As I think back to times that warm my heart, I can’t help but remember the old cast iron stove that was the centerpiece of my grandparent’s kitchen. That huge conservator of heat kept the house warm – listened to conversations from a family of ten for years – watched as tears fell for those who died well before their time. It was the site for drying wet mittens – holding heavy irons used to touch up the collar on a shirt – held loaves of rising bread before they were placed in the oven – was the meeting place for dogs, cats and even some unwelcomed critters.
We often wonder what they would say if walls could talk, but I imagine that old iron beast would have plenty to share – stories of joy and delight, the birth of another child, the death of a family member, the jokes, the arguments, the tall hunting tales and so on. This inanimate object reminded me of a silent giant who was collecting a lifetime of stories, but had no way of telling them. That being the case and me being the story teller in my family, I wrote this poem to celebrate its existence.
Originally published on 11/24/16
The old iron fortress stood ready and tall within the empty room. Wood stacked at one side – boots and mittens there dried, But no one would share in the warmth that it’s belly consumed. The snow outside glistened, no footprints did lead to the door, The smoke lifted high to the stars in the sky, The only one home was an old, tired soul who lay curled up asleep on the floor.
He had worked all day long, chopping wood for the old iron beast. So he took to the floor, like he had once before, And fell fast asleep while waiting alone for a fabulous feast. His dreams soon were shattered by voices that chattered outside, He rose to his feet. At the door he did meet, All the friends from his past who long since had gone on and died.
As each person walked by, they could hear the man cry and in a soft murmur he said, You once were my friends but where’ve you been all my life, My children have died and for them I’ve cried, yesterday I lost my wife, Within just an instant he knew God had called him to his eternal rest, This new life that it gave him, would no more enslave him, The warmth of his Savior was beyond so much more than the very best of the best.
It certainly would seem that this Thanksgiving doesn’t give us a lot to be thankful for. We’re basically going into lockdown again. We’re not being permitted to gather with our families and loved ones. We’re seeing an economy slowly dying – a never ending election process – people losing jobs – some developing serious mental health issues – and the list goes on. We’re told to count our blessings, but they are often clouded by the negative news, the violent protests, the division and hopelessness that seem to be taking over the minds of even the most positive people.
Counting our blessings is really important to our mental health. When we get good news about a loved one and troubling health issues, it makes our hearts so glad. When we see the accomplishments of the children we’ve raised – when we watch our grandchildren grow into amazing adults – when we are blessed with good health and still have a spouse to share our lives with. These are all things that make our hearts glad.
The trials we face can also be considered blessings if you look at them in such a way. For example: Losing a job can lead to another door opening and a much better opportunity for advancement. Losing a child or a spouse and enduring the grief connected with it can make it possible for you to lift up someone else who is going through those same feelings. When we experience tough financial times, we grow more appreciative and can become compassionate to those who are in need. God allows these negatives in our lives to strengthen us as well as to use us to help others.
As we near Thanksgiving Day, it might be a good time to start thinking about our blessings, so that when we sit down to enjoy the feast, we have a clear vision of what we’re thankful for. God is so good. His love endures forever. His mercy endures forever. His patience and compassion will never die and He wants all of us to enjoy the greatest blessing of all – heaven.
When I’m worried and I can’t sleep I count my blessings instead of sheep And I fall asleep counting my blessings When my bankroll is getting small I think of when I had none at all And I fall asleep counting my blessings
I think about a nursery and I picture curly heads And one by one I count them as they slumber in their beds If you’re worried and you can’t sleep Just count your blessings instead of sheep And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.
There are at least five of us that frequent your bird feeder from time to time. Take my friend, Flash, for example. I think he has a little ADD. Every time another squirrel comes around, Flash makes a real nuisance of himself. He gets right in your face and drives you crazy and then he’s up a tree making someone else crazy too. It seems to be his mission to drive us all crazy, but he’s just a little hyper. He can’t help it. He’s also known for jumping very high and doing flips from time to time. Flash is a suitable name for him and it doesn’t make him feel any different than the rest of the squirrels. In fact he likes being called, “Flash.” It makes him feel like a super hero or something like that.
