My cousin was here last week. She's two years younger than I am and lives in Denver. We see each other about once a year. Being with her always brings back memories of Mamaw's house in Memphis--Texas, that is.
She was Vera-Ellen and I was Ava Gardner. Her boyfriend was Guy Madison and mine was Roy Rogers. Her horse was the Black Stallion and mine was the Strawberry Roan. We rode around Mamaw's yard and down the street "pretending."
When we weren't riding the range, we played paper dolls or dress-up. Mamaw had a closet full of long flowing dressing gowns, hats, feathers--all the things that make young girls fantasies come true.
In the side yard of Mamaw's house was a fish pond--empty of water or fish. We'd get the neighborhood kids and put on shows out there. If you're old enough to remember the Little Rascals, you'll know what I mean.
We played Solitaire with Mamaw and worked jigsaw puzzles.
Minus everything except puzzles, my cousin and I still love being together. We worked two puzzles while she was here, ate out a lot, ran errands and shopped.
Of course, I got way behind on all my housework and writing, but who cares? The time with my oldest friend and relative is more important. Do you have someone from your past who is precious to you and brings back good memories?
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
.....HATE BUT I'M THANKFUL FOR.....
We use the words "love" and "hate" for things other than the way they should be used. For instance we say we love chocolate. Do we really? And we hate cold weather. Hate it?
I'm going to use some of those words today-and not the way they probably should be used. A few days ago I thought of some things I hate. As soon as I had the thought I realized I was thankful for them. Crazy, isn't it? To hate something but be thankful for it?
Here's a few of my hate/thankful for things:
I hate public restrooms but I'm so grateful they are available because I've often needed one. The one I hated the most was in Italy. Our tour bus stopped somewhere (who knows where we were?)just so we could all relieve ourselves after being on the bus for a few hours. A small but fierce-looking Italian man sat at a table between the men's and women's restrooms. His hand was out. We had to pay him for a handful of toilet paper. Otherwise, "no can use." I paid my coin and went inside to the first available stall where I found a hole in the cement floor. Need I explain why I hated this public restroom but was thankful for it? As a postscript I'll tell you we had to wash our hands and go out to the man and get a paper towel, too.
Some public restrooms in America are really clean. Others not so. No matter which way they appear, I'm always thankful they are there.
A second "hate" is having to wear glasses to read. I was born with a catarac on one eye. Although the catarac was removed (finally), I've never had sight in that eye. A few years ago I had catarac surgery on my good eye and I'm very thankful I can see most everything without glasses now. It's still a pain to have to find a pair of reading glasses to do anything up close. However, I'm so grateful to have this one eye that works so I am able to read.
Another hate: alarm clocks. I'm thankful I had one during all the years I worked. Otherwise I would have been late for work in the winter. In the summer I would have had to get up when the sun came up so I'd be on time. I'm really thankful I don't have to set a clock now that I'm retired.
The last "hate" but "thankful for" I'll mention is a bra. And that's all I'll say about that.
I'm going to use some of those words today-and not the way they probably should be used. A few days ago I thought of some things I hate. As soon as I had the thought I realized I was thankful for them. Crazy, isn't it? To hate something but be thankful for it?
Here's a few of my hate/thankful for things:
I hate public restrooms but I'm so grateful they are available because I've often needed one. The one I hated the most was in Italy. Our tour bus stopped somewhere (who knows where we were?)just so we could all relieve ourselves after being on the bus for a few hours. A small but fierce-looking Italian man sat at a table between the men's and women's restrooms. His hand was out. We had to pay him for a handful of toilet paper. Otherwise, "no can use." I paid my coin and went inside to the first available stall where I found a hole in the cement floor. Need I explain why I hated this public restroom but was thankful for it? As a postscript I'll tell you we had to wash our hands and go out to the man and get a paper towel, too.
Some public restrooms in America are really clean. Others not so. No matter which way they appear, I'm always thankful they are there.
