What Time Is It?

Cleaning up my iPhone, during the wee hours of this morning, I ran across a note to myself, that was more like a conversation with God, dated 2/28/2018.

It read: "Humanity is flawed. I am flawed. Remind myself to be patient and kind. Always use kind authority. Help me not to listen to the lies of the enemy of my soul that would tell me to retreat, hide, stop laughing, stop sharing. Help me to be present in a real, life-giving way."

And as a reference, I noted 1st Corinthians 13. Aha! The love chapter. There we find the true definition of love. You know, that word that is usually used as a verb and is loosely thrown around without much depth of meaning. No worries. This post is not about that since I've already laid out most of my anxious thoughts about love, in a previous post. This post is about that little voice (that occasionally becomes big), who stands guard in the deepest recesses of my mind, ready to shout, "RETREAT!"

I don't know why I felt it necessary to place this note on my phone, on that particular day. Evidently, something had stirred my anxiety levels to a high and there was a need to hold myself accountable. It's pretty amazing that as we look back, we can see God was orchestrating our life while in the middle of a potential demise. Even though we thought it was coming from our brilliance, our own wisdom, it was by design.

Aristotle once said, "There is only one way to avoid criticism: do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing." And Charles Swindoll, "Life is 10 percent what happens to me and 90 percent of how I react to it."

Why do we need constant reminders to live life to it's fullest? Why? Are we seriously so distracted, so self-centered, that all we can see is 2 feet in front of our face? While we are asking, why do we feel attacked, so easily? Does it come from those years between the ages of birth to 5 years, when data comes at us like the speed of light and we absorb it all, so we might pull it all up from the archives of our mind when we become adults? Goodness, I hope not! Maybe it's just that we feel inferior, or less than, whoever is speaking to us. Is that it? Goodness, I hope not!

What time is it, anyway? How much longer do we have on this planet?
What is important enough to consume our days, weeks, months, & years? Is it even possible to always be kind? Is it even possible to love someone more than yourself? Where is that crazy invisible line we don't want to ever step over? Why aren't there flags that pop up in front of us when we are getting close to that line? Why?

Could it be that life is actually a training ground? Is it possible that someday we will realize we cannot control others, but only ourselves? And, seriously, how long should it take to grow up? I'm well beyond the "young adult" season. Some have said it takes at least 30 years for the brain to mature. My question, then, is why don't we see more mature 30 somethings? What is defined as maturity, anyway?

I think I'm going with Charles Swindoll's statement that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I respond. But that still doesn't answer the question of how long does it take to become mature, does it?

Here's a thought:
1. Don't be a bully
2. Avoid gossip, rumors, and talking about others behind their backs
3. Be the bigger person if someone is unkind to you
4. Keep an open mind. Your ideas are not the only ones available.
5. Have confidence in yourself
6. Be genuine
7. Accept personal responsibility

Watching the clock a little too much, here in Mary's World. That's where you'll find me...

The Invisible Line

"Better late, than never," is a well-known proverb. Some arrive late, but that's okay because at least they arrive. Right?

It seems an invisible line has been drawn that one crosses without realizing it, until the moment of truth slaps them in the face. So to speak. Within the last week, I have visited two separate (very separate), establishments. For the record, I was neither late nor early, to each of these places. I was right on time. My time.

Last night, I became fully aware (once again) of that elusive, invisible line, that one crosses as they travel life's roadways. Late, or otherwise. You know the one I speak of. It's that place of tranquility, instead of clamored chaos. It's the "would you please turn that music down a couple hundred notches," place. It's that "Sorry. What did you say?" place. Good grief. I couldn't even think of how to subtract a simple equation because the noise was sooooo LOUD in the place. To make matters worse, the girl at checkout had the voice volume equivalency to that of a mouse, while your "final experience" guy shouted (yes, shouted), your name when the order was ready. I'm pretty sure it was because that would be the only way one would ever come to the counter to pick up their order of the day.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Oblivion is a place I rarely allow myself to visit but have been known to take a trip or two, there. Truth be told, I have been accused of actually living in the fantasy world of explosive reality, obscured only by the untrained mind. Chew on THAT statement for awhile...