I have another friend named, “Nutsy.” He’s quite an acrobat. Some of the older squirrels think he should be in the circus. Last fall he bravely carried a branch across the electrical wire. The branch had a nut on either end of it. It was like one of those balancing dumbbells you see at the gym. Nutsy was so good at his high wire act, we were sure he’d take his show on the road, but we never found out if he did or not. He hasn’t been around for a year or so.
My friend, Bigley, is the one who makes a pig out of himself. I’ll bet he’s gained at least a pound since you started feeding the birds. A pound is a lot for a squirrel. All that extra weight can slow you down and make it easier for the cats to catch you if they can.
Bigley didn’t start out big. Like the rest of us, he looked like a little rat when he was born. Maybe he has a over active thyroid and his metabolism causes him to gain weight faster than the rest of us. That’s an uniformed guess on my part. I’m not a scientist. I’m just a squirrel after all. He doesn’t get a lot of exercise though. Maybe he should start doing pushups.
“Stretch” got his name because of his ability to stretch from the pole to the bird feeder. He’s very agile. In fact he learned to climb that pole before any of the rest of us even thought about it. I know you were frustrated that we were all digging in and helping ourselves to the bird seed, but we get hungry too.
Even when you resorted to putting grease on the pole, Stretch made it to the top after sliding down only three times. What a guy. He then proceeded to hang onto the pole with his back feet, grab the feeder with his front and stretch out far enough to devour some seeds and cause some to fall to the ground for the rest of us. Squirrel ingenuity I would say. At least it’s a good way to make friends and influence squirrels.
I won’t bore you with the names of all of my friends and relatives. That could take a long time. I do think it’s funny how we get our names. Names are kind of like labels – sometimes good and sometimes not so good. I guess it depends on how we look at it.
In the next few days, many are planning to go ahead with family gatherings for Thanksgiving in spite of mandates set by our governor. In what might be considered an act of defiance, it’s still a time to be thankful, even if we do it differently this year.
My Thanksgivings have been celebrated by myself or with friends who felt sad for my being alone. There were special trips to visit family members far away on occasion. Being born and raised in Wisconsin, where deer hunting always occurs during Thanksgiving week, my husband would normally return to his happy hunting grounds for the week long event. We’ve celebrated on a different day as a family, so it’s not like I don’t have a chance to make turkey and all the fixings.
This year has been one of many challenges. A tiny germ has spread like wildfire, infecting people randomly in its path. We’ve been asked to isolate ourselves recently because of a spike in new cases. This changes everything for everyone, not just the deer hunting wives left behind. Because of extenuating circumstances, my husband will not be hunting in Wisconsin this year. The obvious reason is Corona, but with a change in location and not being able to check it out beforehand, he has decided to play it safe and stay home.
It breaks my heart to see him have to give this up. He’s had to do a lot of that in his seventy eight years. It’s hard to eliminate something from your life that’s been part of it for fifty years. He says it’s OK with him and I do believe that, but I know he’s sad because of it. Yet I am grateful that I will have him home for Thanksgiving. There will be more hunting trips, God willing. There will be more alone Thanksgivings, but I am so grateful for the many gifts God has blessed us with in our lives together.
Perhaps this is a selfish reason for being thankful. Perhaps this disease has me thinking differently. Covid19 has changed lives in the past 8 months. People get depressed because they can’t socialize. We miss physical contact, like hugs. We feel cheated especially during the holiday season when we often gather in large groups. It’s enough to make anyone say, “Bah humbug!”
We cannot count on anything definite in this world. Our path has already been laid out, but it’s also been masterfully crafted by the King of Creation. We’ve also been promised a perfect life after death.
With that in mind, we can be thankful for so much. God is in control no matter what comes our way. Give thanks to Him for life, for direction and guidance, for His unconditional love and for His forgiveness. His love endures forever.
My friends and I are ever so grateful for the nice accommodations you’ve provided for us. I think the shed is for your husband to do his art work. Occasionally I peek in there when he’s not looking and watch him make his paintbrush fly with the music he has playing. It’s almost like he’s conducting the orchestra. It was nice of him to make that extra building for us.
There’s space underneath for all of us critters to share. In fact we divided it up evenly. There’s one section for the cats, one for the rabbits, one for us squirrels and one for a chipmunk that rarely shows his face. We’re thinking about getting some outdoor furniture next summer. Love what you’ve done with the yard. We’ve already furnished the inside with a nice area rug and a few chairs. We want to get a flat screen TV, but that might be a bit much. When it gets very cold, we retreat to our dray. Most of the time we hide under the shed – so far no complaints from the neighbors.