A second "hate" is having to wear glasses to read. I was born with a catarac on one eye. Although the catarac was removed (finally), I've never had sight in that eye. A few years ago I had catarac surgery on my good eye and I'm very thankful I can see most everything without glasses now. It's still a pain to have to find a pair of reading glasses to do anything up close. However, I'm so grateful to have this one eye that works so I am able to read.
Another hate: alarm clocks. I'm thankful I had one during all the years I worked. Otherwise I would have been late for work in the winter. In the summer I would have had to get up when the sun came up so I'd be on time. I'm really thankful I don't have to set a clock now that I'm retired.
The last "hate" but "thankful for" I'll mention is a bra. And that's all I'll say about that.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
My last blog was too grim for my daughter. I've pondered her reaction, of course, because that's who I am, and because I love her so much. This blog is my reply.
Honey, I'm not like you. You're a sanguine go-getter and I love you for it. No matter how hard I try, I cannot be sanguine. I'm just not funny, and I don't see life the way sanguines do. Fun for me isn't seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. My glasses are like telescopes. I test and evaluate, dissect and study. I want to know why and how, when and where; how it affects others; how it affects my life and what I can learn from it.
This isn't negative to me. It's how my mind works; how I view the world. That's probably why I like writing stories about people. Sometimes I have to be very careful or all of my characters think just like me.
I love going into the hows and whys of life. I love talking to people heart to heart--getting down into the depths of what makes us as people tick.
Here's one of my ponderings:
One of the great things about God is that he doesn't judge us on the outside. He looks at the heart. Without knowing, or think we know, what's in a person's heart, we can't make judgements.
I've been misjudged many times in my life by people who really don't know me. Those judgements hurt and when they happened, I turned to God and found that He knew what was in my heart. He assured me he saw that I was doing the best I could with where I was. I believe most people do that--the best they can with what they have to work with and where they are in life.
You may ask, "What about a person who does evil?"
I don't know. Only God knows. We have to leave all that to Him. I'm talking about us--the every day us.
Learning this wasn't negative or dark to me. I thought about it and talked to God about it for a long time before I finally came to these conclusions.
I don't live in this introspective place all the time. I like laughing, playing games and just being with friends. I used to love to dance. Now I have to watch others dance but my toes tap and my spirit jumps with joy when the music plays.
I hope this suffices as an explanation of why I write the way I do. I'd like to read what you write because I love hearing you tell stories and seeing you smile or make those funny faces no matter what's going on around you.
I love you and know you're going to be unhappy that I blogged this to you, but at least I didn't use your name. (:
Honey, I'm not like you. You're a sanguine go-getter and I love you for it. No matter how hard I try, I cannot be sanguine. I'm just not funny, and I don't see life the way sanguines do. Fun for me isn't seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. My glasses are like telescopes. I test and evaluate, dissect and study. I want to know why and how, when and where; how it affects others; how it affects my life and what I can learn from it.
This isn't negative to me. It's how my mind works; how I view the world. That's probably why I like writing stories about people. Sometimes I have to be very careful or all of my characters think just like me.
I love going into the hows and whys of life. I love talking to people heart to heart--getting down into the depths of what makes us as people tick.
Here's one of my ponderings:
One of the great things about God is that he doesn't judge us on the outside. He looks at the heart. Without knowing, or think we know, what's in a person's heart, we can't make judgements.
I've been misjudged many times in my life by people who really don't know me. Those judgements hurt and when they happened, I turned to God and found that He knew what was in my heart. He assured me he saw that I was doing the best I could with where I was. I believe most people do that--the best they can with what they have to work with and where they are in life.
You may ask, "What about a person who does evil?"
I don't know. Only God knows. We have to leave all that to Him. I'm talking about us--the every day us.
Learning this wasn't negative or dark to me. I thought about it and talked to God about it for a long time before I finally came to these conclusions.
I don't live in this introspective place all the time. I like laughing, playing games and just being with friends. I used to love to dance. Now I have to watch others dance but my toes tap and my spirit jumps with joy when the music plays.
I hope this suffices as an explanation of why I write the way I do. I'd like to read what you write because I love hearing you tell stories and seeing you smile or make those funny faces no matter what's going on around you.
