of Alphaeus and James the son of Cleophas are all one in the same person. This would mean that, James the son of Alphaeus, the ninth Apostle named of the original twelve, could have had a lifelong connection to the Messiah, our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. And in like, they have presented the possibilities that others of the Twelve could be of the same origins and relationship, but I choose to write about James.

James was the half brother of Jesus, he was the middle brother after Jesus and Joseph (Levi/Matthew). Could James have been the disciple that Jesus loved the most (not John), and possibly also “The Beloved Disciple” (John 7:5)? Also known as James the son of Alphaeus or son of Cleophas (a Judaic nickname which means 'Replacement'). Cleophas, the father Joseph’s younger brother, is believed to be Mary’s second husband upon the death of Joseph, in a Leverite Marriage. I could not find any firm reference as to whether Joseph was the actual, biological father and Alphaeus the stepfather, such information becomes clouded and confusing at best when attempting to filter through the constant use of multiple names. I think that perhaps with various language translations such things are bound to happen and I am not a linguist.

If this James was indeed a member of his family and sibling of Jesus I would assume that James was born in Nazareth as that was home of his family. I also assume that James was involved in the family trade or business and worked as a tekton or builder as did Jesus, Joseph and Alphaeus/Clophas . For these two facts I could find no written reference as well as the year in which James was born.

James the Just was the first real leader of the Judaic-Christian Church, he was Jesus’ successor in the preachings of ‘The Way’. James was indeed a devout practicing Jew, but his role as leader only seems a natural process, as he was also a descendant and next after Jesus, of the royal Davidic line. The fulfillment of Old Testament teachings of Davidic priests, would expect as much. He presided over the council which functioned like presidents of a synagogue. But James seems to have been systematically downplayed or written out of the ‘tradition’. Possibly to downplay any thought that perhaps the Davidic lineage entailed a Messianic tradition. It has been suggested that the gospel writings of James have been greatly censored and condensed in order alleviate any building of his stature in church history, perhaps in order to dissuade any such thoughts of a Messianic lineage, no matter how small they might be, the possibility would be greatly frowned upon. He seems to suddenly emerge as the leader of the Jerusalem Church Community in Acts 12:17 with no introduction. He led the church from 40 to 60 A.D.. He surely had a great deal of influence in the structure of the early Christian church. Although many of the ceremonies were changed after the fall of Jerusalem, James more than likely had much to do of the writings within the Didache (the Teaching of the Twelve Apostles) an ancient instructional manual, probably written for candidates for Christian baptism to study. Though this text is not considered as 'divinely inspired', it appears to be of great import as to the beginnings of our Christian faith. No doubt James had much to say about the many ethical instructions and exhortations, and also the sections on baptism and the Eucharist – the sacred meal of bread and wine. Much which was slightly changed by the initiatives and influence of Paul amongst the Gentiles and set into place after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 A.D..

James earned the name of 'James the Just' because of his reputation for being honest and fair in his righteousness and piety. A more provincial and classically rigid line of thought would say that James the brother of Jesus, was not one of the original twelve apostles and that he did not become a believer until after the crucifixion of Jesus. It may be true that as a child, James did not worship his brother or considered him divine initially, but I am sure that he always believed in what Jesus had to teach. I find it difficult to believe that as he grew up with Jesus he would not have known the special messianic characteristics that his older, half brother possessed and in his writings he makes it clear that he believed that God had anointed Jesus as the Davidic Messiah. It appears as though his participation and writings for the most part were muted, and/or left out, in what some religious historians believe to be a pursuit to lower his status, this appears to hold true for entire family of Jesus. Perhaps the story of Jesus was just so extraordinary and all encompassing that the original stories of his family became greatly overshadowed and other than the birth everything else would fall into the category of inconsequential. But indeed, in reference to what we have always been taught, wouldn't Mary the mother of both know or in the least expect the strong possibility of her eldest son's eventual rise to status of the Messiah? Perhaps she could foresee the outcome, and the fear of this horrible demise, she kept her silence but in her prayers, hoped that the son that she gave birth to and loved, might be somehow spared from harm.

There is little written about Joseph the husband of Mary after Jesus reaches the age of 12, because of this fact it is logical to believe that he was deceased after this time. I think it more than likely that Jesus functioned as the head of household father figure while in his early to mid-twenties. So in the least, as any other younger brother would, I am sure that James looked up to and thought very highly of Jesus. If James was indeed the disciple that Jesus loved the most, I think it more than likely that these feelings would be more than reciprocated from younger brother to his elder. I also believe that of all of the twelve Apostles/Disciples James and his brothers would preach/teach closest to the true gospel of Jesus having grown up within the approximate vicinity and household and having life long access to his teachings. Along with growing up with Jesus the brothers would have been highly aware of John the Baptizer and his teachings, with a younger Jesus surely learning from the preachings/teachings of John his older cousin. These same historians state that James served as disciple along side his older brother Joseph (also called Levi or Matthew) and younger brothers Jude and Simon. (Luke 6:15-16)

It is written within the bible that it was the apostle John who was the one disciple present during the crucifixion. But Professor James Tabor (As well as the various other Christian historians of my readings) states that it is indeed James he believed to be the only apostle present at the crucifixion. this would make sense, that James would escort and protect his mother, Mary in hostile environment. And indeed during this time in history it would be culturally unheard of for a woman to walk in public settings without being accompanied by a male family member. This would mean that he was the one that Jesus handed off the care of his beloved mother Mary to. And though this is not what is stated within the bible, it also makes sense. It maybe that in doing so he also handed off the church leadership to James in that same moment. While Peter may have been one of the three pillars of the church, it was James whom Jesus trusted above anyone else. While Peter may have been ‘The Rock’, James was surely one the Foundational stones set in place by God/Jesus' love. I have heard statments made by historians, that while Peter appeared to be running the church or was in place of a leadership position, he answered to and followed orders from James. (Christianity the First Two Thousand Years)

James died in A.D. 62, he was murdered, stoned to death, martyred for his teachings and preachings, his convictions to live within the Teachings of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He was succeeded as the leader of the Judaic/Christian church by his younger brother Simon.