Well I know you’re wondering about my tail. It used to be full and fluffy like all the other squirrels. One day, while I was minding my own business and finding spots to hide the precious walnuts, there came a giant. It might have been a dinosaur with his large teeth chomping on the grass. I happened to be in the way. Before I knew it, that extension of my backside was gone.
Let me tell you, I really miss it. I’ve grown pretty fond of my tail, especially now that I no longer have it. I guess the dinosaur must’ve been hungry, but I’m sure he was disappointed. A squirrel tail has no real meat on it. He just got a mouth full of fluff – my fluff.
Once the initial shock of losing it wore off, I didn’t miss it as much as I thought I would. You see our tails provide balance when we’re climbing trees and bounding from branch to branch. If we start to fall they can be like a parachute and help us float to the ground rather than crashing into it. We also use our tails to talk to other squirrels? When you don’t have one it can prove to be a great loss. There have been times when I used my tail as an umbrella, as a shield against other animals, and an oar in the river which helps me swim. Even so, animals were created to adapt to their surroundings, so when we lose something like a tail, we change the way we do things. I guess we’re not much different than humans that way.
We certainly don’t need to lose our courage or our smartness, just because we’ve lost one piece of us. In fact, I think not having a tail can be very advantageous. It doesn’t get in the way. It doesn’t have to be preened all the time or searched for nasty little fleas and gnats. A tail is just an appendage. I’m used to it now, so it doesn’t bother me . . . much.
Some of the other squirrels decided to name me Stubby from that day on. I certainly wouldn’t name them after any one of their faults or disabilities, but squirrels can be squirrels you know.
The above is a comprehensive list of characteristics which define the antagonist of a story. I would assume that the good guy would be just the opposite of the bad guy. In the old days it was easy to tell who was good and who was bad. The good guy always wore a white hat and rode a white horse. He never frequented the saloon. He went to church and he married the most beautiful, faithful woman in the county.
I used to perform in melodrama theatre. The good guy would always be greeted by cheers and applause, while the villain entered to boos and hisses. Pretty cut and dried, eh?
Today things aren’t as clearly available to us. Today we need to use discernment before deciding who is who. We need to do our research before speaking for or against someone. We need to take care about what we say, so we don’t offend anyone. We must be open to every point of view otherwise we’re considered narrow minded or unbending. As I look at the list above, it seems some of the antagonist’s attributes have switched over to the protagonist side, but that’s a post for another day.
I don’t know where I’m going with this, but it seems to me, as a writer, that these two forces are necessary for the advancement of a good story, so I need to know as much about them as I can. It also seems to me that the protagonist must have an antagonist in his life in order to overcome the obstacles he faces. On the other hand, the antagonist is dependent on the protagonist for his side of the story to be told as well.
In our relationships, in our feelings about others, in our words spoken or written, we often speak or say things without the benefit of thinking them through before we speak. With the advent of social media, texting, Twitter and so many more instant platforms, the words fly randomly without thought about how they might affect another person. Electronics can be amazing at times, but they can also do a lot of damage. Instant news and reporting without fact checking can be the ember that emblazons riots, rage and anger.
As with most things I write about, I usually turn to my Manual for Living – the Bible. Here’s how that book begins.
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,” Genesis 1:1.
The last two verses of the Bible say this,
“He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus! The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen,” Revelation 22:20-21.
Between those two books are many instances of good overcoming evil, protagonists and antagonists, amazing stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things, hope for a future and the love of God.
The greatest love ever known was that of God’s own Son, Jesus.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life,” John 3:16
I’ve been spending a lot of time looking out my dining room windows lately. Our house is an old (1885) farm house, situated in the middle of one of the first cities founded in Minnesota. We have an abundance of critters which bring entertainment to our cloistered lifestyle right now. While sitting and watching, I can’t help but wonder what goes on in their little minds as they prepare for the upcoming cold winter. So, in my moments of alone time, I’ve been trying to come up with some stories that might entertain others – especially children. I do have the mind of a child after all. So I will be putting these out there and see what everyone thinks.
This is the beginning of the first in a series of “Animal Tales (Tails)” by Kathy Boecher.