I love you and know you're going to be unhappy that I blogged this to you, but at least I didn't use your name. (:
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
He is Mighty to Save
My daughter complained that I haven't written a blog in a long time. She's right. I haven't.
Sometimes I feel I have so much inside me I want to express, but the words just aren't there. Maybe those words are not complete, or maybe they are just too precious to share. Or maybe there isn't anything there after all. So I'll begin and see what comes out.
This year has been different from any I've spent in my life. Having major surgery and trying to get my energy back has given me a whole different perspective. The weather,low systems in particular, affect my joints. I don't want to say I have arthritis so I just say "my joints ache." The feeling is unlike any I've ever felt so it's hard to explain exactly how it feels or how it suddenly comes on.
The new perspective is this: I am no longer in control of my body. (As though I ever was.) I am nearer death and that thought bothers me. I don't mind going to Heaven. What I do mind is not being here any longer.
When my mother was close to her death, we talked about it. Her comment was, "I just don't want to leave you." I'm sure I gave her some dumb response like "We'll see each other again." We will, but that wasn't the point. Now I know what she meant. I don't like thinking that I won't be around when my great-granddaughter grows up, goes to college, gets married, has children. I won't be able to stand beside my grandson and watch all this happen. Right now, thinking about it, I already miss it.
What will it be like to be gone? To no longer be on this earth and in this life? My daughters and grandchildren and a few other relatives will remember me, but after that I'll be nothing but a---what? I'm not even sure. I won't be remembered like Abraham Lincoln or Princess Diana. How will I be remembered and is that even important?
I never met my grandmother's father. All I ever knew of him was a big photograph in her upstairs bedroom. The picture made him look austere and harsh. My cousin and I were scared to sleep in that bedroom because of Grandpa Nichols.
Will I be remembered like that? Just a picture that one of my great-great-grandchildren may accidently find in their parent's box of family photos? And if so, does it even matter?
What I'd like for my children and grandchildren to remember is that I loved God with all my heart and I lived my life in a way that everyone knew it.
Surgery at 74 isn't like surgery at 42, the age I was the last time I went under the knife. I kind of knew I'd come out of the anesthetic this time, but there was that slight doubt. All during the night before I had a song going through my mind: "Saviour, He can move the mountains, He is mighty to save, mighty to save." Friends and family were in the pre-op room when the anesthesiologist gave me the shot to make me forget. Later my grandson, who was there with his dad, told me I started singing this song. The others in the room sang with me, he said. The shot had done its work and let me express what was in my heart and spirit.
I didn't die. In fact, I learned a great deal during recovery and rehab. I've expressed that before on this blog. God went out ahead of us and made our way straight.
One good thing about dying. Once it happens to you, you don't worry about what you left behind. I'm getting there. I do know this--God is with me here and there. He is mighty to save under all circumstances.
Sometimes I feel I have so much inside me I want to express, but the words just aren't there. Maybe those words are not complete, or maybe they are just too precious to share. Or maybe there isn't anything there after all. So I'll begin and see what comes out.
This year has been different from any I've spent in my life. Having major surgery and trying to get my energy back has given me a whole different perspective. The weather,low systems in particular, affect my joints. I don't want to say I have arthritis so I just say "my joints ache." The feeling is unlike any I've ever felt so it's hard to explain exactly how it feels or how it suddenly comes on.
The new perspective is this: I am no longer in control of my body. (As though I ever was.) I am nearer death and that thought bothers me. I don't mind going to Heaven. What I do mind is not being here any longer.
When my mother was close to her death, we talked about it. Her comment was, "I just don't want to leave you." I'm sure I gave her some dumb response like "We'll see each other again." We will, but that wasn't the point. Now I know what she meant. I don't like thinking that I won't be around when my great-granddaughter grows up, goes to college, gets married, has children. I won't be able to stand beside my grandson and watch all this happen. Right now, thinking about it, I already miss it.
What will it be like to be gone? To no longer be on this earth and in this life? My daughters and grandchildren and a few other relatives will remember me, but after that I'll be nothing but a---what? I'm not even sure. I won't be remembered like Abraham Lincoln or Princess Diana. How will I be remembered and is that even important?
