I Felt His Presence

I had errands to run. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but sometimes we have to make ourselves do things whether we want to or not. So, with a few words to Mr. H. about dinner and when to expect me back, I was off. Heading west. As I approached the on ramp to the freeway, I felt a little nervous. There was a lot of traffic. But there was no turning back and, like it or not, I was soon in the midst of it.

The past few days had been troubling for me. For starters, it was January. It had been cloudy for days on end and I craved sunshine! Furthermore, news of sickness and death among friends and family seemed endless, and I was depressed. In addition, I wasn't feeling well physically either. I was suffering my usual bout of post holidays stomach and intestinal problems. This has occurred every year for many years because I simply don’t have the willpower to avoid the foods that I know will cause problems.

As I drove, I thought about my father, who used to caution me every January: “Peggy Lou,” he’d say, in the same voice he used when I was five, “you’re going to have to stop eating things that are bad for you!”

“I know, Dad,” I’d moan, “but I love all the holiday foods; it’s so hard to resist.”

Without fail, at this point, he’d chuckle and say, “Well, I guess when it causes enough pain; you’ll stop doing it.” I think he sincerely thought I would.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I’d say, but that was many years ago and it hasn’t happened yet. I suppose it’s time to accept that I’m just a glutton for punishment.

Miles up ahead, a few rays of sunshine penetrated the dark clouds, changing the tops of the trees to a golden hue that warmed my heart and seemed to pull me, like a magnet, in the direction of the light. For a moment, I felt like one of those people you read about having a life-after-death experience; they always report being drawn to a bright light.

With cars buzzing all around me and one of my all-time favorite songs playing on the car radio, suddenly, I had the warm feeling that God was in His Heaven and all was right with the world!

And there in the privacy of my car – with a heart full of contentment – I spoke to God, telling Him what was going on in my life (as if He didn’t already know). I felt His presence and knew everything would be all right.

How quickly things change! When I left home, I was in pain, depressed and fearful of making the trip in heavy traffic. A few rays of sunshine, a little music, and some time alone with God – and all was right again.

The human spirit is a magnificent entity. Just when we think we can stand no more, something significant touches our soul...

And life goes on.

Can You Imagine?

As Mr. H. and I drove home from church last Sunday morning, we passed a couple of other churches that were just dismissing. Watching as people walked to their cars, I said, “Isn't it odd how many women wear pants to church these days? When we were younger, it was unheard of; women often wore pants around the house or grocery shopping – but never, ever to church."

Mr. H. nodded in agreement.

Continuing, I said, “I think it’s nice that people don’t place so much importance on what they wear these days, don’t you?”  He nodded again.

“God doesn't care what we wear,” I said, “as long as we attend church. Pants are especially nice during cold weather. Warmer. More comfortable. You actually see more women in pants nowadays than you do dresses. It has become acceptable to wear them anywhere. Dinners, parties, occasions like weddings, graduations and funerals. I like it!"

I finally stopped talking and, Mr. H., in his tranquil manner, offered his opinion.

“I guess it’s okay,” he said, “as long as things don’t reverse.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, if God doesn't care what we wear, and women always wear pants, I guess it wouldn't be surprising if men started wearing dresses, would it? They’d probably be more comfortable in the summertime. Cooler. What do you think? Can you imagine the men we know wearing dresses? Or me?"

Mr. H. sure knows how to make a point.

               

Link: Keifer Sutherland on Letterman 

Another Alien Surprise

It’s already the fourth day of a brand new year. 2013. I’m still wondering what happened to 2012. Are you?

I’m getting older. The older one gets, the faster time goes. I think it’s the law!

Things keep changing. But one thing stays the same: Each year, when Mr. H. and I dismantle our Christmas tree, we find an ornament we didn’t hang on it when we put it up. We call it, The Alien Ornament.

For several years, it was a mystery. We never knew for sure how it got there. Asking all our children what they knew about it didn’t help. Nobody knew anything. But after acquiring six or seven new ornaments – beautiful ones, I might add – we’ve finally pinpointed the culprits who like to play this little trick on us. Perhaps it’s their way of putting a little excitement into the lives of two aging people; lives which they seem to think have become a little stale. (Little do they know what goes on when they’re not around!)