References:
James the Brother of Jesus – by Robert Eiseman
The Quest of the Historical Jesus – by Albert Schweitzer
The Jesus Dynasty – by James D. Tabor
Rabbi Jesus – Bruce Chilton
Jesus – Michael Grant
The Complete Works of Josephus – Translated by William Whiston
Eusebius: The Church History – Translated by Paul L. Maier
DVD- Collection, Christianity, The First Two Thousand Years, by A&E Television Networks

The Intangibles

2008-07-06T20:59:00.000-07:00

So why is it that we keep looking for the instant material happiness that doesn’t really exist? Why do we keep defining success by all of the toys and stuff we possess? Does all our stuff makes us happy? Do we find contentment within the confines of all of the material objects that we possess? Is that what really makes us happy? (If you said yes to any of the above, well then I am sad, very sad.) Let’s look beyond all of the stuff right now and look at the core of ourselves.

What is it that every one is looking for, that every one longs for, no matter where they come from or how much money they may have, what is that one thing that makes life worth living? Love. No matter what we may say, we all long and hope for that everlasting love. Along with the understanding and acceptance that are a given within this loving relationship. Whether it be a spousal relationship, a connection with a group of friends or a secure family unit, all every body just wants is to be loved. And why is it that love is so almighty important to us all, you can’t really touch it, yet it touches us all so deeply. You can’t stack it up, yet we all take such great stock in how much love we are given. Why, what is love?

And so we come to the subject of the ‘Intangibles’, what exactly are the intangibles? Well, as I see it, putting it plain and simple the Intangibles are our emotions and feelings. Love, joy, sorrow, contentment, anger, anxiety and of course faith, so on, etc.. An intangible by definition is that which cannot be touched; incorporeal; impalpable or uncertain, indefinite, unsure, elusive, hypothetical or unseeable. We can’t touch our emotions yet they control our lives, they are the very makeup of whom we really are. Where is it that we store our intangibles, well, I believe it to be our souls, (possibly another intangible force), but our souls are really the core of whom we are- aren’t they? No matter how much some may make of their physical appearance, in the end it just momentary, not the definition of who we really are, only a surface and shallow container. Our physical bodies are nothing more than a mere vessel, in which we transport our souls from place to place within this earthly domain were we now exist. We exist within a linear and material realm, so why do we even have intangibles, what good are they, how do we use them? Well I believe the ‘Intangibles’ to be a great gift from our Creator, personal proof that there is a God. Invaluable tools, given to us as teaching aides so that we may learn to become a more well rounded and evolved version of ourselves. More evolved perhaps in order to have the ability to accept and experience an even more vast and expansive state of being after we leave this earthly life we are now living. Happiness, yet another intangible, is a biggy much like contentment, it’s all a pathway leading to a state of grace, (more on the state of grace later). The intangibles are what makes us human. They give us our outward expressions. They give us our humanity. They are priceless learning tools, if you choose to utilize them, you can gain the power and strength of wisdom and are able to gain the ability to become a ‘whole’ and healed individual. Only when you are whole and complete can you truly move on to that state of grace or the next realm of reality, a state of higher being.

When we leave this physical realm, we can’t take our money or all of our material possessions with us. We may work all of our lives for these things,but to what end? Do we gain wisdom and knowledge from earning more money or gathering more material possessions? It’s doubtful that any of us can, but if we pay close attention to what is going on within ourselves we can gain outer success and more. We can take the intangibles with us wherever we may go, in life or death. If we make the most of the gifts that we have been given we can only grow from what we feel. You see, it is the practice of introspection, looking within ourselves that helps us to learn more about the intangibles, and in unison more about ourselves. And the more we know of ourselves the more inner space we make to gain for ourselves, the more that we can let in. Whether you call it the state of Grace, the Holy Spirit or simple happiness and contentment, you have the power to let it in. I believe introspection to be one of the most sacred of prayerful acts we can perform. We can’t skim through life not paying attention to our feelings and emotions, and expect to find inner peace, that would like denying who we really are, yet so many people choose to do just that. And then they spend their lives in bewilderment, wondering why they can’t love or be loved, why they can’t find happiness or that supposedly elusive inner peace.

The more we look into ourselves and honestly examine what we are really truly feeling, the more we can experience who we really are. The more that we know of ourselves the more we can learn for ourselves and from ourselves. (Is this getting too deep?) If we don’t look and see the obstacles that are blocking our path to development we will only continue to stumble over them, running into walls, falling through the cracks. In addition, in the end we have no one to blame but ourselves. But with the same token we need nothing more than ourselves to gain great happiness and love. We can all obtain that state of Grace. They say that prayer is all powerful, there are many various acts of prayer and introspection, working with and examining our own personal intangibles is an important one. At least that is my feeling. The Intangibles are a great gift and very powerful tools in self-growth, but they are of no use to us if we ignore them.

To end this post I want to say this, if that great everlasting love is the one thing that we all have in common, if that is all any of us really long for , then that love would the most valuable thing that we might possess. It is important for all of you to know, that you all have that everlasting love, that acceptance, it is within you and through your Creator, all you have to do is look inside and feel.

What is a Patriot

2008-07-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

What is it that makes a patriot? Is it simply those who go off to war? To defend their country’s cause against a known enemy? Must we don a uniform, bare arms in order to fit the definition of a true patriot? I think not, now I’m not trying to take anything away from our men and women in uniform, God bless and keep them safe. I would like to thank them from the bottom of my heart for their service, they should be honored for their efforts and convictions. I proudly and sincerely salute them all.

I want to talk about your everyday American, the “stay at home patriots”. This is just coming from me now, my idea of what it takes to be a patriot. You are free to contradict my words if you wish, please don’t think it my intention to replace your own judgments with my writings. I’m not working to try and sway the reader, merely to share my thoughts, a part of myself with you…. (Your welcome)

So what is it that makes a true patriot? Is it the man who gets up and goes to work everyday, working maybe two jobs, thinking only of the well being and benefit of his family? Is it that same family man whom rushes home in the evening, with loving/happy anticipation to see his wife and children? Passing up the bars, he would rather be at home than drinking with his buddies, carrying fantasies of his loving wife in his heart and head, to look at no other. This man puts himself on the proverbial line for his family day in and day out and does this out of love and loyalty and this makes him happy, makes him feel good and proud of the man that he is. Is it the mother who gets day or night with her children, making sure that they are safe and secure? Caring for them in sickness, praising them in the positive and supporting them through the failures with gentle encouragement. Providing the nurturing tenderness that every child needs in order to know that they are loved. The kisses good night and the hugs good morning, the pats on the head, the bandaged knees, the meetings with teachers. Striving to keep house and home clean and secure. Sometimes that mother is single, raising her children on her own and works two jobs. With the effort to keep her children out of trouble and in school, she makes sure that they are in church three times a week and in school everyday and off the streets, out of that trouble. The parents whom teach their son’s how to put in a hard days work, treat women and their elders with respect and what it means to be honest. Whom show their daughters that they themselves are intelligent and capable and deserving of respect. Is these same children whom strive for nothing but to make their parents proud of their accomplishments, keeping their heads down and working striving to achieve the goals and dreams that their parents wish for them?

