tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66323325783721465242024-02-07T09:11:35.168-08:00The View From My Kitchen WindowUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-62554294400886109502016-10-17T05:30:00.000-07:002016-10-17T05:30:20.776-07:00A Summer Memory<p>My grandparents purchased 40 acres of Oregon mountainside; it was my heaven.</p>
<p>Every summer, on Independence Day, we’d have a family reunion of sorts at "The Farm". My grandfather was one of four siblings, and they were rather a close bunch; add his father, “PopPop” to some, into the mix, and it was completely wonderful.
The family would start arriving early; the tables would be laden, the sights and smells tempting us; a bounty to make the hungriest amongst us anxious for the call to “dig in.” </p>
<p>Aunt Evelyn made fresh peach ice cream; to this day, peach ice cream, peach ice cream topping, or peach milk shakes make me 10 again and I am flitting about the farm with people I love.
Grandma made fried chicken, and my mother made her now ‘family famous’ potato salad. It really doesn’t get much better than that for me.</P>
<p>We played for hours, my “second cousins” and I; sometimes to the pond, sometimes to scour the forest. I thank God that we didn’t have ‘social media’, the Internet, or Cable TV in those days. The grownups would sit talking in the shade for hours as well. How I wish I had been old enough to sit and talk with them; how I miss them. They’re all gone now, those grownups of my grandfather’s generation; their memory and their love live on in my heart.</p>
<p>Sometimes, when we’re picnicking, I have little flashes of Independence Day at the Farm. What glorious flashes they are.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-40276131835243798602016-10-07T05:00:00.000-07:002016-10-07T05:00:10.166-07:00Detours<p>Sometimes life throws you a curve ball; a detour. Detours can be large or small; they can be inconvenient and unimpressive; some will be transformative.</p>
<p>Your life, while not perfect, is happy, and you have joy. Then, like hitting a brick wall in the dark, everything changes. What you thought was the Lord's plan for you suddenly vanishes, and a new paradigm begins; almost like an alternate universe.</p>
<p>As you change course, and learn to live with the new circumstances, you can experience gut wrenching pain. A pain that you didn't ever know was possible, and wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.</p>
<p>You pray. And then you pray some more. The detour will bring darkness if you’re not watchful; it can sink your faith if you give into despair.</p>
<p>But slowly, like a gentle rain, the Lord whispers answers to you; answers that speak to your soul, and begin to illuminate your new path.</p>
<p>As you listen, you draw closer to the Lord relying solely on Him. He carries you through the worst of the trial, and helps you as you begin to take cautious, halting steps toward your new life. It's really the same life, but you have new eyes; new thoughts; new perspective. As the Light grows brighter, your faith grows deeper; richer; stronger.</p>
<p>Your detour has remade you into something you wouldn't have been previously. The pain, while ever present is minimal; joy has returned to your heart and soul.</p>
<p>This detour is your Refiner’s Fire; filling you with hope and faith you are transformed into something closer to His image.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-13015641178408730822016-09-30T00:13:00.000-07:002016-09-30T00:13:17.179-07:00Good Night<p>Someone once told me that a sunset was Heavenly Father’s way of saying goodnight. I’ve always loved that thought, and through the years I’ve been a known serial sunset watcher. I will drop everything to witness for myself, the effulgence of a setting sun.</p>
<p>When conditions are right, as the sun slips through the atmosphere, the colors become radiant; my darling granddaughter tells me it’s prettier when there are clouds because they give the light something to bounce onto; somehow, she understands the concept of opposition.</p>
<p>As the sun slips toward the horizon, the clouds, if we’re lucky enough to have just a few, give us the sense that molten gold is being poured by an invisible challis. As that gold spreads across the vista, it transforms the sky in to a light show to rival any in existence.</p>
<p>The blues become more vibrant, giving us a turquoise so deep, and so seemingly tangible, you think, maybe, you could dive in and swim.</p>
<p>Then, the purples and violets, peaches and hints of gray come to the scene. The sky is awash in glory and splendor; if you listen closely, you can almost hear the Heavenly Hosts singing praises, and you can feel that God is in the Heavens and all is right with the world.</p>
<p>Look eastward; the colors, softer and less pushy invite you to watch as twilight sweeps over you, and envelopes you in darkness and peace.</p>
<p>I know there are scientific explanations for all of this; fancy words and detailed charts to tell me about air flow, humidity and dust particles, but it matters little; God is telling me goodnight, and reminding me that He loves me.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-60373812891435550612013-05-18T22:39:00.001-07:002013-05-19T02:50:23.696-07:00A Year of Miracles
<p>It’s Been A Long Year</p>
<p>As you know, tragedy struck like lightning in our family; swift and fatal.