The Yang of last nights Yin experience, happened only last week. And, if you know anything about Yin and Yang, you'll totally understand my statement. Just let me say I'm not a bit surprised by the actual definition of Yin and Yang. "Two principles, one negative, dark, and FEMININE (yin...uh-huh), and one positive, bright, and MASCULINE (yang...go figure). Describes me and my husband, to a T!!! Yeah. I know. I'm pretty sure that was Eve's fault.

Anyway, my husband and I had decided to visit a new restaurant in Cary, just last week. It looked promising, as we walked into an atmosphere of visual tranquility. Not saying it was spa-like, but it was spa-like. Almost. From the moment we walked in until our heels lifted off the exit step, our 5 senses enjoyed a quiet dance that those who have crossed the invisible line from chaos to tranquility, understandably want to be. It wasn't boring. Just peaceful. A place in which one could breathe without the heart rate jumping through the roof, or having the need for Advil. A place where your Northern extremity didn't need to be held, but one could actually have a conversation with oneself...if need be.

These two establishments that both offer exciting dishes for the palate are almost total opposites. If I were Lady Justice, I do believe the scale would tip in favor of the spa. Yeah. It's that invisible line, and I don't like headaches. Clearly, they both have their targeted audiences. 

The moral to this story? Never despise the quiet places. Soon enough you'll be visiting them as well. THEN, you will understand that crazy invisible line was there for a reason. We can deny it's there, and try convincing ourselves we are still 30 years younger than what we actually are, as we vehemently proclaim, "BRING IT ON!" But...it's there regardless. Our brain knows it's there, it's just not "in your face" obvious. And one day, you too will step over it and really, really, love it!

One last thing. You will know if you've arrived on time, or if you're shamefully late. But, you WILL arrive. Vertically, or horizontally. (Did I just go morbid there?)

Ahhhh...living the life, here you'll find me. Here, in Mary's World.

Where Are My Sunglasses?

"Hiding" from Grams

Have you ever begun something, set it aside for later, and later never appeared? For whatever reason, my blogging desires have come to the surface, of late. So, looking into the "draft" archives, I found a post I had started back in 2013, that never got finished. Five years later, it has reminded me of a game Reagan and I now play. Hide and Seek is an amazing game, as seen through the eyes of a child. All you have to do is duck your head, and/or close your eyes, and whoever is searching for you, even though they may be looking directly at you, cannot see you. Even if you say, "Is Reagan in the _______ (fill in the blank), and she really isn't there, you will hear her sweet voice from another room (where she really is), loudly say, "No." If you start to leave the room she is in, she will make a noise, as if she is trying to whistle so you will know you are close to where she is. But only when she is REALLY hiding. Like behind a chair, or closet door.

I love this kid, sooooo much!!! She consistently puts a smile on my face and laughter in my soul.

So, with that, here is the archived draft from 2013. Left dangling, unfinished; I think I will finish it today.

      I left work a wee bit early today. It was becoming more and more uncomfortable being where others could see me...and business had become quiet. While driving home, I decided to put my sunglasses on. Ahhhh...all of a sudden, my confidence in who I am began to become evident to me once again. All it took was to remove my regular eyeglasses and replace them with sunglasses. I felt hidden from sight. No one could see me. Weird, how that happens.

     Yesterday, in a moment of frustration, I decided to cut most of my hair off. It had become way too long for what I'm accustomed to, and just the day before, a contract worker explained why he was laughing as I walked out of my place of business. "I thought you had a motorcycle helmet on," he said, choking on his own laughter. "I guess it's time for a haircut," I quietly replied as I quickly slipped the key in the lock. Motivation came flooding in, as I determined once and for all, to change the way I looked. My evidently large helmet sized head sank lower as I walked out the door.

     When my girls were mere toddlers, I would place a dish towel over their heads where they couldn't see me, and we played peek-a-boo for what seemed like hours. They would giggle as I said, "Where's Lindsey (or Meghan...whichever it was)." You know the game. When they pulled the cloth off their faces, I would say, "Oh! There you are!" It was a fun game for them...and me. That simple act of placing something over their heads created a sense of invisibility. I guess it lingers into adulthood. My sunglasses had become my personal dish towel.

