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