Maybe it’s the police officer who patrols the streets every night to keep a city safer even though he sees difficult things daily and goes home to his family with weary mind and body. Or the firemen and women whom risk their lives with the answer of every call, saving lives on a regular basis without a moment of hesitation. Or it’s the grossly under paid teacher, who see’s the potential in every child and puts in long hours of selfless effort and invest so much of themselves so that your child might reach a goal of success. Maybe it’s the collective of the community effort. The church congregation that works beyond all else to lend a helping hand to those less fortunate, whom announce honor your mother and father and love your neighbor without hypocrisy or prejudice.

Maybe it’s anyone who tears up when they sing the national anthem (or makes the effort to actually learn the words and what they mean), feeling their hearts poundings a little stronger with pride, the child whom feels great awe when they are finally able to recite the pledge of allegiance. Maybe it’s anyone whom thinks that it is worthy of a celebration to pronounce our country’s birthday a holiday with parades and fireworks, the whole shebang.

I happen to think that it is all of the above and more. It’s the person whom lives their life with pride and integrity, whom isn’t afraid to love and show it, whom isn’t afraid to live with faith and conviction, with the truth of who they really are. To me the true patriot is the person who gets up every morning and strives to be the best person they can be, throughout the day. They love their family, they help their neighbors and stranger alike, if need be. They are proud of where they come from and work daily to make it a better place to live.

God bless our troops, God bless America, God bless us all. Have a safe and happy Independence Day everyone.

I GOT NO FLASH!

2008-06-30T21:03:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so I got no flash. I have had people ask me when I’m going to sign up for some advertisement service, but no, not me. “Get some advertisers, why not make a llittle money on the side? You can do it, come on Ray.” In the first place, I think that this blog is too young, and I am too inexperienced (IGNORANT) about blogging, that I don’t know how to put the bling on my thang! (If it wasn’t for my wonderful friend Lisa Coleman, I would be saying I got no blog!) In the second place, I am not delusional, I am fully aware of the fact that I probably have two, maybe three consistent readers. (My husband, Lisa and maybe one the my sisters) I wish I knew how to put a counter on this blog, just in case my vanity needs revamping one morning, you know I’m feeling down, I sit down to get my hourly fix of blogging (yes, I am addicted) and voila’! “Oh. Four hits this hour, how wonderful, that puts me over 100 today, I must be a very compelling writer. OMG! I should post more often, my public needs me, nay, demands me.” (Did I say I wasn’t delusional?)

So, let’s talk about Lisa for a minute. She started her blog way, back in February, so she’s an old pro. Well, maybe not old. She made it look so easy, and her blog is so slick and professional looking, I am really impressed. (Yeah, she’s got FLASH scrolling everywhere on her blog!) Lisa knows that I like to write, I’m always telling her stories (venting) about my life. So Lisa says, “Ray you should start a blog. It’s sooo easy, I’ll help you set it up and everything, it will be so fun!” God Bless Lisa, she is so patient. She is a wonderful and gifted teacher of ‘special needs’ children, my son has been one of her students. Apparently she also teaches middle aged moms who are technologically remedial. She is my Blogging Guru. She is outwardly so patient with me, I ask so many questions that I should probably already know the answers to. She smiles and sits down to help me, but sometimes I can see it there behind her eyes, she thinks I’m an O.C.D. idiot, (maybe I’m just paranoid) but she is very good natured in her looks of condemnation. Anyway, Lisa deserves her ‘propers’ for all her help, time and patience, without her this blog (such as it is) would not be. Also Lisa gives me lots of input, good ideas and encouragement. Thanks Girlfriend!

And now, back to me. I don’t feel too interested in finding advertisers at this moment, I just want to get all of the words out and say them in a way that doesn’t make you yawn. (I’m actually yawning). I long to share these stories and information with my children, but they don’t seem to care or want to sit through my lamentations (maybe it’s cause I actually use words like oh, I don’t know lamentations!), maybe I secretly hope that they may choose to visit me here in my blogdom condo and read my rantings, within the privacy of their own rooms and secretly smile at mommy’s wit an wisdom. (Oh boy, what an ego!) I’m still in the honeymoon phase, all I want do is write, I just want to produce words, that’s all. I may altruistic, but it’s meant to be a legacy to my children. I always wanted to write a book, who knows, maybe at the end of a year or so I might have enough material compiled here to produce one very poorly written, half assed novel. Anyway it’s all done in the name of love. (Oh, how sweet.)

Me on Prayer

2008-06-29T17:25:00.001-07:00

Recently I was approached about my thoughts on prayer, wanting a concrete definition. How I pray, when and why. Our conversation was as follows, “I pray everyday, several times a day.” That woman looked at me incredulous, “What do you mean?” She asked, “Do you spend all your time praying?” I answered, “No, I mean that I believe that every thought you might have which involves love, gratitude, faith, concern or compassion, and so on is a simple act of prayer”. Again, I was awarded a look of disbelief, “What are you talking about?” “Well, when you look at something beautiful in nature and feel gratitude for being the witness, or maybe when your spouse is late getting home and you hear sirens in the distance, and that thought comes to you, I hope their okay, oh please make them be okay. Who is it you think you are talking to in your thoughts. Who is it you think you are thanking when you find yourself sincerely grateful for the simple things in life? Who is it that you ask for strength in those trying times of need”. Her demeanor changed and she meekly answered with a question, “God?” I smiled, “Bingo! Every time you give thanks for someone or something good in your life, every time you feel joy or love or gratitude, or even sorrow you are stating a simple prayer in your heart. Every emotion you allow yourself to feel is an act of spirituality. When you watch your child sleeping, and you are filled up with awesome and overwhelming love that weakens you, when you see an injustice and stop, then act to make it right, you are being filled up and acting out of the Holy Spirit.” Now she was smiling too, so I continued on, “You see, in my daily life, I see most every thought as a prayer, and many moments of spirituality. And you know what? My life is so much a happier one living with this philosophy”. Now she gave me a true look of awe, then a small shy smile, “I guess I pray every day too.” In closing the conversation I said, “God Bless You, I’ll pray for you.” She waved and said, “I’ll pray for you too.” You know I have never seen that particular young woman happier. Sometimes it’s just a matter of how you look at things. Maybe if you see and act as if all facets of life are sacred, then your life will indeed become filled with the sacred.

