When Beauty Becomes Ashes

Rain is my friend. I love rain. Everything about a rainy day calms my spirit. The sound of rain hitting the pavement; the way it cascades down my windshield as I drive; the cooler weather it brings with it during late Fall, early Winter. The smell of something fresh invites me to come outside and allow my senses to experience the blessings of the cooler weather rain brings. If I had a deck, I would be sitting there sipping Highlander Grogg coffee, or Creme Brulee...whichever Dennis decided to make for me. So, instead I use what I've got and stand on the front porch, with coffee in hand, as this morning air and gentle rain wipes away every negative thought, every anxious thought, and every fear of what may be in the future of my allotted days.

It's a little funny how something so beautiful, so relaxing, can also create more trouble than we desire. If the rain continues, day in and day out, it's not long before the earth cannot absorb this calming liquid that has been sent to us from the clouds above. Flooding may happen in low areas. And then, it becomes destructive.

As much as I love the rain, I really don't like huge amounts of water that have gathered in one place. It may be lovely to look at, to smell (well, at the beach anyway), to walk along the edges of...but it also can create a very dangerous situation. Like drowning.

When I was a small child, 9 or 10, maybe, one of my older brothers threw me into the deep end of a creek bed. "Sink or swim," he said. I had wanted to learn how to swim for a very long time, but was just too afraid to go out into deeper waters to try. He thought I would surely fight to live and thereby, swim! Nope...he was wrong. Fear paralyzed me. I was going down for the third time, when my protective sister (Becky) swam out to grab me. Brother Rush soon wished he'd not been quite so confident of my survival.

Maybe that's why I fear the ocean. Or it could be something altogether different. I've had/have, a few fears other than what Rush (unintentionally) helped create. However, I simply call this fear a healthy respect of danger. True, it's wonderful to walk along the beaches and allow the winds that blow over the waters, to wrap around you. I also love the sudden thunder storms and the gathering black clouds, that seem to come out of nowhere, while walking along the shore line. But it is quite difficult to get me onto a boat of any kind. I'm getting better, I think. But I have to command my mind to be at peace. Cruises are definitely out, at the moment. Ferry rides are okay...

Moral of this story? The things you love the most can become a danger if there is over-participation. We are to do all things in moderation. Too much of a good thing can indeed become a not-so-good thing. And yet here I go, walking into the deep...

Here's my list of beauty becoming a form of death:

1. Being with someone (anyone) ALL. THE. TIME. We need a breather, a time to reflect, a time for God. What was at the beginning beautiful, has now become fearful. Fear of loss...

2. Being so spiritual that others feel you believe yourself better than they. Let me clarify, please. Being sensitive to God's spirit in us, is indeed the best way to live our lives. It's our connection to the God of all Creation. But, if everything we say and do finds us surrounded by "those of the faith", we will never reach the lost for Christ. We will become churchy with a list do's & do not's as our necks become stiffer and stiffer.  We're simply too good to dirty ourselves. Yet, we ourselves, were once lost, and at times STILL look a little dirty. What was at the beginning beautiful, has now become fearful. Fear of loss...

3. Using all our resources and plenty, on ourselves. What God has blessed us with, we want more and more of. Nothing wrong with that. Right? Wrong. It develops a greedy spirit within us. We are to be conduits of God's grace and mercy, and not in the form of just a hug and a prayer. What was at the beginning beautiful, has now become fearful. Fear of loss...

4. Food...oh my goodness, FOOD! It truly can be a thing of beauty, needed for survival, and enjoyed at gatherings. But...it can quickly become a form of death. Too much, too much of the time, begins to weigh a person down, literally. Organs in the body that are meant to protect, get weighed down and become dysfunctional. Or they are destroyed all together, breaking down our defense against bacteria, disease, and emotional stability. What was at the beginning beautiful, has now become fearful. Fear of loss...

5. Beauty itself. Recently, I came across a show on TV, called BOTCHED. Botched is a show about fixing surgeries that have gone wrong. It's actually pretty, no, it's VERY interesting. And amazing! These doctors reverse botched up works of other professionals; surgeries I think should be categorized as "impossibility." What was at the beginning beautiful, has now become fearful. Fear of loss.

I'm confident there are items we all could add to this list, but these are the 5 things that came to mind this morning as I watched the rain, coming down in all it's beauty, in it's service to me. 

Ready for this God given day, here you'll find me...in Mary's World.

Predators Amongst Us

For a while now, my heart has been so heavy with the struggles of those close to me. People I speak with at the businesses God has allowed me to have, here in North Carolina and Miami, Oklahoma. Yes, I still carry those I love from Oklahoma, in my heart. People I've spoken with from our church (past & present); people in my own sweet family. Through many times of prayer and godly counsel, I have come upon a few reminders from God's Word and from those Dennis & I respect in the ministry.

First, and foremost, God asks us to go with Him, but much of the time we want Him to go with us, because that puts us in control of where we're headed. Much of the time, where we are headed is not where He has asked us to go. It's just where we want to go, so we ask Him to be with us as we choose our own path. We make our own destiny, right? I may have even made that crazy statement, a time or two, myself. I've never believed it, however. Yes, we must choose our path, but then allow God to direct our steps, by following hard after His instructions that are revealed through many avenues. He's given us the Holy Scriptures, He's placed His own amongst us for counsel, He's put His Holy Spirit within us to comfort and guide us in the ways of Jesus (that's another blog entry).

We must remember that He knows the paths that are destructive (we can't see the long term effect of destructive choices...He can), as well as the paths that allow us to walk in peace where our soul is at rest...even in the midst of hardship, pain, and discouragement. And it all comes from saying, "I will follow (I will obey) Christ, even when I can't understand what's happening in the present."

A "plumb line" I've always been guided by, is one that shows me when I'm off the best path for me. I check that line by asking myself if I'm at peace with my decision. Sometimes I have even convinced myself that I WAS at peace with the decision. Because I wanted the crazy thing I'd decided on, so badly, I convinced myself I was at peace with it. But I knew I wasn't, simply because I continued to question, worry, fret, and be a general mess. So now, I ask myself this: "If God and I conversed face to face, would He say, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Then I try to line that decision up with Scriptural wisdom. If I can't find it, I ask those I respect in the Christian faith. Sorry, I don't sit in the counsel of those that are not qualified to point me toward godly wisdom. Before you throw rocks my way, I do believe there is good, even great, counselors that never bring our Lord into their conversation. I just don't think they can give me what I'm searching for. Humanity is fragile. Humanity wants what it wants. Humanity sees with selfish eyes. Humanity is mostly "yes" people. Without the wisdom of the Holy Spirit, I don't believe myself as having accomplished anything I couldn't accomplish on my own. They can possibly make me feel better about myself and stop hating myself...but can they give me what my heart needs to know?

God has given us counselors to help when we can't see clearly. Godly counselors. If we, as Christians, don't want Godly counsel, we can bet that our soul and our spirit are at war with each other. We feel we "know what they'll say" and we don't want to hear it. It's because we are at war with ourselves. Our spirit, soul, and body work together. If they are in conflict, something is wrong. Proverbs 11:14 tells us that without good direction we lose our way; but with the more wise counsel we follow, the better our chances. Well, actually it says, "For lack of guidance a nation falls, but victory is won through many advisers." Regardless...we understand that wise counsel keeps us steady. Not counsel that pats us on the back and tells us to do what makes us feel best. We all know feelings are fickle anyway. Feelings will lie to us. Feelings come and go. Everyone tells us to "be happy." Where are those that tell us, "Be obedient?" True happiness comes from obedience to the Father anyway. Geez...

I'm reminded of conversations about certain government officials being "Yes" men. No one wants a yes man. We all want, and NEED, men and women that have the fortitude to stand for what they know to be right. Truth always wins in the end, anyway. Right? Of course it's right. A nation, a country, a city or state, an individual...truth is what leads us. Deception is formed through lies. Lies that are meant to destroy us as individuals, as families, as a nation. And even though we may be taken out of this life as deceived individuals, truth will always win.