STUBBY, THE SQUIRREL
My name is Stubby. I guess you know by now that I’m a Squirrel. Pleased to meet you. Bet you never talked person to squirrel with someone like me before, have you? Yes, I can talk, but not all humans can hear me – only those who have the gift. Most people consider us a nuisance, but there are a few that see our true value. I think you must be one of them.
I love living in the city, don’t you? I have friends who prefer the wide open space of the country, but as for me, there’s something about the city that calls to me. By the way, I love your house. To me, it’s the best of both worlds – a cute little country house, smack dab in the middle of a bustling little town.
Oh, and the black walnut tree out back is sublime. I look forward to jumping from branch to branch. I notice you don’t do that, do you? Well, I guess we all have things that make us happy. When I peek into your window each morning, I can’t help but notice that you’re very busy pounding away on some kind of contraption that lights up.
For me, my satisfaction comes when those black walnuts start to fall. I love those things. At first sight they look like green ping pong balls, but once you get through the tough outer skin, it’s nothing but nut.
The room begins to close in on you. You feel suffocated in your inner most being. Your heart begins to race – your mouth is dry – your hands begin to tremble – your breathing becomes heavy and almost chokes you. The hair on the back of your neck bristles and you feel faint. This is how you feel when you experience fear.
Fear can consume us – disable us – cause us to hide or seek refuge. It can live in the back of our mind only to resurface at a later age. The number of phobias included in the human psyche are countless – all the way from fear of small places to fear of going outside. I’m not a psychologist, but I have experienced enough of life to know that fear can also be a means of protection. It’s kind of a fail safe mechanism that goes off in our brains to let us know we’re in danger.
We’re all afraid of something. Maybe you fear getting in front of an audience. Or you might be afraid of high places or spiders or elevators or avocadoes. The point is, you aren’t alone. We all need reassurance that these fears won’t cause us to be eaten up by them. Maybe your fears are more immediate – like knowing where your next meal will come from or where you will lay your head tonight.
The uncertainties we face every day are enough for some to require straight jackets, while others seem to be completely fearless. How do you handle your fears? I’m still in the process of figuring that one out. I should have faith that God has my back in all circumstances, but sometimes even that isn’t enough. Prayers can help, but fear will once again rear its ugly head. Many times our fears, like unexplained dreams, are an unsettling reminder that we need someone to help us get through this life.
Everyone on this planet has something that eats at them. Our fears don’t just magically disappear when we become Christians. Sometimes we face even more of them. It’s a tough journey. Life can pull, tug at us, push us around and cause us to give up. The only thing to alleviate those anxious moments is turning to God’s Word. Within those pages we can find comfort, peace, patience and God’s plan for us. Through His message, we can conquer our fears and move forward. The key is putting your faith in someone who has dispelled all fear.
I am still writing the novel I thought I had finished last year at this time. After re-reading, having others look at it and giving an opinion, I have decided to revisit it. The book is called, “Until Our Dying Day,” and is about the intertwining of three women from their formative teen years until death. This is just one section of the story of one of the characters – Linnie, who was abused by her mother and retreated into a world of different personalities. She is about 19 years old at the time of this scene. I’d appreciate any comments.
It must’ve been 2 AM when her parents raucously entered the house. Linnie couldn’t recall her parents ever staying out that late – especially together. Jed was singing his head off and Dorothy joined in. They sounded like a couple of drunken sailors. She giggled at the thought of her mother being out of control.
She could hear her father call to Dorothy as she went to the basement steps. His voice came from the living room. “Bring some more wine.”
Suddenly, Linnie heard a crash and a thump, thump, thump. She ran to see what happened. She joined her father at the top of the stairs, both peering down below. His eyes held fast to the broken body of his wife, sprawled out lifelessly below. Her face was turned up and her wide, black, open eyes stared directly at both of them.
Linnie raced down the steps, almost tripping and falling herself. When she reached the body, she checked for a pulse and there was none. “She’s dead, daddy.”
Linnie didn’t know how to react. This woman, who made sure to destroy her childhood, was now stone cold dead. Jed was beside himself. He began to sob.
“It was an accident. We got to dancin’ and singin’. Your Ma was goin’ to get another bottle and she slipped and fell all the way to the bottom. She must’ve lost her balance. She was drunk, Linnie. I don’t remember her ever being drunk. It happened so fast, I couldn’t save her. You gotta help me,” he said as he slowly descended the stairs.