The Author of Eat, Pray, Love; Elizabeth Gilbert writes that when we pray we are speaking to God and when we meditate we are quieting ourselves/minds in order to gain the ability to listen to what God has to say to us. If this is so then I think that the act of introspection would be when we climb into our interior self and clean out the attic in order to make more room for God or spiritual growth within our selves. So many people are fearful of the simple act of introspection, I guess looking closely into the mirror of ones self is too difficult a task, perhaps this is so because that individual does not like what they see. I’m not talking about the physical self, I am speaking of the spiritual/moral self, it is so much easier to become slothful and lazy about your moral actions. If you don’t look at it then it isn’t there, much like the childhood monster under your bed or in the closet, cover your head with the blankets and don’t look, maybe it will go away. I believe that if you are ignorant of your true self then you will be incapable of spiritual growth and the contentment that comes along with grace.

Many of us go through life feeling this distant unnamable hunger, a longing and thirst that we choose to constantly place on the back burner, we don’t feed our hungers, we neglect to quench our thirsts, so they grow. We have this need to learn the answers to our own personal askeance (in the old biblical/poetic form), this blur that is constantly there in the peripheral of our vision (lives), not quiet coming into focus, yet always moving along side throughout our daily lives. We make quick turns, attempting to get a glance, silently asking. “What is that, what was that?” Yet we never really stop to find the answer, which is inside all of us, but we must stop and look inside ourselves in order to find the answer to this the most crucial of answers. So many people run headlong into life without taking the time to even wonder why all of the money that they have, why all the things that they possess cannot fill the void, why they can’t seem to find the elusive happiness. At the end of their busy days, they feel only a wistful restlessness that cannot be called contentment. How many of us simply work more hours, buy bigger houses, filling those bigger houses with more stuff, crowding our lives with that which is material and yet we wonder why it is that we still feel unfulfilled. Is contentment a physical/linear thing? Is happiness a material object that can be purchased? Of course not, it comes from and dwells within us; it is of the interior world.

Although I believe that we as humans are fully capable of prayer while in movement, I think that we must first stop and quiet ourselves, find a stillness within our minds in order for our souls to foster and educate ourselves in the initial process of becoming a spiritually in tuned individual. We need to stripe ourselves of our natural human arrogance, seek/find humility within ourselves and surrender to the process. Give ourselves over to up to a higher power. In order to be filled with the spirit you must first absolve yourself of linear thinking, move beyond the physical and step into yourself. It maybe frightening initially, what change or growing process isn’t? They say that practice makes perfect, who knows it might keep you out of trouble. This can be the most unselfish me, me, me time you will ever partake in. Native Americans believe that the act of performing simple physical/menial tasks is the perfect time to busy your mind with spiritual thought, that way the task loses it meaningless connotations and takes on a sacred quality. Thus, even the most simple aspects of your life become more meaningful and fulfilling, every aspect of your life takes on the sacred. But don’t take my word for, find out for yourselves, think about it. (How about you pray on it.)

To be continued. (I intend to write about the ‘Intangibles’ next Sunday)

A Son is Born

2008-06-26T10:40:00.001-07:00

Robert T.

Your father and I decided that we wanted to have a baby together, and on the first try, it took. At the moment of conception I knew. (TMI?) I just knew that you were on the way. I was confident that you were coming, but I was also numb with fear. What kind of mother would I be? (The worst kind!) “I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. What is going to happen to this poor, poor baby? They’ll probably take it away from me, that’s what they’ll do, why did I decide to get pregnant?” And so it went on like this for the next 42 ½ weeks. 42+ weeks of calamity and mayhem. God bless your father, although there were some fights, for the most part he was very patient with and forgiving of me.

As time went by my stomach grew and grew, I had nightmares, I could imagine giving birth to your father, a 6’7”, 250 lb, very hairy infant. I swore to your father that if my baby when born, weighed more than 9 lbs his very life was in serious danger. I suffered from morning sickness for about seven months of that pregnancy, it was miserable, I can handle pain, or being dizzy, but nausea does me in.

Some strange changes took hold of me, for one thing, after being a strict vegetarian for 18 years, I suddenly began to crave bacon cheeseburgers. Our home was located less then a block from a Central Park Burger joint, they would grill and if a breeze picked up the fumes would waft our way, my cravings would go nuts. I finally gave in and had one, it was pure heaven on a sesame seed bun, my toes curled up and everything! From then on all veggie bets were off, I tried to limit it to one bacon cheeseburger a week but that was tough on your old mommy. I was doing an hour on the stationary bike every night just to try to even things out. I also craved hot and spicy food galore, I would drink black pepper szechuan spicy dipping sauce like soup. (To this day you still love spicy food.) Other than that I stayed on the straight and narrow. No liquor, no caffeine, no aspirin, nothing. Another change that occurred is that I was suddenly able to sleep, I had been a raging insomniac since my early twenties, but it seemed that as soon as I found out I was pregnant I could fall asleep in a matter of minutes and sleep through the night. It hasn’t happened since but it was a good nine months. I could take naps in the middle of the afternoon and everything, as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out and counting z’s.

I did have strange dreams though, in my dreams I would be carrying a baby, it didn’t really look like you, but I would always drop this baby in my dreams. Like, I would be walking through the grocery store, I would stop at the produce section, to look at the tomatoes or something, the water misters would turn on and suddenly the baby (which for some reason was totally naked), and being lathered in baby lotion, would become impossibly slippery. So, of course I dropped the baby, grabbing and clutching desperately for a slimy crying blob, but to no avail. The baby was not only slippery but soft and gooey, like a water balloon, so of course it slipped through my hands, I would drop the baby and to my horror it would slip down and slide into the open drain vents of the produce display, them being razor thin the crying baby would be sliced into shreds, only after shredding the baby would continue to cry. I would hopelessly and desperately try to patch the baby back together, but the mess, being so slimy, this would be impossible. I would wake in the morning, cold and clammy with sweat, and moving through the day with a brooding fear. These bad dreams really didn’t stop until several months after your birth. (Is this harsh of phobia/reaction normal, I think not.)