I never met my grandmother's father. All I ever knew of him was a big photograph in her upstairs bedroom. The picture made him look austere and harsh. My cousin and I were scared to sleep in that bedroom because of Grandpa Nichols.
Will I be remembered like that? Just a picture that one of my great-great-grandchildren may accidently find in their parent's box of family photos? And if so, does it even matter?
What I'd like for my children and grandchildren to remember is that I loved God with all my heart and I lived my life in a way that everyone knew it.
Surgery at 74 isn't like surgery at 42, the age I was the last time I went under the knife. I kind of knew I'd come out of the anesthetic this time, but there was that slight doubt. All during the night before I had a song going through my mind: "Saviour, He can move the mountains, He is mighty to save, mighty to save." Friends and family were in the pre-op room when the anesthesiologist gave me the shot to make me forget. Later my grandson, who was there with his dad, told me I started singing this song. The others in the room sang with me, he said. The shot had done its work and let me express what was in my heart and spirit.
I didn't die. In fact, I learned a great deal during recovery and rehab. I've expressed that before on this blog. God went out ahead of us and made our way straight.
One good thing about dying. Once it happens to you, you don't worry about what you left behind. I'm getting there. I do know this--God is with me here and there. He is mighty to save under all circumstances.
Monday, December 6, 2010
. . .and all these things. . .
I've fought with being overweight all my life. However, most of my life I wasn't but saw myself as fat. Now I really am. (We become what we look at the most.)
In 1973 I almost quit eating because of stress. I got very thin and loved it, but hated the stress that went with it. When I look back at pictures of myself during that time, I see how gaunt I really looked--not just thin but prisoner-thin. That's exactly what I was: a prisoner of the stress.
Fast forward to the 80s. I was happy in life, began eating lots of sugar products and gained 30 pounds. No matter what I tried I couldn't lose the excess weight.
In a book store one day I saw the title of a book by Neva Coyle: "There's More to Being Thin Than Just Being Thin." What that book was telling me was that losing weight wasn't about looking good (which was my motive and has always been.) The moral of the book was "Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His Righteousness and all these things will be added unto you."
I've got those words down pat in the KJ version.
I did what Neva told me and started counting calories. Every month I lost 5 pounds until I had lost 20 pounds. I was satisfied with this becauseI knew this was a good weight for me.
FF again to the 90s. My health practioner discovered I had a real problem with eating carbs, starches, sugar. When I ate them, my system went into flight or fight mode and didn't slow down which caused me to be unable to sleep. I went on a strict sugar/starch-free diet and lost weight again.
I stayed on that diet until this past year but steadily gained weight--a few pounds at a time. I felt fat and saw myself as fat although, when I look back, I was a good weight for my age.
I started drinking white oak bark tea and my body began to tolerate sugar/carbs/starches. My knee went out and I had to walk with a cane; we sold our house and had no place to live while the rental we planned to move
into was being rennovated; we moved into a furnished apartment for a month and spent that month choosing colors/flooring/etc. for the rental. The stress took its toll and the only way I could bring it under control was to eat--and eat, I did.
During one month I gained 40 pounds and it's is still on my body. I'm like Job in that "the thing I feared the most has come upon me."
I talk to God about it all the time--and continue to eat. I like being able to eat things I couldn't for so many years. These foods are still toxic to my body and still cause sleeplessness unless I take a drug that makes me go to sleep. Some nights even that doesn't help.
I'm reading a book ("Sun Stand Still") about praying impossible prayers. I've been praying that God will make the impossible possible for me--and that's to stop the eating, walk more and lose weight. But there's a problem--my motive.
This morning I read from the Living Bible the same words that turned me around so many years ago. The thought is the same but the words are much different. The message begins: "Don't worry about whether you have enough food to eat or clothes to wear, for life consists of far more than food and clothes. . .All mankind scratches for its daily bread, but your heavenly Father knows your needs. He will always give you all you need from day to day if you will make the Kingdom of God your primary concern. . .Wherever your treasure is, there your heart and thoughts will also be." Luke 12:22-34
Where is my treasure? Is it in being thin or is it in being disciplined? Is it in looking good or trusting God with my life? How do I change my motive and go after the real treasure? I've asked God to help me turn in the right direction--again. And He will answer--again. That much I know.