And most of the time we know what that truth is...we just don't want to admit it, because that would take us off the throne of our own heart where we are in charge of our own decisions; we would lose that area of control, and our pride would have to take a back seat and allow the Lordship of Jesus Christ to prevail. That's the thing. The world tells us just the opposite of what Christ tells us. But seriously, would anyone choose destruction if they knew it was destructive to all they hold dear? I doubt it. What good is pride, anyway?

The reason I share this is to encourage anyone that seems to be going through a dark place at the moment, the sun will shine again. God will take the ashes of your life and create something so beautiful, even you won't recognize it. And to remind us that we are not good navigators in this life, without the light of God shining on our path. We just can't see so well in the dark. Life, indeed, throws us more than a curve or two as we walk it out. The best way to face this life, is with God's proven victories over it. Matthew 7:7-8 tells us to seek Him and we'll find Him, knock at His door, He'll open it for us.

John 10:10 says, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." The thief spoken of here is a spiritual predator...he is the enemy of our existence and wants nothing more than to make our lives a living hell simply because he knows we will never belong to him. We belong to God. This predator is not stronger than God. He may seem to have triumphed and won a battle or two. He will not win the war.

Life can, and does, change. God doesn't. The only thing that remains a constant in this life, and the one to come, is the love of our Heavenly Father. He will withhold no good thing from those who love Him.

Constantly searching for truth, here you'll find me...in Mary's World.

Tears in Our Soul

tear¹

ter/

pull or rip (something) apart or to pieces with force, so as to leave ragged or irregular edges. 

No one escapes the occasional tears in the fabric of life, if one lives long enough. Our heart is given over to defeat as we fight with weapons formed from our own reasoning, relying on the wisdom we have acquired over the years. Forgetting that God holds the best strategy for war, we feel we must do this on our own. We may ask for His guidance, but then pick up the javelin of selfishness (when God asks us to be selfless), because it's what feels right for a win. It's what we must do to free others, we tell ourselves. 

We become so worn and ragged while fighting the battles that rage in our mind. Battles that may have been lurking, waiting for the appropriate time, as our own desires take priority, and weariness has set in from trying to make everyone else happy. We are tired.

Other battles we must fight are the ones created by those we love the most. And we have become the target. The fabric of our life has been tore into multiple pieces. Tears that rip, that pull apart with force. Tears that leave our edges ragged or at least with irregular edges. Tears that thrust us into the heart of God. Tears that will eventually allow the light to shine out. Tears that reveal God's heart, out of our barrenness. Our empty soul. Tears that will allow others access to our pain. Painful tears...

Over the years, I have been told, "It's not about you!" And my reply was mostly, "Well, it needs to be about me, once in a while." We believe ourselves to be such a part of the dynamics of family & friends, we take things personally, when indeed it's about those dealing with the war. The war inside their heads.

Pride must be shoved aside now. We cannot allow pride to be our downfall, our defeat. It's not about us, per say. It FEELS like it's about us. But feelings are deceptive, right? Feelings come and go. Feelings will lead us down the wrong path. Feelings are not to be trusted. Love is what we must trust. Everything we see with our natural eyes, our natural understanding, is subject to change. Only God's reality, (things not easily seen), can be trusted. We must acknowledge Him and the solutions He has already laid out for us. All else pales in the light of love. His love. The love that He has given to us, has infused us with, has placed inside our being, to rely on as the world around us, in us, becomes too dark, too hazy, for our understanding.

Standing on our front porch this morning, I watched the rain gently falling, at first, then begin to be poured out of the heavens. I talked with God as tears ran down my face, much like the rhythm of the rain drops. Softly, at first. Then came the downpour. It was good. It was needed. It was a gentle caress from my Father, telling me that some things must be, in order to grab the attention of those He loves. Of those who seem to have lost their way. Those of us that thought we knew what He was asking of us. Yet the days, the months & now years, have shouted, "You're on your own." "You must do this. No one will do it for you." "In the end, it will be worth it." We've always known there to be a bit of truth in every lie. It's true, we must do whatever it is. It's true we are our own driving force. And it's true that is how we become deceived and believe a lie, from the partial truth the lie holds. Our analytical minds figure it all out and believe God has figured it out for us. Because it feels right.

Prayer is not for God, it's for us. God knows what we have need of before it becomes a need. He knows the challenges we face on a daily basis. He is familiar with them all. Prayer releases US to hear God's heart beating for us. Prayer cleanses our soul. Prayer gives hope. Prayer worships the Creator and doesn't seek it's own...until the ripping of soul comes. 

Prayer has the potential to mend the tear that would seem irreparable. Once the light has been shown upon it. Once the light has penetrated the darkness and revealed the lie. Once the rescue has taken place. And then...then our burden will be lifted off us as the Father tells us, "Now go back into the darkness and rescue another one."

It's not about me...here, in Mary's World.

Things I Learned Two Days Ago...I Think

Dennis and I went, for the first time since moving here, to the NC State Fair this past Monday. Here's what I learned:

1. Never give advice (or suggestions) to another Senior Citizen.
    It was pretty dang cold Monday morning. Waiting in line to board a transit bus, the wind gently caressed and enveloped all that were standing there. The lady directly in front of me had very short hair, ears exposed to the blustery day. I should have kept my mouth shut.

2. I am a Senior Citizen.
   The bus was loaded with old people. As far as the eye could see, forward and backwards, people with canes, no hair, and very slow, to non-existent, movement. I wondered how they would make it up those hilly inclines at the fairgrounds. So, evidently, transits are for the elderly. I didn't know that...but now I do. I like transits.

3. My memory is fleeting.
    Entering the fairgrounds, the gate keeper informed me I was not "over the hill". I was merely an "informed adult", or an "informed individual", or a "mature adult", or a "mature individual"...whatever, you get the picture. I really don't remember. And actually whatever it was she said, I forgot after taking approximately 10 steps forward...but I liked it. Whatever it was. By now I was beginning to really appreciate being a senior citizen. It seems to be a good luck charm when going anywhere. Discounts all over the place. AND a free pass into the fair! Ha! Dennis had to pay $10 to experience the same things I experienced for $0.00! (Big smiley face goes here).

4. Expect lines to move slowly.
    No one seems to be in a hurry in the world of seniors. It just takes time to sort through which archived money one should use. Cash? If so, from which secret pocket in the purse should it be taken from? The Christmas Fund? The Loose Cash Fund? The "Saved for a Rainy Day" Fund? The "Where Did THAT Come From Fund"? Maybe one should just use that piece of plastic and hold onto the cash. But which Credit Card? Which Debit Card? Better use one that is covered of fraudulent charges just in case the vendor decides to keep the info on the card. Decisions, decisions. (Memo: I don't have all this free flowing cash; in case you're thinking of following me, with intent of knocking me in the head).

5. Expect detours while on the fairgrounds. (Go ahead and speculate on what that means exactly...)

6. There is more than one way to cook bacon.
    This one I learned from a total stranger I found myself talking to, about a ceramic bacon fryer, in a pottery vendors palace. Strangers become good friends by the time you reach mature adulthood. We welcome ANY interaction, since family has their own life to live and it rarely interacts with yours. So...the bacon recipe. The bacon in the picture looked limp and icky. My new found friend had the perfect solution, and  I'm going to try her suggestion. Hummmm....maybe I'm NOT a senior citizen. Taking suggestions, and all...
    Here's the how-to:  Layer bacon on aluminum foiled cookie sheet
                                   Cook in oven at 350 degrees, for 10 minutes
It's supposed to come out very crispy with no spattering mess to clean up. Awesome.

7. Football really does unite people across the globe.
    Dennis had several strangers stop to talk football. All because he wore his colors. When leaving the fairgrounds, a "mature adult" walked past and said, ever so nonchalantly, "Boomer", with which Dennis replied, ever so nonchalantly, "Sooner." Without looking back, she exclaimed to her husband, "He's a real one." Of course they had to be stopped and visited with.