Other then the nightmares all else went well, up until the third trimester. The last month of my pregnancy with you, I had ballooned up, I was huge and uncomfortable. I was constantly looking at your father and pointing to my overgrown bulging stomach and then shaking my fist at him. Because I was small and you were so big and a lack of embryonic fluid I was confined to bed for most of that last month, so the weight piled on. But the morning sickness had moved on, so things were looking up. I hated being confined to bed, for a girl like me that was the worst, I would get restless and ornery. I started talking to you while you were in the womb, well really it was more like singing to you.

You would kick a lot, mostly at night, I can remember you placing your feet under my ribs and pushing off, as if in a swimming pool, that felt special. I also remember, going to a baseball game with your father in August, it was very hot. I was miserable, I couldn’t wait to get home and into the air conditioned condo. When we finally made it home I found that simply being inside the cool house was not enough, so I decided to hop into a cold shower. I got in and the streaming water was scary cold, at last relief! I directed the nozzle to spray down on my huge belly, it was so freaky, you pushed out (I guess you needed the cold relief too) I could wee the outline of your hands and face stretching out the skin of my already expanded girth. It looked just like something out of the Wall movie (I know you’re too young to know what I’m talking about, and I’m dating myself) or Alien’s or something. I called your father into the bathroom to see, it scared the hell out of him and he made me get out of the shower.
When you finally decided to show yourself I was more than ready. But you still hesitated, I was in labor for about 72 hours, I went into the hospital on Tuesday and you were not born until Friday afternoon. Your father stayed the whole time, he got squeamish at the end though, he almost fainted during the episiotomy, he had to lean down on the bed and hide his face. I was rubbing his head, trying to comfort him, the nursing staff was making fun of how reversed the situation seemed to be. Grandma Bert and Grampy Ralph were there the whole time too, Grandma Bert held my hand through the worst of the contractions, she was very brave, while Grandpa slept in the waiting room and daddy alternated between standing on the edge of fainting and running up and down the halls in delirium. He got so pale that Grandma Bert finally sent him out to ‘get some air’. When the time was getting close we called Mark back in, by then Grandma Ernie had shown up and was present, sitting on the edge of the group and being very quiet. The doctor was very concerned because you had been in the birth canal for such a long time, it was decided that I couldn’t give birth to you naturally and an episiotomy would have to be performed. As soon as your father heard the snip-snip-snip of the scissors he was down on the bed and I was holding him up. The umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck a couple of times so I had to stop pushing really quick. After the doctor untangled you, he proclaimed you to be fine, but I still hadn’t heard you cry so I was worried. The nurses cleaned you up and laid you upon my chest, you were slightly pink and very calm, I remember you looking directly into my eyes, as if to say, “ Okay, here I am, now what?” There was an instant connection, just like with the rest of my children; only with you that connection was much stronger, we had what the Latin refer to as simpatico, it was like we were of one mind. You were instantly the most important extension of me.

I asked why you were so quiet, the nurses took one look at you and proclaimed that you were starting to exhibit signs of shock from being in the birth canal for so long, they handed you off to your father to be held for a moment. Instead of giving you back your father took off running with you in his hands, running up and down the halls like a mad man. “The doctor finally herded you both into the pediatric I.C.U., where they put you on fluids and oxygen. Everyone assured me that you would be fine, and you were, for the most part.

Your father settled down and came back into the room where he promptly fell sound asleep in the recliner next to my bed. In the meantime I got up and walked across the room to another bed and got cleaned up. And the nursing staff cleaned up the room from the extended labor. Your father slept through it all and woke up about five hours later with a stiff neck and back. (It serves him right). He didn’t even realize that I had showered and washed my hair. They moved me out of the birthing room into a general stay room on the maternity floor where I stayed for over night. You stayed longer, the doctor wanted to make sure that everything was okay with you.

We brought you home three days later, in a whirlwind of excitement, both sets of Grandparents were present along with most of your aunts and uncles. You really didn’t care, all you wanted to do was drink your dinner and go to sleep, you didn’t want everyone fussing over you. Eventually I cleared everyone out. At last we were all alone, you me and daddy. I was kind of nervous, I was afraid that I would drop you or hurt you or something, but we settled in. You were so small, Daddy could hold you in both of his hands. As time went by I became more comfortable, maybe because I loved you so much. That was something I couldn’t believe, how much I love you, and it is like no other love. I fell in love with you, thoroughly and completely, it is the most pure love that I have ever experienced. You were like an angel sent to me from God. We spent the next eight weeks of my maternity leave with you 24/7 and it was heaven for me. I think that is why we have such a strong bond that no one can break no matter what they do.

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Being your mother has changed me into a better person, it has made me want to be that better person. I always strive to be the mother that you would be proud of and safe coming to for comfort. I want to be that soft place to fall for you and all my children. I thank God for giving me the privilege of being your mother with every breath I take. I will write to you again and tell you more stories about your life and being your mom.

Never forget how much I love you, as big as the sky and more!
Mom

Meeting Madison

2008-06-23T13:56:00.000-07:00

Maddie,

When your father and I started dating I was, well, younger. I didn’t have the mom experience with kids. Sure, I had nephews and nieces, and I spent plenty of time with and around them. I really loved them. But, you see I was the cool aunt, the one with the fast cars and guitars. I sang in nightclubs, played rock music, and I dressed the part. I kind of lived a bohemian lifestyle, no real schedule. I slept when I got tired (not much), ate when I was hungry, stayed up til all hours playing music, while stopping to paint/create or write as the muse struck me. I guess I was kind of a ‘wild child’. Sure, I worked and I worked hard and steady hours, I was reliable, I paid all my bills on time, but I didn’t live to work, I worked to live. It seemed that my real life was in the ‘off’ hours. I guess you could say that I lead kind of a selfish lifestyle. By the time I started in with your father I was already finishing off with school/college and was trying to decide whether to go further towards a graduate degree or give it up and enter the real world. I wasn’t married at the time (duh!). With no real responsibilities, except paying my bills and staying out of trouble. (I thought that I liked it that way.) What I’m saying is that I didn’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I really couldn’t imagine it being any other way. I can’t remember if I was really happy or not, I guess I was to a certain extent. But I think, deep down inside I was hungry for and looking for something. It got to be lonely in a busy sort of way.

