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
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Saturday, April 11, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
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
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
Monday, March 9, 2015
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 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.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
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?
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
My Long-Lost Friend
Her name was (is?) Emma Witherspoon. Many years ago…let's say 42-43, I lived in Madison, Tennessee. A suburb of Nashville, it provided me safe haven from an out-of-control wife beater, who I left back in Oklahoma. There, I met a wonderful young lady. At the time she was married to a police officer, and we became friends.
The last time we connected was somewhere around 1975…maybe a little later. I just can't remember the exact time frame it was when I received a middle-of-the-night call from her. She was crying, wanting…needing, to talk. Her marriage was on the rocks and she had to move away. During that call, we exchanged addresses, and I was able to send her a photo of our little family. Linds and Megs were very small at the time. Linds was almost 3 and Meg had just turned 1…or around that age. So, maybe the year was closer to 1985. I surely don't remember. She wrote back that she had shown the photo to others I had worked closely with, that she loved the picture and wish her life had gone the path of mine.
Emma was as close a friend as I ever had in those days. There was one other gal, Faye, something-or-other, but she couldn't really be called a friend. We went to breakfast some mornings after late hours at our place of employment…but that was about it. Emma, was a true friend. So kind and understanding. She had a listening ear and a tender heart. We shared many stories and went to places together.
I found it rather strange that she came from the same type of family I did. Her dad was a minister, like mine was. She had many of the same struggles that I did as a child. Maybe that is why we connected so quickly. I loved her so much! And now, I can't find her.
The last time we connected was somewhere around 1975…maybe a little later. I just can't remember the exact time frame it was when I received a middle-of-the-night call from her. She was crying, wanting…needing, to talk. Her marriage was on the rocks and she had to move away. During that call, we exchanged addresses, and I was able to send her a photo of our little family. Linds and Megs were very small at the time. Linds was almost 3 and Meg had just turned 1…or around that age. So, maybe the year was closer to 1985. I surely don't remember. She wrote back that she had shown the photo to others I had worked closely with, that she loved the picture and wish her life had gone the path of mine.
The years have taken a lot of the memories of those days, away from me. Those were dark days in my life and I think maybe they should not be brought up again. But, what I'd give to see Emma and reconnect. Just to see where her journey took her. And to ask if she is now, as happy as I am.
I've tried, over the years, to find her. And I've always failed. I've done Google searches most recently, but still come up empty handed. If I had a picture of her, I'd share it on Facebook…just to see what it would produce. I've done searches there, as well. Even messaged a gal that looked a lot like her, thinking it might be her daughter...but it wasn't her.
Where is my friend???
I'll keep looking, while bidding my time here…in Mary's World
Friday, January 16, 2015
I Dream of Her and That Great Cloud of Witnesses
It's been said the closer one gets to home, the more one dreams of it. I don't know that I was dreaming of home, early this morning, but the dream did give me a sense of peace and assurance.
I know my words are going to fail in the description of what I saw, yet I must record them as best I can. My sister, Becky, was at the center of this encounter. She was about to address a massive group of people that I couldn't see, but knew was there. In fact the only people I could see was Becky's husband, at the time of her death, Denny Johnson, and Linda Prater, a sister-in-law.
On a table, sat a very large, oblong book. Becky was stunningly beautiful. Young and confident. She looked the same as I'd always known her to look, with one exception. I've never seen health look so beautiful…words truly fail in this description.
She opened the book and began to speak of her life on earth. I knew she was talking, but I don't know what she was saying. I was mesmerized with her beauty. Somewhere in the course of her speaking, she began singing. I couldn't believe how harmonious the sound was. Such a beautiful voice…smooth and without error. She was perfect in every aspect. Then, somewhere behind me, I heard an old friend of mine, Jani Anderson, singing. Becky had stopped…Jani had begun. Again…beautifully smooth and melodious notes. So enticing.
It seemed only a short while and Becky was asking for us to pray. My attention was on her words suddenly. Silently I waited, with head bowed, hoping she would not ask me to pray aloud. Beings I was sitting alone, and on the front seat, with rapt attention, I was fearful I might be her target.
"Mary, what would you like to say?" Words came from her that totally put me at ease as I looked deep inside my heart. "Oh God. We understand we're not meant to live here forever. We long for the time we can be with You for all of eternity, where there is no suffering, no tears…" As I was praying, the enormous crowd (that I could not see, yet knew was there), starting singing the words I was praying. It seemed I knew the song…yet now, as I try remembering details of this dream, I cannot bring them to mind. Oddly, tears are easing their way out of my eyes while my mind takes me back to that moment of awakening on this God given opportunity of a day.
Why I felt to post of this event, I'm not sure. I do know that it is so very important to begin to see things as they really are. To see people as God's handiwork. To not take for granted the beauty in this world we are a part of for such a short period of time. To cherish the moments, the days, weeks, months, years that we've been given to fulfill the promises of God. To let go of silly disagreements and everything that would cause a disruption in the peaceful atmosphere of a home. We're made of better stuff than the mundane. We must realize we were created as spirit beings, housed in a mixture of earth, water, air, and a bit of "fire". Breathed into life by the Spirit of God. From Him we came, and one day will return back to Him.
Until the day of me joining in with the singing of that great cloud of witnesses, here you'll find me…in Mary's World.
On a table, sat a very large, oblong book. Becky was stunningly beautiful. Young and confident. She looked the same as I'd always known her to look, with one exception. I've never seen health look so beautiful…words truly fail in this description.
She opened the book and began to speak of her life on earth. I knew she was talking, but I don't know what she was saying. I was mesmerized with her beauty. Somewhere in the course of her speaking, she began singing. I couldn't believe how harmonious the sound was. Such a beautiful voice…smooth and without error. She was perfect in every aspect. Then, somewhere behind me, I heard an old friend of mine, Jani Anderson, singing. Becky had stopped…Jani had begun. Again…beautifully smooth and melodious notes. So enticing.
It seemed only a short while and Becky was asking for us to pray. My attention was on her words suddenly. Silently I waited, with head bowed, hoping she would not ask me to pray aloud. Beings I was sitting alone, and on the front seat, with rapt attention, I was fearful I might be her target.
"Mary, what would you like to say?" Words came from her that totally put me at ease as I looked deep inside my heart. "Oh God. We understand we're not meant to live here forever. We long for the time we can be with You for all of eternity, where there is no suffering, no tears…" As I was praying, the enormous crowd (that I could not see, yet knew was there), starting singing the words I was praying. It seemed I knew the song…yet now, as I try remembering details of this dream, I cannot bring them to mind. Oddly, tears are easing their way out of my eyes while my mind takes me back to that moment of awakening on this God given opportunity of a day.
Why I felt to post of this event, I'm not sure. I do know that it is so very important to begin to see things as they really are. To see people as God's handiwork. To not take for granted the beauty in this world we are a part of for such a short period of time. To cherish the moments, the days, weeks, months, years that we've been given to fulfill the promises of God. To let go of silly disagreements and everything that would cause a disruption in the peaceful atmosphere of a home. We're made of better stuff than the mundane. We must realize we were created as spirit beings, housed in a mixture of earth, water, air, and a bit of "fire". Breathed into life by the Spirit of God. From Him we came, and one day will return back to Him.
Until the day of me joining in with the singing of that great cloud of witnesses, here you'll find me…in Mary's World.
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