“No one’s gonna believe she died accidentally. They’ll think I killed her. You know what it’s like. People around here know everything about everybody. They know my marriage was a joke. They’ll say I pushed her. They’ll say I killed her. What will become of me? Linnie, you gotta help me – please.”
Linnie wanted to make sure. She checked to see if Dorothy was breathing. Her legs were obviously broken and her head received the brunt of the fall. She was covered with abrasions and bruises and lay in a pool of blood. Her dilated eyes stared up at her. Those dark, lifeless, black accusing eyes still held contempt for her.
Seeing her mother like that sent all kinds of thoughts and emotions coming from Linnie’s troubled mind. On one hand she was happy she’d never have to put up with her mother again. On the other, she knew her father was right. He’d be accused of murder and that would be the end of him.
She still had a soft spot in her heart for Jed. He tried to be a good father, but Dorothy made it impossible for any of them to be normal at anything. He turned to drinking and Linnie was well on her way to following in his footsteps.
“We have to bury her,” she stated firmly.
Jed agreed. He pulled a canvas tarp from the shelf. He couldn’t stop crying. He didn’t know if he was crying for his dead wife or for what might happen to him.
They rolled the already stiffening body onto the tarp and carried her up the steps. Her mother wasn’t a small woman. It took quite a while for them to get her up those stairs, but they did. Jed’s adrenaline must’ve kicked in, because he suddenly held great strength. Linnie drew upon her inner strength too.
It was 3 AM as they dug the grave out in the woods – six feet deep and wide enough to hold Dorothy’s portly body. Her eyes were still open when the two laid her in the makeshift grave. Linnie covered her face with the first shovel full of dirt. No more would those condemning eyes be watching her. Jed tossed his wedding ring into the grave.
“I guess I wasn’t much of a husband. Never did make you proud of me, Dorothy, but I loved you. At least I did at first, before your heart turned cold. I hope you will rest in peace. Take my wedding ring back as I won’t be needin’ it anymore. I’m so sorry . . . sorry for you as much as me. Goodbye, Dorothy.”
Tears welled in Linnie’s eyes, but she wasn’t about to shed them. Her mother didn’t deserve her tears.
“I never was good enough for you either, ma, but God knows I tried. I’ll continue trying to be the daughter you thought I should be, but I can’t say I’m gonna miss you. Rest in peace.”
They continued to shovel until Dorothy was completely covered. They spread broken twigs and brush over the top. Jed laid a large log across the rubble so he could come and visit the site from time to time.
He felt relieved when the deed was completed. Linnie feared someone would find out.
“Pa, we have to come up with a story. No one is gonna believe the truth of what happened. We have to think of something that we both agree on so that our story isn’t messed up. We have to be a hundred percent in agreemen.”
She paced back and forth and presently came up with an idea.
“We can tell folks that Ma ran off with that choir director she took up with a while back. People still talk about Ma’s relationship with that creep.”
“Why bring our dirty laundry out into the light of day,” Jed asked.
“It’s the only logical story. That guy is long gone. He might be dead for all we know. No one is going to go looking for him.” The affair was the perfect answer.
At last Jed gave in. “You’re right. It’s the only way. We gotta write a note with her name on it sayin’ she ran off with that feller.”
Linnie typed a brief note on her mother’s typewriter. She addressed it, “to whom it may concern.” She added Dorothy’s signature. She had forged Dorothy’s name so many times before, it wasn’t unusual for her to do it again.
“TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: I could no longer live this lie I’ve created over so many years. I know that I’ve sinned and don’t deserve to be forgiven, but I had to follow my heart. I have never loved anyone as much as our choir director, Mr. Jones. I cannot go on without him. I plan to never return. May God have mercy on my soul.
Signed, Dorothy Dugan, Organist.
That should satisfy any suspicions. Jed remembered the entire town had seen Dorothy at the wedding so they decided to wait a few days before contacting the sheriff to report her missing. The note from Dorothy would be the end of it. Or would it?
The sun was beginning to rise as they finished their morbid deed. Birds sang their melodious songs and the sound of crickets and frogs made up the chorus. As the light penetrated to that spot in the forest, it was as if a stamp of approval had been placed on it. Of course the two of them weren’t alone in this. God was watching the entire thing. It would only add to Linnie’s great load of internal guilt and haunt her for many years to come.