This year, they thought they were particularly clever. The ornament they blessed us with was a bird. Everyone in the family is aware of my lifelong bird phobia and they find it great fun to play bird pranks on me. When my children were teenagers, I woke up one morning to what looked like a dead bird lying on my pillow. Turned out to be a stuffed one, but I almost broke my neck jumping out of bed as fast as I could while my blood-curdling scream got the attention of several neighbors.

I didn’t even ask who was responsible. They were all punished! It didn’t happen again, but I often found bird feathers in places where they couldn’t be missed and nobody ever knew how they got there!

And so it goes.

This year, as we stripped the tree of its decorations, there it was – a beautiful silver bird sitting on one of the branches. It appeared to be looking right at me! For just a few seconds, my heart beat a little faster, but then common sense took over; I bravely removed the bird, held it in my hand and showed it to Mr. H, “There it is,” I said. “The 2012 Alien Ornament!”

Laughing, we wrapped it carefully and put it away with the rest of the decorations, knowing we’d retrieve it next year and place it on the tree with the other ornaments – both alien and otherwise.

I guess our kids are onto something after all. It doesn’t take a lot to make old folks happy, does it?
~~~

Read about other alien ornaments, here and here.

Home

Letting Go Of Christmas

I may be the only person in the United States, if not the world, still listening to Christmas music and watching Christmas movies. I’m enjoying my decorations, too! We seem to be the only family in our neighborhood who turns on the Christmas tree lights at dusk every evening and leaves them on until midnight or later.

I really don’t mind being different.

The build-up to Christmas starts so early. By mid-September, if not sooner, you see trees and other decorations displayed in department stores and a month later, carols are playing, people are shopping and some start decorating – even before Thanksgiving. It goes on and on as the anticipation builds for three months. Shopping, cooking, decorating and getting together with family and friends. Finally, Christmas Day arrives. There’s the opening of presents, a gigantic dinner, friends and relatives stopping by, children's laughter everywhere.

And then, Poof! It’s over! There’s nothing left but a pile of paper, ribbons, and boxes to be discarded. Everyone is worn out and suddenly, all the gaiety and good will are gone. Some people want to get the mess cleaned up as soon as possible and put Christmas behind them.

What a let-down!

I had an e-mail the day after Christmas from my daughter, who lives in North Carolina. “I just want to get my life back to normal,” she said. She had already taken down some of her decorations but was reluctantly leaving her tree up a few days longer just to please her children. She inherited my mother’s “efficiency” gene.

When I was growing up, it was not unusual for my mother to take our tree down and have every trace of Christmas erased by late Christmas night. When the last package was opened, dinner was consumed and the dishes done, Christmas was over as far as she was concerned. I loved visiting my friends whose parents left their trees up until New Year’s Day!

And so... I drag Christmas out as long as possible. I seem to have inherited my grandmother’s “love of Christmas gene.” I don’t know for sure, but heard a rumor that, one year, she left her tree up until the first of March! Her grown children finally threatened to take it down for her if she didn’t do it. She really loved everything to do with Christmas – just like a child.

I don’t believe I’ll ever go that far, but I’m never eager to take the tree down. And when we do, I do it with tears in my eyes. There’s always the fear that it could be the “last” Christmas for me or someone I love.

So, as we approach the third day after the “biggest day of the year,” I’m enjoying Christmas music on the radio and getting ready to watch a Christmas movie. I can hang in there as long as the stations offer holiday fare!

I’m not ready to let go yet.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Someday

Don't you love it when you start with a piece of writing so rough you don't think it has a chance of ever making sense, but you change a word here, remove a word there, add a  phrase or two – and suddenly, right before your eyes, it begins to morph into something worthwhile – and your spirits soar!

That's what keeps me writing, I think – the possibility of a beautiful surprise today or tomorrow or somewhere down the road. I’m always waiting, expecting great words to flow effortlessly from my mind and become immortal.

When I was just a child, I used to lie on my bed and write poems and stories. I still have some of them. When I got married, my mother gave me two large boxes that were full of my early writings. My puffed up ego says, "Keep them. Someday you'll be glad you did." But the invisible sprite that sits on my shoulder trying to discourage me, says, "Throw them away. They're worthless!"