8. Seniors, even though they have a couple of years to go before being legally known as a "Senior Citizen" (aka the one who still has to pay to get into the Fair), will develop pain in the lower torso that travels down at least one leg and into the same foot after walking a few hours up and down hilly terrain, but still gets a kick out of holding hands with people dressed as Mother Earth and walks on stilts.

The REAL Senior just put this in her memory bank. The bank that serves her well...for the next 10 forward steps.

9. If you keep watch on the time in the midst of all the fun of eating funnel cakes, hot, homemade apple pie with stone cold vanilla ice-cream on top, chili dogs, turkey legs, onion rings, and hot apple cider, and visiting with total strangers (and strange people in general), and taking time to admire the beauty of the florists gardens...the transit will get you home before dark.

WHERE ARE ALL THE PICTURES I WAS SUPPOSED TO TAKE?!!

Thankfully, I still know my way home...here, in Mary's World.

Jealousy's Fire

She was wed just over a year when the President of a well-to-do bank asked her if she would be interested in working for him as a bank teller in their loan department. Working as a waitress, she had brought food to his table many times. He took notice of her work ethics; her quickness of hand, her ability to meet the public with a smile, and a true desire to please.

She had been employed at the bank for only a week, when her trainer met with the boss to give him a review of the first week and how the new girl handled herself. "She's a fast learner," the trainer said. "I don't think we should keep her in bookkeeping. She needs to be up front, meeting and serving the public," said the trainer.

Well into the first year of being employed by the busiest bank in town, and the greatest boss of all time, the new girl was given more and more responsibility. She loved her job. She felt important. The President would stop by her window and visit every day. They laughed together, shared stories, and became friends. He felt he had made a good choice in her.

Having worked on a farm, the new girl wasn't afraid of work...nor did she consider work to be a dirty word. She loved using her hands to produce something bigger than herself. She loved being needed. When her work was complete, she would find someone to help that may be having trouble finishing before the end of their day. Always wanting to help others, she never felt as if she was hired for just one job; but to actually be a team player. Everyone enjoyed working with her. All but one girl...

Jealousy raged within this one girl. She had watched as the President came every day to visit with the new girl. She had noticed the new girl was given a large bonus at Christmas, only a few months after her hire-in date. She notice it was hand delivered by the President, even though the new girl asked to be excused from the Christmas party where the bonuses were handed out. The party the employees had always been required to attend or they would have to forfeit their bonuses. She had noticed how quickly the new girl had gained popularity and she was not okay with that.

One afternoon, about closing time, the mail pile was high. The new girl noticed this and asked if she could help. The one girl was not making much headway in getting all the accounts posted in payments receivable. The new girl was being kind and wanted to help out. And even though the insurance department was helping with the mail, the one girl did not want the new girl anywhere around her. But, alas, the work must be done. The boss said, "let her help."

As the new girl reached for a stack of mail, the one girl glared, with head down, and never spoke a word to the new girl. Never acknowledged the new girl was there. "Are you okay?" the new girl asked. With voice low and filled with hate, the one girl said, "I hate you." The new girl was completely caught off guard. Her honest heart tried to process what she had just been told. "Why do you hate me?" the new girl ventured. "I don't know. I just hate you," responded the one girl, all the while never allowing their eyes to meet.

That was 38 years ago...and the new girl still shudders when she remembers that day.

"So what?" you ask. Is there a moral to this story? It continues to amaze me at just how damaging our words can be. And how life giving they can be. Words can damage a spirit for an eternity, it would seem. They can also lift and encourage for an eternity, it would seem. So why do we find it necessary to wound, to scar others, to convince them they aren't worth our time? I don't know that I'll ever know the complete answer to those questions. Other than the damaging effects that self-centeredness creates in us, these hating words must come from a heart filled with need. Material songs have been written about it. Like, "I Need You to Need Me", "Shake It Off", "Hater's Are Gonna Hate", and the list goes on & on.

The Scriptures tell us "The tongue has the power of life and death." ~Proverbs 18:21, and, "With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God's likeness."  ~James 3:9 

Signing off, for today, maybe we can ask of the Lord to settle these words, from Psalm 19:14, deep in our spirit. And maybe...just maybe, we'll make it through the day with a lightness in our heart and kind words on our lips. "Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in Thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer." ~Psalm 19:14

As always, here you'll find me...in Mary's World

I Fear We Know Not the True Meaning of Love

We say, "I love you," but when the test comes to prove our love, we fail miserably.

"Love" is a word thrown around much too freely, in my opinion. Love lives through adversity, through injustice, through the times we feel most defeated. That is where we find just how much we truly love one another.

Love survives the pain and never acts unbecomingly. Love takes hits and does not react with revenge at it's heart. Love cannot hate. Love cannot do anything but love, in spite of what it must endure.

Do we love simply when others are behaving how we think they should? How we desperately need them to? Do we love only when the one we say we love, compliments who we are? Or do we throw stones at our offender? Do we alienate them because they hurt us and knocked us off our feet with their actions, or do we learn patience in the midst of the storm? Are we capable of holding onto hope, when there seems none exists?

Do we resort to throwing stones, or at least, stony stares, at those we believe to have made a horrible mistake? Or do we simply ignore them? You know the ones..the ones we told a long time ago that we loved. Those who we believe to have sinned against all things holy...and US! Those people. I'm reminded of the Scripture in John 8:7, where Jesus was writing in the sand, as those who stood around Him were wanting to stone a woman caught in adultery. By-the-way, does anyone know where the guy was? Why wasn't HE brought to Jesus, as well? I guess she should have known better. He was just doing what guys do. Right? It had to be all her. He was just an innocent by-stander. Jesus had another thought about all that. He told them, "He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her."

For the last few years, I have been fascinated with this powerful word. Love; the word many of us seem to use when we actually mean, "You make me happy." Love was never intended to make us happy. Grateful, maybe...but, happy? Happy is as emotion that comes from being satisfied with an outcome. May I say, it's even a selfish emotion? An emotion that fades and is never consistent. It's prominent  one day, and the next, not so much. We may have even grown to hate, what we thought we once "loved." And, I say it all too often, myself! "I LOVE this weather!" "I LOVE how she/he looks (or carries themselves)!" "I LOVE this pizza!" "I LOVE YOU!?" And, let's not forget the sentimental love phrase, "I love you like you were one of my own." Or, "I'll always love you!" What happens to that love once the storms of life hit? Is that love still visible?  Does our heart scream in pain because of the love we shared with another and now seems distant? And how do we show it, if it does still remain? Can love actually be alive one day and not the next? I think not. Love is stable...always. Love is an action. It has your back when you've fallen. It never spreads gossip about you. It never kicks you when you're down. Never. Do we love...or are we just happy in the moment?

Love came to us as a sacrifice. To love is to sacrifice, even when the other seems to have been captured by aliens. Love is visible for all to see. Love is demonstrated. It seems that we honor our personal feelings above almost everything. We do what we want when we want because we "feel" like it. And if we don't "feel" like it, we don't do it. We need to know what love is. What it looks like when acted out.

According to I Corinthians 13:4-8a
1. Love is patient (suffers a long time, if need be)
2. Love is kind (but often tough)
3. Love is not jealous (jealousy cannot exist with love in the same heart)
4. Love does not brag (showing spiritual immaturity)
5. Love is not arrogant (grasping for power...control...disrespectful)
6. Love does not act unbecomingly (rude actions)
7. Love does not seek it's own agenda (demanding, dominating)
8. Love is not provoked (not given to emotional outbursts)
9. Love does not take into account a wrong suffered (does not hang onto reminders of wrongs)
10. Love does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth (does not pat themselves on the back when someone has a shortcoming, because "they would never do that.")
11. Love bears all things (protects others)
12. Love believes all things (gives others the benefit of the doubt)
13. Love hopes all things (refuses to take failure as final)
14. Love endures all things (holds fast to the people it loves)
15. Love never fails ('nuff said)

We come up short, many times, thinking we really show love easily, when in reality, we show love when it is reciprocated to our satisfaction. It's a tough one, to be sure. None of us love perfectly, but we can grow in our understanding and application of love. We just need to identify it.