All she could remember were those reproachful eyes – always blaming, belittling, humiliating. She hated those eyes, but still this was her mother. All hope of ever finding love between them was now buried deeply in the ground.
She went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Both she and Jed had been through quite an ordeal. She knew it was time to get sober and make sure her father did too. He was going to need her help getting through all this. She would need help too, but there was no one left for her. She felt completely alone.
On November 10, 1907, Jane Froman was born in the small Missouri town of University City. She grew up in Missouri and considered Columbia, Missouri her home town. Her parents separated when she was only five. Little Jane suffered with stuttering, but it seemed to disappear when she sang. Maybe that’s why singing became such a refuge for her. She was married three times – had a successful career as a radio singer – sang for the troops with the USO appeared in movies and was named one of the most successful singers of the age.
On the way to one those trips, the plane carrying her and 38 others, crashed into the Tagus River in Lisbon, Portugal. Jane was one of fifteen survivors, but she was severely injured. She was rescued by the plane’s co-pilot, whom she married five years after the accident.
The plane crash caused injuries that would require 39 surgeries to mend her broken body. The injuries to her legs were extensive. Her right leg suffered a compound fracture and a cut below her left knee which almost severed her leg. She would not agree to amputation. When she returned to entertain the troops in WWII, she appeared on crutches, but her determination was admirable.
She earned three stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. She had a fifteen minute show on CBS, alternating with the Perry Como Show. The song, “I Believe,” written specifically for Jane, was presented on the show and earned her a gold record in 1953.
A movie about her life was made in 1952 – “With a Song in my Heart,” starring Susan Hayward – another one of those movies I’ve sought to immerse myself in lately. The vocals were supplied by Jane Froman herself. We all need to hear these stories of courage and determination from time to time. Especially in times of uncertainty and stress.
I don’t know if it’s all the old movies I’ve been watching lately, but the title of my post today was ringing in my head when I woke up this morning. When I went to check it out on the internet, I discovered some of the above facts about this courageous woman. The reason I’m writing about her today is that it’s also her birthday. In honor of that event, here are the lyrics to her award winning song, “I Believe.”
“I believe for every drop of rain that falls a flower grows I believe that somewhere in the darkest night a candle glows I believe for everyone who goes astray Someone will come to show the way, I believe, I believe I believe above the storm the smallest prayer will still be heard I believe that someone in the great somewhere hears every word Every time I hear a newborn baby cry or touch a leaf or see the sky Then I know why I believe Every time I hear a newborn baby cry or touch a leaf or see the sky Then I know why I believe (Why I believe)“
The light over the kitchen sink, cast an eerie glow. The stillness was almost deafening. She moved with short, thoughtful steps from one room to the other. Were she to fall, would anyone know? Her mind filled with thoughts of laying alone in the stillness, unable to move, unable to call for help. The blue light from the silent television screen fell upon her. Closed captioning spewed words that couldn’t be heard. A night alone in a house that normally held two would become a prison of sorts – a lonely cell with no sound, no interaction, no communication.
Sound like the opening of a dark mystery, a film noir, a terrifying Hitchcock movie? Not really. Just my own little world this weekend. As you know, I am an old movie buff. I spent most of my childhood at the movies. It was a time when you could get into the theatre, buy some popcorn and soda pop all for under a dollar and spend the entire day in the same seat watching the same movie over and over.
Now, since we have access to a plethora of old movies for free, I feel like a kid in that same movie theatre 70 years later. Only now, I don’t have to contend with walking over sticky floors filled with spilled popcorn or noisy kids who were throwing said popcorn all over the place. This weekend I was alone. I used to treasure alone weekends, because I could feast on old movies to my heart’s content. I could watch what I wanted, could cry until my eyes turned red, didn’t have to move if I didn’t want to. I was totally immersed. Lately, the alone times aren’t as exciting.
As I sat in my chair, flipping from one film to another, from “Citizen Kane,” to “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers,” to “Psycho,” “Shadowlands,” “The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit,” “David & Bathsheba,” “Halls of Montezuma,” “Gas Light,” I was separating myself from a world I didn’t want to be part of anymore. Not that I was ready to jump off a cliff or anything. I just didn’t want to hear anymore of it. I wanted to be 8 years old again, sitting in a movie theatre, eating popcorn with my eyes fixed on a different place for an entire day. That is precisely what I did for two and a half days.