In 1973 I almost quit eating because of stress. I got very thin and loved it, but hated the stress that went with it. When I look back at pictures of myself during that time, I see how gaunt I really looked--not just thin but prisoner-thin. That's exactly what I was: a prisoner of the stress.
Fast forward to the 80s. I was happy in life, began eating lots of sugar products and gained 30 pounds. No matter what I tried I couldn't lose the excess weight.
In a book store one day I saw the title of a book by Neva Coyle: "There's More to Being Thin Than Just Being Thin." What that book was telling me was that losing weight wasn't about looking good (which was my motive and has always been.) The moral of the book was "Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His Righteousness and all these things will be added unto you."
I've got those words down pat in the KJ version.
I did what Neva told me and started counting calories. Every month I lost 5 pounds until I had lost 20 pounds. I was satisfied with this becauseI knew this was a good weight for me.
FF again to the 90s. My health practioner discovered I had a real problem with eating carbs, starches, sugar. When I ate them, my system went into flight or fight mode and didn't slow down which caused me to be unable to sleep. I went on a strict sugar/starch-free diet and lost weight again.
I stayed on that diet until this past year but steadily gained weight--a few pounds at a time. I felt fat and saw myself as fat although, when I look back, I was a good weight for my age.
I started drinking white oak bark tea and my body began to tolerate sugar/carbs/starches. My knee went out and I had to walk with a cane; we sold our house and had no place to live while the rental we planned to move
into was being rennovated; we moved into a furnished apartment for a month and spent that month choosing colors/flooring/etc. for the rental. The stress took its toll and the only way I could bring it under control was to eat--and eat, I did.
During one month I gained 40 pounds and it's is still on my body. I'm like Job in that "the thing I feared the most has come upon me."
I talk to God about it all the time--and continue to eat. I like being able to eat things I couldn't for so many years. These foods are still toxic to my body and still cause sleeplessness unless I take a drug that makes me go to sleep. Some nights even that doesn't help.
I'm reading a book ("Sun Stand Still") about praying impossible prayers. I've been praying that God will make the impossible possible for me--and that's to stop the eating, walk more and lose weight. But there's a problem--my motive.
This morning I read from the Living Bible the same words that turned me around so many years ago. The thought is the same but the words are much different. The message begins: "Don't worry about whether you have enough food to eat or clothes to wear, for life consists of far more than food and clothes. . .All mankind scratches for its daily bread, but your heavenly Father knows your needs. He will always give you all you need from day to day if you will make the Kingdom of God your primary concern. . .Wherever your treasure is, there your heart and thoughts will also be." Luke 12:22-34
Where is my treasure? Is it in being thin or is it in being disciplined? Is it in looking good or trusting God with my life? How do I change my motive and go after the real treasure? I've asked God to help me turn in the right direction--again. And He will answer--again. That much I know.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Life in the Wilderness
We moved last May from a house we loved and views that thrilled our hearts with the majesty of the Lord's creation. Our house now is across town where we can see neither of the two views we loved: the Sandia Mountains and the lights of the city at night.
I've tried to be a "good soldier" and be grateful for this house. It's a nice house, and I do like it, but I found myself looking back with longing. God heard me, of course, and reminded me of an event we've all read about in the Old Testament of the Bible.
The Israelites were in the wilderness with God and they were looking over their shoulders at Egypt. That's what came to my mind and the sweet, still voice of the Spirit said, "Don't look back at Egypt."
I never thought of my house on the east side of town as Egypt, and it wasn't because God was there. But when He directed us to pack up and follow Him, that home became our Egypt. Nothing wrong with it, but it was time to move on.
The wilderness is where God was and the Israelites didn't get it. They saw the cloud by day and the fire by night and still didn't understand. They were on their way to the Promised Land but looking backwards and not recognizing Who was leading them kept them in the wilderness 40 years longer than necessary.