All three types of love, Eros (Greek for desire & longing), Philos (a friend that sticks closer than a brother, type of love), and Agape (unconditional love for anyone & everyone), are all governed by the above description. So...do we really love?

When God gets my attention on something, and won't allow me to shake it loose...when He continues to bring it into my conscience thoughts, I must ask myself, "What am I missing? What have I yet to learn about this?" And it is beating at my door today.

As always, here you'll find me...in Mary's World.

The Freedom and Bondage of Being Alone

We were never meant to be alone. Yet, many are. God said it was not good for man to be alone, so He created a helper fit for him. (Gen. 2:18).

I know we women-folk believe (at times) we don't need a man. We believe enough in ourselves to think what needs to be done, we can do. After all, we're the ones created to "help", right? But I've watched, over the years, as strong women with this view, become lonely women, in time. They say they're not...yet it's visible in their eyes. Truth is, it makes life worth so much more when we have someone to share it with. Someone we are suited for. Someone to share in our joys, our sorrows, our fears, our achievements. Someone to share life and all it brings to us.

The operative word is "SHARE", not simply exist with, having two separate worlds, so-to-speak. It's so much easier to be alone when your mate rarely knows you're around, or rarely-to-never helps with anything, but actually makes life harder by adding to your "helper" list, while it seems they have nothing better to do than entertain themselves with the latest technology available or who values friends more than their mate. Or when you suddenly find yourself looking at what once seemed good, as now not being so good. What caused the "eye-opening" change? And that's another story...

Freedom comes with a cost. Sometimes a mighty big cost. Sometimes a painful cost, which initially seems like relief, but eventually shows itself ugly. Sometimes, actually feeling like bondage. Ah...the despair of freedom. It's never easy, but what is? And the age old question rages on in many the mind. "Who am I?" "Why am I here?" "What is the meaning of my life?"

Change happens when we least expect it, either because of our choices, or because of someone else's choice...yet God has planted eternity in the human heart. We were created for immortality and life's changes prepare us for that eternity. There we find our life's purpose. In Him alone. And I fear THIS, this is where we get confused and make decisions apart from consulting our loving Creator, as we put our eyes on the earthly, the mundane, the exasperating, and the difficult situations that all life brings. Fears of not being in control.

And because we choose to go on our own steam, our own secure thoughts and determinations blow high and wide. Some may have even been "thought out" and considered, with thoughts of making it all better. Some are great decisions. Some are not.

I've not always faced my fears, like I do now that I'm on the back side of the proverbial hill. Back in the day, I let fear rule my actions...and I was held captive to an aggressive man that nearly took my life. Twice! Then everything changed. I decided (or was it the veiled encouragement of my God), that I would rather be dead than live each day not knowing what it would bring. Maybe, just maybe, God knew what I needed to escape the prison I was allowing myself to be in, even though I was not serving Him then. He showed me a way of escape, where there seemed to be none. Then, in the natural realm. Later, in the spiritual realm. And I boldly took that step. Both times.

At that time in my life, I wanted nothing more than to be alone. Alone and free. Free to be me. Free to not be watched over every second of every day. Free to make my own choices. Free from accusation. Free from abusive hands/fists. Free from threats. Free from lies. Free from alcohol induced behavior. But even that freedom brought bondage, eventually. Simply because I had not learned who I could trust, and I trusted no-one. It's still very hard for me to trust in humanity. But I do know who I can perfectly rely on. It is God. He never fails me, never leaves me to my own devises. He corrects me, guides me, walks beside me, and whispers in my ear. Okay...so that sounded a little creepy. By whispering in my ear, I simply mean He has a way of getting my full attention. And I so rely on that, because I know how crazy I can be in making decisions on my own.

Freedom/Bondage...it can actually be a good thing. In Christ alone is there true freedom to be who we are/were created to be. In Christ alone is there true life giving, bondage. What? Yes, the good bondage of knowing we belong to Him. We serve no other. A slave of the One who Created us. How simply wonderful it is, to not venture out and listen to (or serve) someone who wants nothing but to destroy us; to take our freedom to be anything other than who we were created to be.

Fully free, fully in bondage, and thankful God knows me better than I know myself...here you'll find me...in Mary's World.

I Live In A Perfect World

I live in a perfect world.

A world full of beauty. Perfect beauty.

Have you ever looked closely at a flowers design? How about a snowflake under a microscope? And the stars that hang in the night sky? What about the carpet of grass we walk on, or the waterfalls that cascade down the cliffs in mountainous regions? We could admire all the various types of trees...the Amazon, the Rain Forests, the flat lands. I love a fresh Spring rain, and even some of the "gully washes" that produce thunder and lightening. I love the smell of the rain and it's aftermath. I love hearing the pitter-patter of the rain as it hits the sides of our house. There's just something calming about all that to me. I could fill this entire blog with the perfect beauty of this earth. There is a never ending list of beauty. And it's all been placed here for our enjoyment through God's spoken word. And even though mankind has tried to replicate God's perfection, by using our hands and minds, and gathering materials we've scooped out of earths elements and mixed together, we have to agree that in the beginning, it all came from our perfect God. Every element used to create. Even our ability to replicate (or recreate). We've sought wisdom and knowledge, and it's been given to us. Just as He promised (Matthew 7:7) Perfection!

But what about human life on this perfect planet? What about mankind and all their messes, their discontentment, their sullen lifestyle, their argumentative nature, their ill-will toward others, the foul verbiage that spews over on occasion. Maybe it's not really foul, but just possibly they've chosen to make things about their self, not considering another's feelings. The hurt, the pain, the unnecessary rudeness. Disrespect for another. What about random killings, abortion, physical & mental abuse, child pornography, and human trafficking? What about all that stuff? How does that happen in a perfect world?

Glad you asked. I've pondered the saying, "If it were a PERFECT world...", on several occasions. I've always wanted to respond with, "It IS a perfect world," but never have. Too afraid of being ostracized. And I'm relatively sure there will be a few, in not many, that will even now disagree. And that's okay. It's just something that has been floating around in my head lately. A musing of mine.

Why I think it to be a perfect world, when it seems that imperfect abounds, is simply because with all the imperfection, we are forced to either lean into a holy God, or walk in a fog. If we choose to petition God, we become teachable, even changeable. We grow in patience, understanding, showing grace, mercy, and possibly, we become a bit more "perfect" and begin to see perfection in a much different light. If we choose the fog, it only makes our own piece of the world not so "perfect." Yet, it is remains perfect still. Because we've chosen to stick our heads in the sand and refuse to lift our heads up, does not diminish the fact we live in a perfect world. It may have a few stains on it, here and there, because we ourselves are imperfect. And we may still groan for redemption, yet it is all perfect. Our world remains perfect. What we do with our piece of it is up to us.

I think it almost funny, how God created all this beauty and then added humanity...which He later  regretted, by-the-way (Genesis 6:6).

There is a Scripture that I love. It comes from Jeremiah 29:11. It says, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." God had told the Israelites they would prosper as they sought the peace and prosperity of the city they had been exiled to (they were in exile because of their disobedience, and they were about to hear the plans He had for them). As the city prospered, so would they. They had to be part of the reason the city they had been exiled to, prospered.

There was a condition on this promise, as there are on all promises. God is not the great Santa Clause in the sky. He has promised to bless the work of our hands (Deuteronomy 28:12), not give us everything we want...but all that we work for. It all makes perfect sense, right? If the city we live in is a prosperous one, the likelihood of us being in a position to prosper is pretty high. And how does a city become prosperous? By those who live and work there...that's how. God's perfection comes to those who are willing to make an effort to make others lives better, while providing for their own needs.