Ah...the essence of youth and cute hair. You rarely, if ever, see a child fussing about their hair and how it looks. And yet, it's usually adorable. Combed, or not combed. The only time it's important for them to be invisible is when they are hiding from you.

 As the years travel quickly past me, I still remain young at heart. Is it possible that's how God intended it to be, like, forever??? I've said it more than once, "I still feel as if I'm in my 30's." My body may be showing signs of being a few years older, but who I am, is stuck back in the 80's. Where are my sunglasses?

If you've lost me, look for me here, in Mary's World...behind the sunglasses.

Night Visits

Well, they seem to have started their attempt at bondage once again. It's been awhile. The night terrors I have experienced over the years, have paid me a visit 3 times, in the last week. Last night was a bit different, in that, not only did the sheet of unexpected attempts at silencing me happen, there was also a throw-back dream (of sorts), that followed the screams piercing the late night hours.

But first...a little history. Many years ago, before giving my life to God, I would have recurring dreams of water. A lot of water. In those dreams, I could barely keep myself from drowning as the water reached out for me. In one dream, I had a baby that, as we were going under, I would stretch as high as I could to lift her enough to keep her head above the foreboding waters. She was always safe, but I was under the water. I didn't know it then, but I know it now. That was God telling me I had to die to what I was, in order for the new to be birthed and alive. And the new me would live.

But the most vivid dream of all was the recurring one of falling into a pit of sand that would not cough me up, no matter how hard I tried to free myself. The more I tried digging my way to freedom, the more sand spilled in upon me until it totally covered up my only way of escape. As the last bit of sky was removed from my sight, and the sand had totally engulfed me, I felt the urge to turn and look to my left. When I did, a large opening presented itself to me, with light pouring through it. One that was so simple, so easy, to walk through. And I did. God had made a way of escape, where there seemed to be none. And all it took was for me to stop grabbing at the thing that was burying me. Again, I didn't realize it then, but I do now. 

The night terrors began years later. The first one was in December of 1974. They consistently, and periodically, visited me over the coming years. I never knew when they would present themselves. Looking back, I can remember times of extreme stress being my companion, as I navigated life. The years prior to becoming a Christian had left a lot of mental & physical baggage that needed unpacked. I really don't know if the stress caused the terrors, or if the terrors caused the stress. Not long after laying my head down to sleep, many nights just as I was drifting off, a very demonic face would come from a far corner of our bedroom, and with sonic speed, stop just short of my face. I would wake with a blood-curdling scream. Those were during the young years of my Christianity, and prior to becoming a mom.

The terrors would stop for quite a while, only to return later. Never knew why they stopped, but was tremendously happy about it. Then they began again, with full on force, in 2013 upon moving to North Carolina. But with a different terror. Now I was experiencing a grid-like object hovering over my face, as it threatened to smash into me or imprison me. I was also "seeing" short (talking 3 foot tall) guys of Indian (not Native) descent, standing only a few feet from me. They stood, just gazing in my direction as if trying to decide who I was. They never threatened me, it was just intensely terrifying to wake and see someone in my room...watching me.

Last night, and for the last two times of visitation, the terror presented itself as a see-through cloth just drifting over me, making me think it was going to cover me. These terrors all feel so real. I believe I am fully awake, but seem to be in a dream-like state, then STARTLED awake. Not able to remove the cloth, my being just reacted with screaming. And then, the dream came. It was different, yet the same, in that I was about to be consumed. I was heading out to purchase more twigs and vines for a display I was preparing. When I got to the store, a wall of dense, multi-colored and hardened sponge, had blocked the entire store, allowing no entrance. As I made my way forward (stubborn, I am), I found myself engulfed by the wall of foamy sponge. Did I fall into it? I don't know. But, I do know there was only about 3 feet between me and safety as I tried to remove myself from certain death. The wall began to wrap itself around me until I couldn't move. I could still see the sky, so reached upward, trying to find anything I could grab onto to get me to safety. But...any move I made only caused the wall to further secure its victim. Like a fly caught in a web, and much like the pit of sand of many years prior.