It got me to thinking what my life would be if I was totally alone all the time. I am fortunate to still have my husband to encourage me every day. He is a great motivator and more often than not, inspires me to seek the important things in life. Some day that may not be the case. What will I do then? This isn’t a thought I like to dwell on, but will I spend every waking hour glaring at a screen, exchanging my world with that of other? I hope not. I know there is more for me to do. I know that I’ll be directed to fill my time with things that matter.
As long as I live, I know I am not alone. Even when I’m the only one in the house, I am not alone. Even when I turn off the television set and turn in for the night, I know that I am not alone. As long as I can have that assurance, I will continue living in the world. I may be physically by myself, but God will always be there. I may resist the world outside and seek refuge in the truth of God’s Word, where I am never alone. I may fill the room with temporary company from an old movie, but that will not last. I know I can count on the presence of my loving God.
“And lo I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” Matthew 28:20
A young child clings to life. He has endured months of chemotherapy. His tired little body is shrinking every day and life is being sapped from his tiny frame. We’re told to ask that God’s will be done. Yet what is His will? Is it the answer we want to hear? Is it the promises He has already kept? Is it because of duty and obligation? Is it an act of faith?
A young father sits at the wheel of his car. He fears getting out and having to tell his wife and family that he’s lost his job, that there will be no Christmas this year and no special vacations. The job market looks bleak and still he’s told to rely on the will of God. Does he then pray for a new and better job? Does he lay his requests before God with confidence? Will he trust that God will answer his prayers?
A woman discovers that her husband has been cheating on her. She blames herself for not being adequate. She trembles at the thought of losing him as her husband and the father of her children. She wonders how she will survive without him. Jesus tells her to pray for God’s will to be done. Can she expect a miracle? Will her topsy turvy world return to normal and he’ll forget about the other woman? Will he realize that his adultery is against God’s commandments for his life? Will she accept what God has in store for her?
An elderly woman fears she has the COVID19 virus. She lives alone, but this means she will even be more alone. Having to quarantine for two weeks will be difficult. Will anyone care? Will she feel good at the prospect of dying? Will her fears of an empty home and empty heart continue to haunt her? Will she be wrong in longing for death? Will she see fit to pray for the will of God?
How many times have we prayed vigorously for God’s will to be done, when what we really want is for our needs to be taken care of? We aren’t praying for a Godly outcome, but a human want or petition. We are not letting God do what He does so well. Who do we think we are? We can’t dictate what God has in store for us. We have no idea what will happen tomorrow or a year from now. We can’t even predict hour to hour.
Our God is inconceivable in His mercy. He knows before we do what will happen to us in the next year. He is able to look ahead and see the future, because He’s already planned it out to the last detail. His power to know all, to cover us with his enduring love, to use our difficult obstacles to make us stronger is far greater than we can imagine. He is God. He is perfect. He knows the plans He has for us and they are to prosper us in every way.
We are faced with troubles every day. Isn’t it so much easier to rely on our most powerful God to manage our lives for us? When things become seemingly insurmountable, He will provide an answer for us. When it looks like the world will soon crumble and blow away like dust in the wind, He will be beside us. When we lose hope in our country, our elected officials, our own ability to voice our thoughts, He will strengthen us and give us hope.
My post today is intended for me, myself and I. I’ve been known to fly off the handle from time to time. I don’t do it often, but when I do, it’s time to put my own thinking to bed, be willing to listen, hold my tongue and trust that God has everything under control.
When the world is so filled with distress – with the noise of division and anger – with violence becoming the only way to be noticed, it becomes necessary for me to go to my prayer closet and reach out to the only One who can solve the dilemmas of this time and place. There is absolutely nothing that my insignificant voice can say or do that will make a bit of difference. It could stir things up even more. It could create tension among friends. It could make me look like a fool.
The things going on right now are out of my control. My faith in our system of government is waning. My trust in the media has bit the dust. My own feelings about growing old and dying begin to consume me. All of this is happening. not because I have lost faith in my Creator, but because of all the outside noise occurring every day. I still remain confident that God is in control.