I've already reworked some of them and had them published, but many still linger in their original storage boxes, the paper growing brown and crisp from age, waiting, knowing that somewhere among them is that one phrase that will become immortal. Someday.

Ah... how sweet are the hopes and dreams of a writer!

How inflated the ego!

And So This Is Christmas

And so this is Christmas?

It is now only one week until Christmas. I’m not ready. Many interruptions have prevented me from doing what I need to do. 

I make a list each day of what I’d like to accomplish that day, but at the end of the day, there are things I didn’t get done that have to be moved to the next list. 

I’m not making any headway and I’m getting frustrated!

Christmas is supposed to be fun. Exciting. A time of sharing, a time for loving and giving – but it seems to be more of a chore for me this year than it’s ever been before.

However, in a little more than a week, it’ll all be over. Looking back after a few days, it will seem as though it never was – and hopefully, I will forget how difficult it was. I’ll only remember the good things: getting together with loved ones, the laughs, the delicious foods, the beautiful decorations and, most of all, the reason we celebrate this special season every year – to honor the birth of Baby Jesus.

A few days ago, we all witnessed a terrible tragedy when many children and some adults were shot down by a deranged individual. Some of the children were little more than babies. It was a senseless act. Cruel. Mad!

As I mourn for them and those who loved them, I can’t help but wonder why a loving God allows such atrocious things to happen. As I ponder the situation and try to envision myself in the place of a mother who lost a young child – or even an adult child, I can’t begin to imagine the agony caused by such a horrifying experience.

Tears cloud my eyes. I bow my head and say a prayer for each and every one affected by the tragedy. And I realize that it doesn't matter if I’m on schedule or not. What matters is that I give my very best to this Holy season, cherishing my loved ones and being very thankful for all my blessings.

Who knows what the next year may bring? The next day? Hour? Minute...

Too Young To Die

My son’s best friend died a few days ago.

He was only 55 years old. His problem started with a mole. A tiny brown spot. It didn’t look serious. In fact, it looked so innocent that he didn’t see a doctor right away. Even with much urging from the woman in his life, he resisted. “Please let a doctor look at it just to be sure it isn’t anything to worry about,” she pleaded. But he ignored her.

It’s a mystery to me why men refuse to go for medical help even when it’s possible they have a serious problem. Many illnesses, if caught early, can be stopped in their tracks. But too many men think it’s just not macho to see a doctor with every little pain. Sadly, countless numbers lose their lives because of such foolish beliefs.

Finally, the brown spot wasn’t tiny any more. It grew. And grew. And he realized it was time to give in. After a thorough examination and tests, the doctor said it should be removed. It was done. The growth was very deep as was the incision in his side. The pathology report confirmed their fears that it was melanoma! But doctors said they got it all and he should have no more problems.

And so... he went on with his life, working and playing and caring for the people around him. He had five children and an aging mother who lived nearby. They were a close-knit family.

About a year later, the tiny brown spot reappeared. This time he didn’t wait.

He saw the doctor right away. The news was not good. The melanoma had returned. All the treatments known to man were done but the growth persisted. Bigger and bigger it became. The man was finally told that the cancer had spread to his bones and there was nothing to be done. He had only a few months to live.

The pain was bad and quickly became worse until the only thing that helped was morphine. It hurt to get up, to walk, to sit. It just hurt. Continuously.

As the pain intensified, the doctor prescribed stronger doses of morphine. Finally, he couldn’t stay up. After a short hospital stay, his sister insisted he go to her house to be cared for by her with Hospice assisting. Reluctantly, he complied. After he was settled in, the first person he asked his sister to phone was my son. He wanted to see him right away.

For a couple of months, my son spent every moment he could spare sitting by the bedside of his friend. They talked and laughed about the things they’d done together over the years, and when his sister brought food for her patient, she always brought a plate for his friend, too.

As the time drew near, he slept more and talked less, but my son continued to sit with him all he could.

When he finally passed, only his mother and sister were with him.

Mr. H. and I went to his funeral yesterday. It was sad, like all funerals. But God always provides a good memory to help dim the pain of a very bad one. Thus, I’ll never forget the striking beauty of the dozens of red and white poinsettias that flanked the casket.

The first thing the minister said was, “Fifty-five years old is much too young to die!”

I agree.