I awoke, having had no escape presented to me. During my morning shower, I pondered this dream. I know direction is trying to lead me. I also know I am trying to hold onto something God is asking me to let go of. Something that is sucking the life out of me. And guess what is laying at my doorstep. Fear. Little Much Afraid is looking directly at the situation she finds herself to be in, and all the terrifying cousins she must encounter along the way to freedom are lurking, watching every move she makes.

So, here I am, Lord. Speak. You'll find me here, in Mary's World...

The Silent Cry

"The face is a picture of the mind as the eyes are its interpreter." ~Cicero    
"The eyes are the window of the soul." ~William Shakespear
"The light of the body is the eye." ~Matthew 6:22

If evidence of our condition comes through our eyes because eyes are the windows to our soul, or if our face betrays what's on our mind; there are many souls walking the surface of our planet that is in deep despair. And their silent cries are deafening. Their eyes are covered in a mist that has created numerous, indifferent responses without so much of a glance in the direction of any question that may be asked of them. They are everywhere but the geographic space their body stands upon.

Of late, it has grabbed my heart in a way I never expected. Possibly, because I have dealt with deep sadness; a loneliness in my spirit. At first, I was just annoyed when coming face to face with what I perceived to be a less than admirable attitude. I've complained to my husband, my daughters, and most likely to anyone that would listen. It's so very hard to tolerate an attitude of indifference. Research has shown that 68% of customers do not return to an establishment because they have experienced an attitude of indifference in those serving them. I can verify that is certainly the case with me. I have way too many options to have to subject myself to people who couldn't care less if I shop with them, or not.

I really don't expect anyone to kiss my queenly hand, but it would be nice to give me a quick "I see you" glance and possibly a slight uplifting at the corners of their mouth. Especially if I'm in their check-out lane at the grocery store, or department store. Or sitting at their table, or booth, in the restaurant where they are employed. It just unnerves me. At the very least, it's impolite. And...I've always decided the amount of tip to leave, simply by the attitude with which one served me.

Of late, my heart has hurt for the sadness (indifference) I see in people's eyes (their souls?). I rarely see smiling faces when I'm out and about. Everyone seems to be in their own little world. And it's not just at places of service. I see them walking down the street, driving a car, standing in line. That world doesn't look like a place I'd want to live, even though I have found myself visiting that place on occasion.

Why do we brush people off so quickly? Have we decided they are just miserable people to be left alone? Or maybe, just maybe, they wish someone cared enough about them, to offer friendship or just a smile. A real smile. Surely I'm not the only person who enjoys seeing happy people or receive the "I see you" smile.

Because we have a story, we can bet that everyone else has a story, as well. Stories of hurt, of deep pain, of hope lost, of uncertainty. Stories of loneliness and deafening silence, of shattered dreams of a simple, peaceful existence. Those are the people who need to see life still IS worth living.

Do we have a part in making sure they know this? If so, what does that look like? How could the silent people, who have the Words of Life, speak up, without offending or sounding self-righteous?

It's also been said that "actions speak louder than words." ~Abraham Lincoln

Maybe we can just start with a smile...

Sorting through my thoughts, here you'll find me, in Mary's World.

Strolling Down Memory Lane

In the cool morning air, with coffee in hand, I took an unintentional stroll down memory lane this morning. I love this time of day (5:00a.m.-6:30a.m.) and the beauty outside my living room window beckoned me to come on outside.

A perfect 64 degrees, the stillness of the early morning captured my spirit. I decided to "just walk a bit." As I stepped off the front porch and looked around at the majestic Oaks, slender Elm, the Sycamores and the Walnut trees, my mind took me back to the days when our girls were just beginning their life's journey.

The first swing that hung by ropes from the large Oak tree that edged our drive, began it's gentle back and forth motion with Lindsey, our very active first born. She loved the swing and would giggle with much happiness when pushed. But she couldn't stay there for long. She had to be in other parts of her world...exploring, creating, singing and praising the Lord with hands lifted way above her head as she made up songs that touched her mother's heart and made it smile with gratitude. So creative, that one.