I have a couple days to be alone. I have a view out my window that many would call lovely. The birds have sought sanctuary at our bird feeder and with the advent of a new kind of seed, the squirrels seem not to enjoy. They still gather below to vacuum any remnants of the existing seeds that fell before the feeder was refilled. The only sounds I hear are the distant trains rumbling across the tracks and the lack of heavy traffic on the interstate, because it’s opening weekend for deer hunting. The weather this week has been wonderful, with temperatures in the 70s. Birds chirp. I can hear he sound of the furnace as it kicks in when the thermostat requires. I can hear my breathing and if I try hard I can feel my heart beating. The stillness is a chance for me to focus on the blessings that fill my life, rather than dwelling on the negative influences surrounding me.
This has been an unusually crazy week. Last Friday I masked up and ventured out to buy some candy to pass out to any would be trick or treaters. I decided to choose something I like, because I knew I’d probably be eating the bulk of it. Still I was hopeful that there would be a few costumed children knocking on the door. Hopeful because this virus has made it nearly impossible to communicate with our friends, grandchildren, children. Just one little trick or treater would’ve made my day, but none came. So here I sit, adding to my girth by eating two bags of Kit Kat bars.
Though Halloween Eve lacked little beggars, we were treated to a full moon and lots of scary decorations on neighbor’s houses, for this is the Halloween Capital of the world that I live in. The night also allowed us an extra hour of sleep due to the daylight savings time change. With the hugely bright moon shining in the window, it wasn’t easy to get that extra hour.
As the week continued, that extra hour was quickly lost and simply created more confusion. I still don’t understand why we do this every year. Since we experienced temperatures in the 70s this week, it added to the strangeness. It didn’t feel like November. My husband had a senior moment as he sat outside listening to nature and watching new buds appear on the lilac bushes. He thought for a second it was March. Let me tell you, when you get older the days kind of run into each other anyway, but add to that a virus that’s held you captive for months, not having a regular schedule, getting your annual physical virtually, snow in October and spring in November, it’s bound to set your internal clock on fire.
By Tuesday, we were prepared for a long election process. We had voted early so didn’t have to go to the polls, but as we watched the votes come in from various states, we were no more in the know than the rest of the country. We still don’t know, but I am hopeful that who ever wins this election there will be a return to kindness instead of hatred – the violent protests will cease – that tempers will ease and people will move forward.
The bright spot in Tuesday was a short time with our almost 18 year old granddaughter. She came to retrieve our Christmas decorations from the attic. Instead of waiting until it was 20 below, we thought it would be a good idea to bring them in early. We then had lunch together and shared some conversation. Visits are shorter now, often online or by text, phone or e-mail. This simply adds to the sadness of these times.
Wednesday and Thursday were filled with Zoom meetings and constant checking in on the news channel. If it wasn’t the news it was Hallmark Christmas movies which have been running for a couple weeks now.
It’s Friday and the week isn’t over yet. The election hasn’t been called, but it looks like it will be soon. There could be more craziness in the next few days, but I pray that soon we’ll be back to normal. When I mentioned that to my granddaughter, she asked, “What is normal anymore?” She nailed it with that question, but we do have hope for tomorrow no matter what. The world goes on. God is still our King and our kingdom is not of this world. The plan has already been put in place and it will be for our good.
As I reach the end of my years, I find I have a lot of good information stored up in this old decrepit mind of mine. If I don't write it all down, it may vanish and no one will have the advantage of my thoughts. This is why this blog exists. I love the Lord, Jesus with all my heart and soul. I know I'm undeserving of all He's done for me, but I also know that His love is beyond my comprehension.
I've always wanted to write. I never kept diaries, but tucked my thoughts in my head for future reference. I use them now in creating stories, plays, poetry and my blog.
I continue to learn every day. I believe the compilation of our time spent with God will have huge affect on the way we live. I know I'm a sinner and I need a Savior. I have One through Jesus, Christ.
My book, "Stages - a memoir," is about the seven stages of life from the perspective of a woman. It addresses all the things girls and women go through in life as they travel it with Jesus, and it is available on Amazon.com.
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
God's amazing grace removes walls and replaces those barriers with Jesus, freedom from sin's consequences, freedom to forgive, and freedom to love unconditionally.
atimetoshare.me 
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