As we walk out our journey in this perfect world, we must remember that the best growth comes through persevering through trials, not escaping them entirely. And when we learn perseverance, we find surprising joy. Perfection!

Here I'll remain, in my piece of perfection...in Mary's World.

The Amputee Tree

Before we bought our house on Warren Street, the city of Cary had sent tree trimming crews out to

free up lines that were being overtaken by the growth of various trees. One of those trees just happened to be growing, with very deep roots, in the yard that was to eventually be ours. It was one of the reasons I didn't want this house from the very beginning. "They might as well have cut the whole tree down," I said to myself. "That is one ugly tree." And it kept me from looking at the house for a couple of weeks. The picture you see here, shows the limbs just under the wires, and are a part of this once beautiful tree (picture snapped at dusk...a little dark). The void you see is carved out around the electrical wires. The lower limbs reach to the pictures left edge, just beneath the pole. Half the tree is simply gone...amputated.

Thank God I got over myself. The truth of the matter was that our backs were sort of up against that proverbial wall and we needed a place to set down roots of our own...ASAP.

The huge Fir tree stands so majestically along the yards border that faces the street, even though it has had one side very aggressively cut...all the way back to the trunk. This tree is waayyyy taller than our house, and the width is at least two Crossover Car lengths. It looks as if it should fall, from being too heavy on the side that wasn't touched by the very bad, aggressive sawing person. The limbs are so full and beautiful on the side no-one sees (unless they come for a visit). It's a very big amputee tree.

One day (after moving into the house that Mary rejected), a neighbor lady stopped by to visit. Why she felt it necessary to discuss our tree, is beyond me. But she did. "That is one ugly tree," she said. "I would cut it down, if it were mine," said the sweet lady. Now why did that make me fall in love with that damaged tree? Why did I think it was a thing of beauty from that moment on?

I began to spruce it up by adding a bench embellished with intricate design, just beneath it's lush

branches. The ivy that grows up it's trunk swayed so gently against the bench and created a place that beckons one to come sit for a bit. Thinking that possibly a nice mailbox just a few feet away, would make another great distraction, we switched from the mailbox on the house to one beside the road, and then decided to add a sweet smelling Jasmine bush to trail up a metal section of fence just at the back of the mailbox.
Planting an array of seasonal flowers (that are kinda dead at the moment) at the base of the mailbox, created nothing short of a miracle for trading pain for beauty. I don't even notice that half my tree is missing anymore.

Why am I telling this story? This tree, and my sweet neighbor, has taught me that beauty manifests itself in odd and peculiar ways. Just because one may have encountered danger and subsequent pain, in their life, does not mean they cannot be viewed as beautiful. It's what we add to our lives, that will distract the really ugly and not worth the effort of living part. Just because someone (maybe we did it to ourselves) has caused a lot of damage to us mentally and/or physically, does not constitute a reason for giving up. When we realize God has placed beauty all around us, it adds to our life, and our ugly diminishes greatly. And no-one notices the less-than-perfect because they smell the sweet fragrance of a soul tenderly cared for by a loving God. It makes them want to come sit for awhile beneath the shelter of the imperfect.

I don't know for certain, but I strongly suspect that most, if not all people, battle negativity in one form or another. Because we have been mistreated, because we have been misunderstood, because we are not popular, because we have lost our way, because we feel unloved (for whatever reason). We have been amputated. A piece of us has been taken, unwillingly. If you are one of those people, please know that God loves you so very much. You are worth everything to Him. He has planted a Jasmine Bush (as it were), by sending His Son to take our sorrows, and cover us with His fragrance.  He's positioned a bench, by giving us access to His Throne Room through prayer, so that we might come sit with Him for a bit. He has given us beauty for ashes.

Listening for my God's gentle voice, here you'll find me, sitting for a bit...in Mary's World.

The News From Here

It's been a while since I've written a personal blog post.  Nothing stirring enough to inspire me to write...but NOW, it's finally happened! Blab time!!!!

We are going to be GRAND-PARENTS (at last), and I've been given permission to blab about it. I've kept this secret for far too long, but I promise not to over-do it and end up boring everyone to tears. I know you'll give me this one shot at proclaiming the goodness of God in allowing a new creation to become a part of our little family.

Clark & Meg will hold this sweet baby in their arms come next March, and grandma will get to smother the little cuppy-cake with kisses. But until that day arrives, there will be a lot of one sided conversations going on whenever Meg is around. It may sound a little wonkers around here for the next 7 months, but I gotta make sure my grand-baby knows his (or her) grand-mommy's voice, right?

Today, Dennis and I received a picture of their first ultra-sound. The baby is only 3/4 of an inch long, yet so precious to look at. They (Clark, Meg & Lindsey) got to see the heart beating today! Really? Three quarters of an inch long...and there is already a heart beating inside it's tiny body! It's so amazing to me that this little bunch of human cells will grow muscle tissue, bones, and an immune system...and will one day walk beside us, here, on planet Earth. Oh my goodness! My face is beginning to hurt from smiling so big and I think my heart may just burst with joy.

It seems a very long time ago, yet not so many years, when I brought our youngest home from Freeman Hospital in Joplin, MO. The one that is now carrying a baby of her own. Her big sister, at 19 months old, was so excited to see her new baby sister. She stared at her a lot. She helped care for her. And she loved her. I know there are many stories they have shared over their growing up years, and even as they became young women. I'm so very happy they have each other to lean on, to share life with, to laugh, to cry, and even to mourn with. What a great momma Meg will be. What a great Auntie, Lindsey will be. My girls...

Until I'm allowed to blubber some more...here you'll find me...in Mary's growing World.

Childhood Memories from the Mill

While driving to Garner a few days ago, I found myself slowly inching up on a very large logging truck filled with the longest timbers I think I've ever seen. I had instant flash-backs of years gone by, all in the brief moments it took for me to overtake the truck and speed past it.

The first was of me as a young girl, standing behind a row of logs that had been dumped from the logging truck onto the skids, at our family's saw mill. We used a cant hook to grip and roll the logs to the carriage for sawing into slabs. Never heard of a cant hook? They are logging tools consisting of a wooden lever handle with a movable metal hook called a "dog" at one end, and used for handling and turning logs and cants.

There were 10 of us kids, and as soon as we could half-way maneuver ourselves around obstacles, we were trained to work on our farm and at the sawmill. It was our way of life. Our existence. There were too many mouths to feed and bodies to cloth and keep well, for any of us to be idle...at any time. One of Dad's sayings was, "Idleness is the Devil's workshop." Dad was a wise man. Looking back, I realize what a gift we were given. A determined spirit was placed deep inside of us. Work is not a dirty word to me. I don't "have" to go to work. I GET to go to work. It's what feeds me, cloths me, nurtures me, and fills me with a sense of accomplishment.

But this logging truck took me so far back, it still envelopes my brain. So many dangers lurk in the Sawmill Industry. At least during the 1900's there were. Mills have become quite different than when I was young. More sophisticated, with glassed in carriage operations, where a log that might catch on the huge circular saw can't throw back and hit whoever is operating the carriage...or anyone standing near it. I don't know if they even need someone on the other end of the saw anymore. But, during the years I was part of the operation, someone had to catch those pieces that were cut off the log, and stack them, either for cut-off or for sale. If that person wasn't focused on the slab, or the piece being cut, it was very easy (and likely to happen) that piece would be thrown back at the one sawing or turning logs for the carriage.