It was for her third birthday that Daddy created the big playground for a place she and her little sister could entertain each other, and the sounds of giggling girls could warm any heart within hearing distance. Momma even used the swings when she had some alone time...later...after her children were grown and gone. The set started out with tire swings until a neighbor rebuked the girl's daddy for not making "real" swings. The playground was upgraded pretty quickly. But now, as I watch the memories dance around in my head, I notice the ground where it was designed, now bare, wishing for the feet of little girls again. Or is that just me?

The wide slide made out of laminate cabinet topping had to be oiled frequently, in order to offer up a sliding experience second to none. There was also a sandbox placed just under the deck that was at the top of the slide, and two swings made out of rubber and large chains were hung ever so enticingly from the solid oak beam that stretched out to connect to the deck. I had put in a request for a ladder that ran from the deck to the large, old Oak that simply begged for a tree house to live in its branches. We never got that far...but what we had, brought a lot of enjoyment. And the non-existent tree house was vivid in my mind as I watched the girls climb up the horizontal bars attached to the tree, or clamored over the extended ladder, to have tea time in the playhouse.

In the backyard that bordered a wooded area, were two fruit trees. A very productive apple tree, that neighbors from all around would come to gather in some of its harvest and a somewhat fruitful peach tree that served only the family it belonged to. The apple blossoms were always a favorite with the girls. Many a picture was taken with the two of them under that tree when the blossoms were in full bloom. Lindsey demanded it.  I still am in awe of her ability to capture with a camera, what she sees as beauty. Little did we know that a bit of her future was being formed...

As the months turned into years, our lives took many a turn. One such turn was when Lindsey's sister, Meg, was given a beautiful Appaloosa horse as a gift of love, near her 13th birthday. Half of our acre wide homestead had to be fenced off to make room for this generous gift. Trottsey had come to live with us and needed a place to graze and lope around. Again, Daddy (and uncle Danny & Grandpa Denzil), came to the rescue. A lean-to was added to an existing shed that was created years before, as a playhouse for the two sisters. Now, Trosttsey could get in out of the weather, and have a place to eat dry food or just snooze. A little later we had to acquire a larger area for her to get enough grazing and to stretch her legs out. Didn't take her long to nub out our yard and there really wasn't space for running. An adventure was about to happen that none could have predicted. To this day, I am still in awe of Meg's ability to calm and direct animals (and people). A bit of her future was being formed...


What you have just read, was typed out more than a few years ago. I seriously cannot remember when I began this draft. We were still living in Oklahoma, where the girls grew up because I do remember that particular morning. Why I didn't finish it, is anybody's guess. Most likely I had other fish to fry and just forgot about it. My thought is we were about to make the move to North Carolina and I was taking in all that I could about the place we had called home for the last 37 years and then became distracted by the necessities of life, just to leave it dangling in the archives of this blog space.

I love memory lane! Even the memories that, while experiencing them, weren't so happy. They formed our family. They caused us to stick like glue to the solid foundation that Christ had built for us many, many years ago. We had so many wonderful, happy times; but it was in the darkest of times that we grew to love each other the most. It was in the hard, challenging times, that we pressed into our faith that God would help us move the mountains, or at least create a path through them, and come out the other side, still a family. A family that would understand love just a little more than before the mountain presented itself.

Love is not a feeling. Love is a choice. Sure, we have a lot of warm, fuzzy, feelings when we are happy. But that's not real love, even though we call it that. Love will move mountains. Love covers any adversity and calls it opportunity. Love doesn't hold the injustice of words spoken and determines it's revenge. Nope. Love doesn't take a wrong suffered and retaliate. Love loves. In spite of pain suffered.

We can always trust the words of the Father. "Be strong and courageous. I will never leave you, nor forsake you." ~Deuteronomy 31:6.

I've shared only a few memories, here. Memories of when our children were small. Yet, God's memory of us goes much further back. He knew us before He formed us in our mother's womb (Jeremiah 1:5 and Ephesians 1:4-5). He knew the path we would take, yet He loved us enough to sacrifice Himself and show us that we could, indeed, overcome anything that presented itself unpleasant to us. He showed us how to love. Really love...

Making memories, while living off memories, here you'll find me...in Mary's World.