Your father and I had been dating for a few months and he thought that it was time that you and I got to know each other. I didn’t know what to expect, I was actually kind of intimidated and scared. The way your father acted and talked about you, you were (and still are) everything to him. He doted on you, I thought it was cute, his face and voice changed and softened when he spoke of you, it actually put me in awe of you, how could something or someone affect a big ol’ strapping fella like your father in such a way?

I had seen you at the office, from a distance, many times. When your parents were still together, your mom would drop by with you on occasion, (mostly on payday, to demand money), your dad would change completely, he would get all goofy, and playful. I would watch him with you through the window, he would play peek-a-boo with you, I could hear you peeling out baby laughter/giggles, from your car seat. Most people would think it was quiet silly, but somehow I found it very touching. I think at that time I started to see your father as a man rather than some kid running around the place. He just seemed so natural and comfortable, at ease in loving you and caring for you. At the time I thought, “What a perfect little family they are, they must be very happy. The big daddy, the pretty mommy, and daddy’s little girl.” I think your father loved your mother at that particular time in history, at least that was the outward appearance. After your parents split up, on his days off, your father would bring you in with him, you were his little shadow, and he couldn’t have been more proud.

Anyway, your parents had been split up for sometime, your father and I had started dating and we were going to spend the day together, you, me and daddy. At the time your uncle Matt was working at the Trolley Square Movie Theatres, there was a new Disney animated movie out, so dad thought it would be a great idea for all of us to pile in the car and go see a flick. And uncle Matt could score us some free tickets (your dad can be cheap). I was very nervous, you were so small and fragile, a total daddy’s girl, at first you didn’t want anything to do with me. A lot was riding on this, I knew that if you gave me the thumbs down I was out of there, but how could I impress you, you might think I was trying to steal your father away from you or something. And what if I held you and dropped you or something, I might break you. I kept white knuckle praying, “Please don’t hate me, you cute little monster.” When we were loaded up in the car, you kept looking at me rather suspiciously, you wouldn’t crack a smile, no matter how many silly face I made at you. I wasn’t all too sure this was going to work out.

We pulled up to the movie theatre and much to my dismay your father left you in the car alone with me. You were still strapped up in your car seat, and you watched your father get out of the car and walk into the theatre, as soon as he was out of sight, you started to scream. Well, up until this point you hadn’t made a noise, I wasn’t sure you could talk, this concern was now quickly dissolved. You had a very healthy set of lunges on you, I didn’t know such a little kid could scream so loud. This was a full out tantrum, with kicking, trying to get out of your fastened car seat, red face and all. I tried to calm you verbally at first, with logic, “Now Madison, your father will be right back, I won’t hurt you, everything is going to be alright. Daddy will be right back.” You screamed even louder, the decimal force inside that small car was deafening (no offense intended). People outside were starting to turn and look inside. I was starting to get frantic, I turned around in the front seat, to kneel and face you where your car seat was strapped into the back seat (what the hell is taking Mark so long? He’s going to think I’ve been out here abusing his darling little screamer!) you were now trying to squirm out underneath the seat harness, your face was beet red, I was afraid you were going too strangle yourself. Now I was in full blown panic mode, I tried to pat your leg to calm you, but you kicked me with all the force you could muster. I finally attempted to unclasp your seat harness, thinking that I could take you into the theatre and hand you off to your father and head my defeated self home to cry in my spilt milk. It took a few minutes of dodging the blows, but finally I was able to unleash you from the seat, I jumped back, now exhausted and fearful. I waited for your next reaction, very weary. When you realized that you could move, you stopped crying immediately, you looked around and crawled into the front drivers seat, looking out the window to where your father had disappeared, our tiny hands flattened on the window, you looked so forlorn. My heart started to thaw, “It’s alright sweetie, daddy will be back soon, I’m here.” You turned around and looked at me as if noticing my presence for the first time in quiet a while and then something so strange happened. You crawled onto my lap and looked beseechingly into my eyes, you seemed to calm a bit, the color was starting to fade from your hot cheeks. You started to play with the cross dangling from my neck, then you looked up as I tried to convey reassuring words and you touched my cheek, we smiled at each other. You weren’t so scary. Then your arms went around my neck and your cheek on my shoulder. Your pounding little heart started to settle, you snuggled into my chest, and my hurt was gone. You’ve had a very big part of my heart ever since. By the time your father made it back to the car, you were drooling on my shoulder and sound asleep. He took a long look at the two of us, gave me a knowing smile, and started the car. We didn’t go to the movie that day, but I think things ended up pretty well.

We started spending more time as a threesome. On the weekends when your father had you, our dates revolved around you. It was really fun, you brought out a different side of me. As a matter of fact it was seeing your father with you, how he was with you that made me realize that I was falling in love with the man. I guess it takes the love of a little daughter to make a man well worth loving. The rest is history to be conveyed at a later date. (small steps)

I love you baby girl,
Mommy Ray

Kindred Spirits

2008-06-22T13:57:00.000-07:00

(Something that I have neglected to mention, except in passing within my bio, is my eldest daughter Sarah. She is not my biological daughter; she is my foster daughter, but not even legally. But Sarah is my daughter nonetheless, or all the more, Mark and I have adopted her into our hearts and souls. Robert, our son adores her, they have always had a strong connection, perhaps that is what made me turn and look at Sarah in the first place. Sarah is family, like she always has been and now we have taken her partner Becca into the clan to boot. We are a package deal. The post to follow may shed some light on the story of our connection, or it may make things seem more enigmatic, but it is what it is.)

Sarah,

You know, sometimes when you are walking down the street, minding your own business, caught up in your own little thought process. Then you look up and see a stranger in passing, you look in their eyes, and just for a nanosecond, there is an electric connection. An unexplainable recognition, a knowing, a sense of the familiar. And you could swear that you have never seen this person, never met, yet there is a click. And for that slice of time, all breath stops, but you keep walking, they keep moving. Maybe the two of you look back, but then the moment is gone, just like that. And you are left with the hollow echo of a feeling you can’t quite place. You know that feeling. Well, that’s how it felt the first time I met and saw you. I instantly felt as though I had known you for longer than I can remember.