The day it happened at our mill, I was doodling sawdust. Keeping it from piling up under the saw's blade. I don't remember if it was my sister, Becky, brother Rush, or an employee, that was off-bearing, at the time. But I do remember who it was that got hit. We had a neighbor that used to walk down to the mill on occasion, just to visit with Dad and the crew, and watch the production as it happened. He was standing just inside the back area of the carriage tracks when it happened. Everyone heard the whirl of the lumber hitting the saw blade. My dad's quick reflexes moved him from target, but Oscar Griffin received the hit. The piece made contact with his leg at such a speed, it flipped him over backwards as if he were an acrobat on a beam. I don't know why his leg wasn't broken...maybe it was, I just don't recall the final outcome of this event. I do know, however, that if Dad had been hit, it most likely would have taken his life. He was too close to the blade for it not to have had a much bigger impact than it did, at the distance it had to travel to reach the end of the tracks. Thankfully, Oscar survived the incident.

Another memory was one of the crazy chances I was always taking around dangerous things. I didn't fully respect the mill's strength until the day the carriage popped one of my fingers open, as if someone had taken a hammer to an apple. I was reaching far into the back of the sawdust pit to get it nice and tidy. So you see, this OCD stuff started early on in my life. It was a saw-dust pit, for crying out loud! But, I just couldn't leave one little mound of dust lying in that humongous pit. I placed my hand on the track just above the yawning mouth of the cave just after the carriage had run past the saw, moving forward. I knew it was coming back, but thought I had enough time, before it hit the track where I'd placed my hand for balance as I thrust the shovel deep inside the cave. I was wrong. There was a huge log on the carriage, which made the weight even heavier, and my little fingers just weren't able to bear the load. I felt it pop...I screamed...and my dad was at my side faster than I knew he could run. The scar is still there.

But that wasn't anything compared to what my brother Ken endured. He almost lost his life at the mill. He, too, was doodling the sawdust from the pit one day. There was a large chip that fell into the pit and was keeping him from getting to the dust in the far end, and not wanting it to pile up, he decided to crawl into the pit while the saw was in motion (Dad had warned us to never do this...but we were young and invincible), whirring away as it sliced through the log. The pit was deep. He would never had chanced it, had he thought he might make contact with the saw. But...he misjudged the distance and raised up just a little too soon. As the saw sliced through his skull, his reflexes caused him to reach for his head and the saw all but took his thumb, and ran the length of his arm, almost to his elbow. I was only a small child, still at home with Mom, but I will never forget the blood soaked over-alls my Dad wore that day. The details are blurry for me, but I think it was our neighbor who drove Dad and Ken to the hospital. Dad sat with Ken's head on his lap as the blood flowed from his badly torn body. 

Ken's girl friend (now wife), Lola, was still in high school. We didn't have cell phones back then, so I'm guessing someone cut into our party line phones, told whoever was using the phone that they had an emergency call to make, and dialed the school..or maybe they just went there...I don't know. But Lola was eventually by his side during this long recovery. If my memory serves me correctly, he was given 3 shots directly into his heart, as he hovered on the edge of life and death, and I don't know how many blood transfusions (If you read this, Ken, please correct anything my young mind may have construed as truth). Every time I see him, I'm reminded of that day, and thank God He spared Ken's life, so that generations could come from him and Lola. I'm sure he's grateful, as well. My brother is a quiet man, humble, compassionate, and full of love for others in need. It may seem a small thing to him, but to me...well, he was instrumental in my salvation. Spiritually and naturally. He and my sister Becky. When I was pulled from the pit of despair (so-to-speak), it was by Ken's hands I was kept afloat, as I hammered out an existence worthy of life. He and the rest of my siblings put me through Cosmetology School, and he made sure I had gas money to get me back and forth. I gave up all that was keeping me from living life to the full, so when I came back home with nothing in my pockets, my brother Rush and wife Linda, gave me a place to live. Becky was my constant source of encouragement and protection, and Ken put cash in my hands. 

Soon after graduation, I met Dennis...my husband of 40 plus years. Two weeks after our marriage, we were in a car wreck that broke my back in a couple of places. The car was totaled, so Ken gave us back the car he had purchased from me when Dennis and I married. He had wanted "the stereo system for Randy's car", and said he had no use for the car now. At the time he purchased it, Dennis had just acquired a new 1974 (5?) Monte Carlo, and we as young, and not really bright young people, couldn't afford two payments. That was an expensive stereo system, bro. But we all know why he took the car when he did. It was for his baby sister. So, the guy that God spared, way back when...has had an impact on my life, as well as all those he and Lola have taken under their wings in the years God has given them. *tearing up now...*

Other logging memories:
1. Fire Ants
2. Run away work horses
3. Ferns that fold up when you run your finger down their center. They live in abundance in wooded areas.
4. Hitching the work horses to chains to pull logs up on the truck bed.
5. Two way saws to cut down trees
6. Chopping a notch in the tree for it's directed fall
7. Cut Off Lumber
8. Hauling truck loads of fire wood (not good memories...sexual trauma)
9. Drunk neighbor finding a dead body in his front yard
10. Dad bringing home the homeless to feed
11. After a long, hot day, going into town for an ice cream cone. "You can have anything you want that doesn't cost more than 10 cents," my Dad would say, with a twinkle in his eye, and a smile on his face.
12. Gallon water jugs, wrapped in towels, to keep the ice from melting so quickly, during those triple digit days. 
13. Walking back to the house for more water, as the now very warm, but thirst quenching water, runs dry (I always took my time...I hated working at the mill). 
14. My sister, Becky. She's in all my memories, because she was always there for me. But that's another story.

A truck load of logs...wow!
As always...here, you'll find me...in Mary's World.

The Little Things

I find myself watching birds more closely than at any other time in my already lived life. They fascinate me. I'm not sure when this all started, I just know that it's now a real thing.

My first emotional connection to these creatures, or in this particular case, their likeness in a ceramic form, was during the Christmas holidays back in 2012. I had moved to North Carolina that past August. I moved ahead of my husband (he stayed in Oklahoma, to sell our house), to get the new salon up and running before the holidays hit. We both thought it the right thing to do, since 1)we had been told our place would sell quickly, and 2)the place I had my eye on to set up business, was quickly filling up. If we didn't act now, the chances of getting the spot I wanted would slip away. So we made the decision, together, that he would stay behind. I didn't like it. It was the hardest thing to send him back once we arrived in NC, with little more than the clothes on my back.

One of our oldest daughter's upstairs bedrooms became my home for the next year...and Dennis had our house all to himself. Like most things, there was the good and the not-so-good attached to that plan. We talked each night before going to bed, reassuring each other (okay...he reassured me), that it was all going to be okay.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, I began to feel myself falling. I was able to maintain somewhat of a positive attitude, but with each long day, my confidence began disappearing. I allowed myself to become easily intimidated and feelings of uselessness overtook me. So unlike me.

That first Christmas, Dennis flew in to celebrate with us...his family, that was now 1200 miles apart. We, along with Todd & Lindsey & Meg, took a small road trip, going West, to Boone and Blowing Rock. They have a lot of really cool shops in both these small towns. Upon entering one of those shops, my eyes immediately saw the prettiest ceramic birds I seen up to that time. I loved the coloring on them, and the touch of detail to their wings and tail feathers.

For no reason at all, except for the fact I was an emotional wreck by that time, I could not contain my tears. We had already spent what money we planned on spending for each other, and they weren't just pocket change. I may have said something like, "I have no place to put them even if we could afford them." Yup...feeling really low. I wouldn't allow myself to even consider we were close to owning our own place again. 

I think it was Lindsey who spoke to her daddy about getting the birds for me as a deposit of something better to come. For hope of a future together again. Along with the birds, he had also purchased a large flat screen television to put in my room. He was helping me cope as best he could. Such a thoughtful guy...and I was so happy to actually be able to look at something (the birds) I could wrap my head around for better days ahead. Something of promise.

I fell in love with the birds and the significance they spoke of. Freedom. How I needed freed...from myself. From my thoughts. From my lack of perspective. From my increasingly growing waistline (and neck). And most of all, from my moping attitude.

So began my love affair with these creatures.

A year after my move, our house sold, and D was able to make his move to NC as well. Now, we have bird feeders, bird houses, and bird baths, in our yard. It is so much fun watching God's creatures as they build, eat, and bathe. They bring a sense of peace to our place...and now I need a deck...it's always something, right?