I'm not looking back any more. If God's in the wilderness, then that's where I want to be. I don't know what the Promised Land is, but as long as He's leading, that's where I'll end up. It's not really about the destination anyway. It's about the journey.
I've tried to be a "good soldier" and be grateful for this house. It's a nice house, and I do like it, but I found myself looking back with longing. God heard me, of course, and reminded me of an event we've all read about in the Old Testament of the Bible.
The Israelites were in the wilderness with God and they were looking over their shoulders at Egypt. That's what came to my mind and the sweet, still voice of the Spirit said, "Don't look back at Egypt."
I never thought of my house on the east side of town as Egypt, and it wasn't because God was there. But when He directed us to pack up and follow Him, that home became our Egypt. Nothing wrong with it, but it was time to move on.
The wilderness is where God was and the Israelites didn't get it. They saw the cloud by day and the fire by night and still didn't understand. They were on their way to the Promised Land but looking backwards and not recognizing Who was leading them kept them in the wilderness 40 years longer than necessary.
I'm not looking back any more. If God's in the wilderness, then that's where I want to be. I don't know what the Promised Land is, but as long as He's leading, that's where I'll end up. It's not really about the destination anyway. It's about the journey.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Gifts
You have a gift. I have a gift. Are we using our gifts?
I've known for years of a gift God gave me, and for a long time I've wanted to use it. But I'm not. I've talked to God about this a lot but didn't receive an answer until yesterday.
Many years ago I painted. Due to circumstances I stopped painting. A few years ago I tried to paint again. Nothing! The "Painting Grace" was gone.
I started writing fiction. I wrote and published a novel. I wrote 2 1/2 more novels and stopped for two reasons. One, we sold our house and moved and then I had knee surgery. All from December through the summer. The second reason: an agent told me my work was good but not great.
During those months when circumstances and stress closed down the "Writing Grace," I learned so much. Mostly about God and His care for me. Somehow I was able to let Him carry everything.
I have begun a new novel and it's a hard one. Hard because it's historical fiction based on real events and real people. I'm not sure I can write this. If I do, I will have to have a double portion of "Writing Grace."
So what did I learn about my gift?
Character has to be matured before the gift can be used. Moses had a gift from God. He tried to use it too soon. When God eventually came to him and told him it was time to use that gift, Moses didn't want to any longer. But he did--and how? With the power and grace of God.
I'm not using my gift and it's all right because I know I'm not ready. The time will come and when it does, I won't even care any longer because I'll know it is not me but God through me bringing forth His gifting.
Same with this new novel. If it happens, it will be because of Him, not me. And I won't care either way. Now that's rest.
I've known for years of a gift God gave me, and for a long time I've wanted to use it. But I'm not. I've talked to God about this a lot but didn't receive an answer until yesterday.
Many years ago I painted. Due to circumstances I stopped painting. A few years ago I tried to paint again. Nothing! The "Painting Grace" was gone.
I started writing fiction. I wrote and published a novel. I wrote 2 1/2 more novels and stopped for two reasons. One, we sold our house and moved and then I had knee surgery. All from December through the summer. The second reason: an agent told me my work was good but not great.
During those months when circumstances and stress closed down the "Writing Grace," I learned so much. Mostly about God and His care for me. Somehow I was able to let Him carry everything.
I have begun a new novel and it's a hard one. Hard because it's historical fiction based on real events and real people. I'm not sure I can write this. If I do, I will have to have a double portion of "Writing Grace."
So what did I learn about my gift?
Character has to be matured before the gift can be used. Moses had a gift from God. He tried to use it too soon. When God eventually came to him and told him it was time to use that gift, Moses didn't want to any longer. But he did--and how? With the power and grace of God.
I'm not using my gift and it's all right because I know I'm not ready. The time will come and when it does, I won't even care any longer because I'll know it is not me but God through me bringing forth His gifting.
Same with this new novel. If it happens, it will be because of Him, not me. And I won't care either way. Now that's rest.
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