I saw you interacting with Robert, it was obvious how much he trusted and loved you, and the scene had such a familiar air about it. It made me stop and hesitate, I couldn’t leave, and I couldn’t stop watching the two of you. I stood unnoticed, I was a ghost in the background, but it was I who was haunted. It seems like so long ago, but I can remember everything, even the smell of crayons, paper, disinfectant, and little boy/puppy smell. The loud, chaotic tantrums of a classroom full of children with autism, the banter and chatter, everyday motions of a special needs classroom. All that melted into the background, for as strong as all my memories, the picture of you and my son moved to the forefront and left all else in the shadows.

I don’t know how long I stood there watching. Finally, Robert must have sensed my presence, he looked up, but I could have sworn that you turned and looked up in my direction at the exact instant. It may have been my imagination or maybe the wishful, built-up fantasy of a mother’s memory, but did both faces light up at the sight of me? Robert sprinted over to wrap my legs in hugs and pull me down for a nose kiss. You came right along behind, with an open and welcoming, shy smile. We introduced ourselves and shook hands, (there it was again that recognition, that knowing, that sense of the familiar) our touching hands sparked memories from where? Of What? (I hate to get all Shirley McClain on ya) But maybe of lives gone by, I already knew you, I already loved you, I was already your mother. We were already linked, the boundless connection of kindred spirits.

I have always found Robert’s instincts to be very acute, it was extremely clear to all around that he loved you and trusted you that was good enough for Mark and me. Robert’s attraction to you was contagious, we all clicked. The instant nuclear family unit. And we all lived happily ever after, or did we? Maybe not, but we have been a family through it all. You have been there for Robert, myself and Mark whenever the need arose, and I have always done my damnedest to do the same.

I could not be more proud of the woman that you have become if I was your biological mother, (I almost said ‘real mother’). You are kind, caring, gentle, intelligent, loyal and hard working. You are beautiful inside and out. But, I’ve got your number too missy. You may be shy, but you are mischievous, quiet, but cunning. You have pulled your fair share of stunts and pranks, just like every other member of the family. I thank God everyday for bringing you into our lives and love. Thanks for accepting me as your mom. You are a great daughter. I couldn’t ask for more, even if I did it the old-fashioned way, myself.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE!
I love you,
Mom

The Roller Coaster of Love & Marriage

2008-06-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

Hey Kids,

Since I wrote about your father in the last posting I thought I would share my thoughts about marriage with you. I know, I know, this has all the earmarks of a lecture, but humor your old mom and read the whole thing please; you can argue your viewpoints with me later. (or you could always post a comment)

First of all, you already know that I do believe in marriage, however I do not believe in divorce or at least I have a very hardened and distinct view of divorce. I think that if you get married you have no business acting in a manner as though you are single, and if you are going to act as if you are single, you have no business being married. It never made any sense to me when I heard of people cheating on their spouse, why be married if you do not want to act it. If you feel that you must turn outside your marriage for that which you should seek inside that marriage then there is definitely something wrong, either within your marriage or your own personal mental health and moral values. And remember, when you cheat, you are not only cheating on your spouse, you are cheating on your children and all of people who care about you. In essence you are saying to your family, “You are not worth of my fidelity, to your children, “I willingly deceived and hurt you, because you mean less to me than 15 or 20 minutes of selfish pleasure, I am willing to throw you under the bus and into the gutter.” Always remember that your every action and word has consequences, and when you choose to take a spouse and family everything you think, do or say will effect them first and foremost, always consider those you vow to love before your own selfish needs. I think in the end you will be happier and safer for one moment of introspection. You have to be willing to stick it out during the rough patches you may encounter and fight for what you know is worth fighting for. Learn to fight/argue in a fair and responsible manner, no low blows, and always try to muster up enough grace to show mercy. If you are too angry to make and/or accept an apology, then you had better step away and do some serious thinking (introspection).

Being the individual that I am I have strong feelings concerning vows. Whether you make a vow to another person, in front a God and everyone in church, in public or in private, you are not only making a vow/promise to that person, but to God also (and indeed to everyone who cares about you). A sacred promise to God that you are binding your soul to that of the individual in front of you. You are told to take each others hands in order to make a sacred gesture, a symbolic circle made with your arms, a never ending circle. By the making of vows you are now bonding yourselves together as one continuous entity. And the two become one. In addition, for me, this is a lifelong process, not to be entered into lightly, and with the same token, not to be dissolved lightly. Perhaps some will say that my expectations are that of an idealist, but so be it. That’s your mom, you and your dad are stuck with me. And this particular idiom is not likely to change.

When you choose a person to become your mate, you take them in as an extension of yourself. They become your closest family member, second only to yourself. You have to take care of yourself in order to have the ability to care for those around you. I am not talking about being selfish and self centered,(me, me ,me). I am saying, make sure that you are healthy and strong enough to provide and protect for your spouse and family. But once again, your spouse should now come first, because this is your chosen one. If your family has a problem with your spouses spiritual beliefs, ethnic origins, intellectual idioms, etc., you should always stand behind your spouse. You are vowing to defend this individual from any harm that may show itself, even if comes in the form of a close family member. You should say, “Hey that’s my spouse that you are talking about, if you disrespect him/her you disrespect me, so either keep your thoughts to yourself, or stay away form both of us if you can’t be an adult about it.” I guarantee that in the end whoever has the problem will look at you and your marriage in a different way, maybe with some begrudged respect, if nothing else. If you allow someone in your family to show disrespect for your spouse than in essence you, yourself are showing that same disrespect, not only that, but you are exhibiting great cowardice.

Don’t get me wrong, marriage isn’t always going to be wine and roses. It is more like a roller coaster with many ups and downs, it can be lots of fun, but a little scary and bumpy. When you have a long term relationship, you will find that you fall in and out of love with your partner many times, for many different reasons. The trick is to stick it out through the rough times. This comes a lot easier when you truly like the person that you are with. Whenever you get really upset with your spouse, I want you to remember that moment when you first realized that you were in love with this person. Think about the way you felt, the emotions. The way your heart skipped a beat when you saw them, the flutters that occured at the thought of spending time with them, how you couldn't stop thinking about them. And all of the butterflies and the reason you couldn't seem to ever eat. Think of all of the different reasons and characteristics that made you fall in love in the first place, concentrate on that, and if you conjure up even a mere spark of nostalgia for those feelings, forgiveness is much easier to come to terms with. At least it works for me. I know that my love for your father has grown stronger by the year in spite of all of the obsticals that life has thrown our way.