A couple of days ago, I was meandering around downtown Cary, checking out the businesses that I have not taken the time to visit yet. I came upon a little home and garden shop. I loved the style of the exterior, so decided to venture inside. They had so much to look at, but in a little back room I spotted a couple of small birds that I knew I'd be taking home with me. Aren't they the cutest little things? And unlike the ones purchased in Boone, these little fellas cost me only a bit of pocket change. They're an "I told you so", another prompting to notice the little things in life and not become weighted down from a lack of perspective. When we look at the dust around our feet, it doesn't take long for that dust to become a mire much like quicksand. And it's only purpose is to consume us so that we might not see purpose...and then lose perspective.

Thanking God for His kindness towards us, even in the little things...here, you'll find me...in Mary's World.

My Dream World

It's not unusual for me to have (what I call) spiritual dreams. At least it didn't use to be. Today, I would be hard pressed to tell you of a dream, within the last 7 years, that I believed to be of spiritual significance. Until this past Sunday evening.

In this dream, I was speaking to a large crowd at a college stadium. Being the last to speak, out of a number of speakers, I began to look over my notes. As I read the words, I wondered why I chose to write these notes on paper that looked more like a scroll that rolled out vertically. And why do these notes differ from what I had planned?

This is what I read as I began reviewing the words on this scroll:

This is amazing grace
This is unfailing love
That You would take my place
That You would bear my cross
You lay down Your life
That I would be set free

Deciding I was to ask what those words meant to them (the audience), I felt I must first ask the question, "If this was your last day on earth, if you knew you would die today, what would you do?" As I began this dialog, I said, "I want to ask only one question, then you may go." Upon hearing that simple statement, almost 3/4 of the stadium emptied out, as if they knew what that question was going to be. Giving them time to leave and allow the focus to get back on what was being said, I waited patiently...as did the rest of the group.

I began once more. "Just one question before you leave." More stood up to leave, even before I finished the statement. I waited again.

Again...more left. The audience was getting quite small. I smiled. I never got to ask this question, or tell about God's amazing grace. Those that sincerely wanted to hear what I would offer, were summoned away for various reasons.

Our oldest daughter came near to me and said, "Jesus isn't coming back." Misunderstanding her statement, I said, "I can show you where the Scripture tells of His return." She didn't mince her next words, nor did she try to argue the point, "The King of Glory is coming," she said.

And that was the end of the dream...

Upon rising, I pondered this dream. It is still fresh on my mind today, two days later. Lindsey was right, of course. It IS the King of Glory who returns for us. The work on the cross has been completed and Jesus has claimed His throne. He is the King of Glory. The king above all other kings.

Copy and paste this link into your search engine, to hear the song...
https://youtu.be/XFRjr_x-yxU

Lyrics to Amazing Grace:

Who breaks the power of sin and darkness
Whose love is mighty and so much stronger
The King of Glory, the King above all kings

Who shakes the whole earth with holy thunder
And leaves us breathless in awe and wonder
The King of Glory, the King above all kings

This is amazing grace
This is unfailing love
That You would take my place
That You would bear my cross
You lay down Your life
That I would be set free
Oh, Jesus, I sing for
All that You've done for me

Who brings our chaos back into order
Who makes the orphan a son and daughter
The King of Glory, the King of Glory

Who rules the nations with truth and justice
Shines like the sun in all of its brilliance
The King of Glory, the King above all kings

Worthy is the Lamb who was slain
Worthy is the King who conquered the grave
Worthy is the Lamb who was slain
Worthy is the King who conquered the grave
Worthy is the Lamb who was slain
Worthy is the King who conquered the grave
Worthy is the Lamb who was slain
Worthy, worthy, worthy

Maybe the audience in my dream world, didn't get to hear about God's amazing grace, but you...you who take the time to read this entry...consider yourself loved beyond measure.

As always, until He comes for me, here you'll find me...in Mary's World

Free To Be

A couple of days ago, just before the rain moved in, birds of all kinds were coming to feast from our feeders and then bathe in our bird bath. As I watched from the kitchen window, I was once again, mesmerized by these free creatures.

One would be splashing around, ducking his/her head and flapping wings with turbo speed, creating a monsoon that cleansed their body from top to bottom...as another waited it's turn, patiently sitting on the rim. Sometimes there would be 2 or three, circling or standing patiently, for the one to be finished. And they never seemed to get in a hurry. When the bather was ready to leave, the next one jumped in and began the dance. It was a site to behold. Sure wish I had gotten some footage of that event, but I couldn't pull myself away from the view. When they had splashed most of the water out, I went out to fill it back up for them. As soon as I took my position back at the window, they began their ritual again. They were having so much fun! I found myself talking to them and exclaiming, "how good that must feel!" Crazy lady that I am...

In the early morning hours, I can hear all the beautiful sounds coming from so many different types of birds, just outside our home. The houses are fairly close to each other, yet the birds seem to love their existence here. I love the variety, the many species, the vibrant colors, and the earthy colored ones, as well. The first time I heard them singing, I thought of what the Rain Forest must sound like.

Here's just a sampling of my daily music. If you listen, you'll hear the Canadian Geese that was in our area this morning. They were quite the amusement for me and Dennis when we first arrived in Cary, NC. Many times traffic has to come to a dead stop for them to cross the road. It's nothing to see them taking a slow (very slow) stroll across any given street. Be it down-town, or in high traffic areas. And you best not hit one. Here, they are given free range.

Matthew 6:26-27 says this:
v. 26 "Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?" v 27. And which of you by being anxious can add a single cubit to his life's span?"

My sister, Becky, had a figurine called, "I Gotta Be Free" that was of a young girl with hands in the air, releasing a bird into flight. She had purchased it in Estes Park, Colorado. She loved collectors items, and when she saw this one, it was a no-brainer for her. The choice was clear as to which figurine would go home with her.

Birds are the symbolism of freedom. Is it the way that God created them? Surely they have fears of predators. Yet, they seem not to have a care in the world. Or is it that they simply trust the process of life and death? Could it be that freedom brings with it a sense of peace while facing life and it's quirky dispositions?

Our youngest daughter recently had a couple of tattoos embedded on her wrists. Silhouettes of birds sitting, and then taking flight. I asked her why she chose this particular tattoo. What did it speak to her? "Just freedom," she said. "The ability to fly. Birds don't put their trust in the limb they are sitting on, but they put their trust in their wings." I love that!

Much of the time, we trust in the place we find ourselves to be, instead of our ability to fly, as it were. We say things like, "It's the life I've been handed." No matter what we feel, we all have within us, the ability to fly. We can change, or at least find a way to rise above, any situation. A bird sitting on a wire, has ceased it's flying. For it to take flight, it must use the strength in its wings.

As the years have flown by, no pun intended, I find myself watching the birds. We lure them to our yard, by feeding them and making a place to drink and bathe. Even a place to build a nest for their family. Life is good.

I would love to hear your bird stories.

Please comment below...you can always find me, here...in Mary's World.

Why the Night Hours are the Hardest Hours

In January of 2008, one of my brothers responded to my question, "How are you doing, today?" by saying, "Oh, Mary...the nights are the worst."

I've wondered why this is. Why does the night hours seem to be "worse" than the day hours? I suppose many things must be answered before we find the truth on this one question. It does appear, to me at least, that our being must first be in a downward spiral of sorts, or an extreme change has happened, for this to be the case. And since my "research" came up empty, I'm giving my gut feelings full range on the subject.

Maybe we have a simple cold...or worse, cancer, as my late brother did. Maybe we have gone from sadness, to an actual depressed state. Maybe we've experienced a sudden change in life...like a move, a business start-up (or failure), death of a loved one, aging and all it's aches and pains...and yet, none of these realities answer WHY the night's are the hardest.

What is it about the night time? Is it because everything becomes quiet? Is it that this is the time our body is supposed to be regenerating and it's sick? Is it because the dark makes us feel alone...that it's just me and...nobody else? Why are the night hours harder than the day hours?

My only conclusion is that it is easier to feel alone in the night hours. It is easier to feel we must do battle in, and of, ourselves. We must face what has invaded our space...our body. Mind, body, and soul. The day hours are filled with others talking, interacting, busyness surrounds us. Then the sun sets, the dusk falls, and night time has arrived when the world seems to shut down...but we, we are still thinking, feeling, sensing, questioning.

Whatever ails us, a common cold, a looming diagnosis of death, or a vulnerability to sadness...the night hours can be excruciating.  They never seem to move along. They creep. They dangle in slow-motion. WHY???

The body is supposed to be at rest...and it is not...and it's just us, facing whatever is keeping us awake. THAT IS WHY!

Please feel free to add your thoughts in the comments below...I'm going to try and get some rest...here, in Mary's World

The Wonderful Attributes of Cinnamon and Honey

Last Thursday evening I could tell something different was beginning to happen inside my now small frame. The throat had begun to scratch every time I swallowed. Being raised by a mom that used every home remedy known to mankind, I started my journey of battling the nasty Rhinosinusitis & Acute Coryza. That's right folks…the common cold and cough had found my residence.

The first thing on my agenda was to gargle with salt water. Very warm salt water. At least 4 ounces of salt water per session. My mission was to attack at the point of least resistance and armed with proven weapons of mass destruction. I knew it was best to gargle at least 3 times a day in order for the salt to draw out all the germs that lay in wait, ready to create a full out war on my body. However, my business of choice chained me to the tools of creativity…and it just wasn't possible on that first day. So deciding to sneak around the back way, I was able to shoot a surprise double at evenings tide. Ha! Take that, you evil germs!

My throat felt better instantly, but still…I knew not to let my guard down as my chest began to tighten ever so slightly. Remembering a concoction I had written on a scrap piece of paper (about the size of the palm of my hand), I found my way quickly there to see the ingredients for my second attack. Bringing out my treasured magnetic measuring spoons, I separated the three needed for prep. 1/4 teaspoon for the cinnamon, 1 teaspoon for the honey, 1 Tablespoon to mix the two in. To be taken twice a day, I was armed and ready for the surprise Mr. Germy didn't see coming. He would be defeated in less than 3 days! Okay, maybe the full 3 days would have to happen...

Friday morning came and I felt pretty good. No more scratchy throat. I prepared another serving of honey and cinnamon,  patted myself on the back and went off to work. By mid afternoon, something in my head released a watery discharge (yucky!!!) without warning. How I made it through that day, I simply cannot tell you. My nose, and my clients, were very grossed out by "lock the doors" time. Upon my arrival at the ponderosa, I went to my arsenal. Alka Seltzer Plus Cold and Cough meds, Vicks Vaporub for the chest and neck. Oh what the heck. Let's dab some just under the nostrils for anticipated  blockage. I knew the routine well. First the runs, then the "can't get it out" no matter how hard you blow. Nothing. No air, no fat, slimy, mucus…nothing. They did not suspect who they were up against. I was not caving in this time. Nope, not happening.

Bed time knew not beauty. Makeup off, skin moisturized, nose vaselined and vapo-rubbed, chest slathered with Vicks, bottom of feet lined with Vicks, cotton socks applied to feet, cold meds taken, honey and cinnamon swallowed, and Vicks humidifier positioned just 5 feet away creating a shield of protection through the dark night…and LOTS of water (taken throughout the day). The final step was to prop myself up in bed to keep the enemy from stealing my breath. In an upright position, he was powerless. Laying flat, he had the upper hand. That wasn't going to happen. I slept like a baby.

Saturday was a stay-at-home day. A get-as-much-rest-as-you-can, day. And I did just that. I didn't move very far away from the couch and found that one actually COULD sit all day long. No appetite…no need for food. Just lots of water and facial massaging. My strategy was working. I just knew it was. This was only day 2 and my plans for knocking the socks off this uninvited intruder was still on cue. "Night time is always the worst," they say. But I was sailing through this distraction with little to no adverse consequences. With chest and feet covered in Vicks, honey and cinnamon consumed, Alka Seltzer downed, and vapor streaming into my room via humidifier, I was prepared for the second onslaught of my attacker. Another peaceful night. It was like a shield had been protecting me. Yes…I smelled a little strong, but I felt pretty dang good to be in the midst of a war zone.

Sunday broke in like a freight train blowing it's horn. An hour had been lost because someone on capital hill decided to rule over the light and dark of our seasons and now 6 am had become 5 am…just like that. It was okay though, because once again, I slept all the way through my night time without waking up once. I felt rested alright, but now a cough was trying to intimidate me. I head to the kitchen for my honey and cinnamon mixture. Ah…so good. This is the 3rd day. Feeling good, but not wanting to underestimate the possibility of the cough taking on new heights, I stayed home from church. I'm sure they all appreciated that even though I've still not received any thank-yous.

Aren't you happy I've shared all this with you? "Why?" you may ask. I'm not 100% sure, just thought it interesting how one little teaspoon of honey and cinnamon can seemingly stop a cold in it's tracks. Sure, I did other things as well, but I've always done those "other things" and a cold usually hangs around me for at least a week, and the cough that comes after usually lasts a good month. My nostrils become so dried out from blowing and wiping, they peel from overly dried out skin. And the worst culprit of them all is the awful fever blisters that usually pop up either on (or in) my nose, and/or mouth!!! Every. Single. Time! Not so this time! Whoop!!!

You're welcome.

You know where to find me…it's here, in Mary's World.

The Mysterious Note

About a month ago, I received a note in my mailbox. It had no envelope but was hand-written on a folded piece of simple parchment paper. My name was printed on the front, with capital letters where there should have been lower-case letters, and lower-case where there should have been caps. Inside the folded paper were pictures, odd pictures totally unrelated to the words, drawn next to some of the demands. On the back was a black handprint with the words, Foot Print, above it. So strange that something like this would end up in MY mailbox. I never mentioned it to anyone, thinking it was a silly prank. But…I couldn't get the words out of my mind. The demands were almost psychotic in nature.

At first I thought it was one of the kids from down the road who walks by with his dogs and a couple of siblings, every day. I had seen them stopping by the mailbox, on several occasions, while their dogs did their duty. They seemed like really great kids though. When one stopped, they all stopped. One held the dogs, another picked up the residue left by their pets. Surely it wasn't one of them. I laid the note aside.

Last week, another one showed up in our mailbox. Was it now time to get a bit worried about this? The note said, "If you ignore me, it will only get worse."

There was no contact information on the note. No phone number, address, email, FB link…nothing. Just threats. How was I to respond? I didn't want to tell my husband, nor my girls. Why should they have to carry this load, when there were no clues as to how it had arrived? I couldn't really take it to the police. What if it was just a prank? I didn't want to give them the last laugh, so…I took matters into my own hands.

Knowing our mailman's routine, I waited until the mail usually arrives on any given day, and then put my own note in the mailbox. I threw the ball back into their court, making sure the note was written with the same misprinted words as they used. Spelling my name exactly the way they did, and laying out demands bigger than theirs, gave me a sense of power. Yes, power. Because now, they would think they were dealing with someone on their own uneducated, and/or, psychotic level. And…it was worded in such a way that they would even question it's authenticity, much like I did. Since it was time for me to head to work, I double locked the doors to our house, and left. I would check the box when I got home late the evening of the 18th.

The 18th came and went, with no more contact. The mailbox lay silent for 2 more days. Then, just yesterday, a reply comes…

Okay…it's your turn. How should this story end?

Here I wait...in Mary's World.
P.S.
Just so you know I'm not really a psycho…I'm using the gift of "642 Things To Write About" book, as inspiration to write. This topic just happened to be the next one up. So…did I have you worried? Or did you know it was fake from the beginning?