Never lie, to your spouse or anyone else. Lies only add up to trouble, and they get you nowhere. So you can lie if you want to go nowhere, but that’s where you will end up, and most likely alone. If you feel like what you are doing is going to cause problems within your relationship or hurt the person you are with, then you shouldn’t be doing it, huh? I think the more you fight against what you know is right in a relationship the more unhappy you will be. If you behave yourself into a good practice of love, then your love will be good to you. Seeds flourish into a good harvest when tended with care.

Never rush into a relationship. There is nothing wrong with taking it slow, it can be well worth the while, and very enticing. I know that this is easier said, than done, when you feel a strong attraction. Take the time to become friends before you become lovers, a strong friendship will help to carry you both over the rocks that you may encounter on the path to becoming a long term couple. The better you know one another, the fewer unfortunate surprises you will run into, and the more comfortable you will be with the presence of one another. Comfort and passion are loyal compatriots in a long and winding journey. You have to learn to be comfortable and okay with being alone together. You also have to know that you can turn to that other person and feel secure that they will be there with willing and open arms, no matter the circumstances. So shop around and choose your partners very carefully, remember you should like them as well as love them, and respect them as well as want them.

More on this subject later, as I think of it I’m sure.

At First Glance

2008-06-16T19:16:00.000-07:00

Kids, I wanted to tell you about the first time I saw and met your father.

At first glance I never would have guessed that I was meeting my future husband. Don't get me wrong, I thought he was cute in a boyish sort of way. Let me start again, I will make the history a more percise and thorough one.

It was way back in the olden days, when your father and I were still young and computers were a rarity, I worked for a small engineering company. (We actually did all of our drawings by hand!)

Your father worked for a steel fabrication shop, now his employeer was one of our biggest clients, we used to draw up their shop drawings. Anyway, after years of negotiation your father's larger company purchased our smaller company.

Your father was one of the young men whom worked in moving all of our equipment. At first I really didn't even look at any of the men, I was too intent on what I was doing, packing up and loading some of the smaller stuff and my personal things into my jeep. I was engaged to be married to another man (whom shall remain nameless) at the time, I really wasn't interested in looking at other men.

On the second day of the move, again the same men show up to move the heavy equipment. Again Mark was there, only he was moving alot slower and groaning, alot. I heard him, complain from the stairs up above me, I looked up at him. There was this very tall and skinny guy, with shaggy hair and a droopy mustache, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and hightop sneakers. Not exactly my type, but kinda cute and charming in an all american boy sort of way.

Anyway, I looked up and saw him, and something weird happened. Here I was, looking at a stranger and the world kind of stopped,and slide into a void. I felt like I was not standing in reality, and this strange sense of recognition/knowing came over me. But the thing is I had no idea what I already knew, what was coming, I never would have guessed. He was newly married, I was commited to someone else, I was sure that I was going to be with someone else for the rest of my life. I remember thinking, "Oh, oh, what the hell?" Then I tried to shrug off the lost feeling I was experiencing and going on business as usual. But I know deep inside that I could never forget or shake that feeling, maybe it was precognition, who knows.

I never would have bet that two years later we would both be single and friends, then one year later date casually, then one year later date seriously, then live together, then get engaged, then marry and have a child together. And the rest is sick history!

Maiden Voyage

2008-06-16T10:11:00.000-07:00

My first posting, hmmm, well how about this, what if I just tell you why I decided to create this blog in the first place.

When I told my family that I was going to start up a blog, my husband looked confused, my son looked indifferent and autisticly uninterested and my daughter looked startled. The husband didn’t have a clue what a blog was, at least that was his side of the story. My son, being somewhat of a computer savant knew what it was, but was still indifferent, “Yeah, yeah, Mom do your thing, whatever.” My daughter knows what a blog is, but I believe is slightly untrusting to the whole idea, although she didn't voice her question, I knew exactly what she was thinking, “What are you going to tell people about me?”, maybe she knows me too well.

After about an hour and a half of hair pulling, explanation to the ‘other half’, he looked even more confused and just asked, “Why?” “Because, my love, there are questions that need to be answered, questions from our children, our neighbors, our family members and friends.” My ‘big daddy’ is now frowning, “But why write about it on the internet?” I shrug, (cause I’m a closet exhibitionist/voyeur) “Cause I think I want the answers to be indelible, I don’t want to have to repeat myself, and I want to leave something tangible for my kids to return to time and again whenever they feel the need, or insecure about things. Maybe they might be afraid to ask me something, and just maybe the answer will already be here for them.” My husband, knowing me and my ways takes on a resigned looked, I pat his knee, “Don’t worry, whenever I write anything personal about someone I will print it out first and get their okay and blessing before I post it, I promise.” He gives me a sideways glance, (in askeance), “Does that include me?” I answer with what I believe to be a sweet smile and look of innocence, “Of course.” Then I patter off to plot and post.

There are three things that have happened in my recent history, things that prompted the conception of this blog.
1) I have finally learned to embrace and take joy in my son’s autism and autistic ways. I want to share the joys and sorrow of raising and loving a child with autism and specials needs. I want him to read about my pride in him, how much he has taught me, how I am a better person because his presence in my heart/life.
2) My husband and I have had been searching for and have now found and reconnected with after thirteen years, his daughter (the daughter I now take, love as and call my own, no ‘steps’ here.) from another marriage. I want to share the story of our undying love for her, our desperate search, and our faith/prayers that we would find her and bring her back into our family. I want her to know all this and more. I know that she has many questions about her life leading up to now. I want to sooth and shake away all of the insecurities she most likely has.
3) I have recently undergone a partial hysterectomy, with the removal of my uterus and some significant fibroids. I now feel completely different. I am undergoing enforced recoup time, so what better time to start a new adventure. I will share some of my crazy thoughts about this process as well as other thoughts on aging as a woman/wench.

I will try not to be too irreverent, blasphemous, or scandalous, but I’m not making any promises that I will more than likely break. I will not make any promises to not embarrass my children, husband, family, or friends, because I know that’s going happen.

Giddy up, here we go…