Adversity has a way of either making or breaking you, and I had to make a choice.
I chose Joy. I say I chose it, because I've had enough spiritual experiences in the last few months, that if I had given in to despair and despondency, I would not only have been a fool, I would have been going against the very fabric of my soul.</p>
<p>There are times in your life when eternity shines with such vibrancy that it lights the corners of your heart and mind; when you know with perfect clarity that your Heavenly Father is real, that his Plan is perfect, and that he loves you and knows you with such love and intimacy that doubts flee and you seem to stand on a precipice; either you let go and trust perfectly, or you fall into the waiting abyss.</p>
<p>Choosing trust isn't as simple as it sounds, yet it is the simplest thing in the world.
The saying “Let go, and let God” describes it almost perfectly.</p>
<p>If we let go, and trust completely, miracles happen. Not necessarily big “parting the waters” kinds of miracles, but quiet, largely unnoticed miracles; private, intimate, personal miracles; miracles that chase away the shadows and leave you exultant and spent at the same time.</p>
<p>These kinds of miracles aren't for general consumption; they are for personal growth and continued reflection. Written on your soul, they become the map and the Polestar at the same time; guide posts to help you navigate treacherous times.</p>
<p>Be faithful; be prayerful; be watchful. You will see miracles.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-69405555154106683832012-06-03T23:30:00.002-07:002012-07-13T21:33:09.275-07:00Of Heaven and RainbowsIn January of 2010, after my brother died, I was blessed by the promise of the rainbow; I blogged about it here: <a href="http://theviewsfrommykichen.blogspot.com/2010/02/after-rain.html">After the Rain</a><br />
<br />
Four weeks ago, after a month of ups and downs regarding our oldest daughter’s health, we were told she had, maybe, two days to live.<br />
<br />
Once again, it was raining in Oregon; big blustery sheets of rain.<br />
I prayed for sunshine. I wanted to send Sarah home to her Father in Heaven on a sunny spring day; I wanted to remember her in the sunshine.<br />
<br />
Yet the rain continued.<br />
<br />
As we sat with her, listening to her labored breathing, bathing her face with a warm cloth, I kept silently praying for sunshine.<br />
It was not to be.<br />
<br />
As Sarah slipped from her earthly tabernacle, the damp and bluster continued.<br />
At one point, I was being hugged by another daughter, when I looked up and, ever so faintly, spied a rainbow. It wasn’t as grand and bright as the rainbow two years ago; just a faint, quiet reminder of the Lord’s promise.<br />
<br />
The Lord knew I didn’t need sunshine and blue skies to make me stronger; He knew I needed to be reminded that the rain would end; that strength comes, not from what we want, but from what we gain from what we get.<br />
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The Lord’s promises are sure; He will not leave us in the rain. He gives us miracles, I believe, on a daily basis; we just have to be watching for them.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-32518742300813490282012-02-06T23:21:00.000-08:002013-05-30T16:10:55.539-07:00Winter's SunsetThe cold, stiff breeze blows into my face, as the purples and grays of winter’s sunset fade quietly toward twilight; the colors, swirling and streaking as the molten gold slips below the horizon, make a heady imitation of the Aurora Borealis.<br />
The fresh cold air seems alive; generous in its capacity to chill; my jacket clearly not the right one for this outing.<br />
<br />
As I walk along, the full moon rises, casting night shadows that, as a child, scared me as I tramped along. The grass is frosty already, a harbinger of the heavy frost that will await my early morning sojourn, and sparkles faintly in the silvery light.<br />
I will pass out grain and a few ear scratches, locking the beasts in for the night; making all snug on the farm. <br />
<br />
Nighttime beauty is one of my favorite winter treats these days; frost glistening at the end of my flashlight and a swollen moon lighting the path I walk; the night shadows that terrified me as a child are but a distant memory; the peace and serenity of the cold night are hard to beat in comparison to this fast paced, loud, nonstop world we live in; it’s a time of quiet reflection and contemplation; a little sanity to end the day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-9967389422904064802012-01-17T19:20:00.000-08:002012-01-19T21:06:03.276-08:00Of a Winter's MorningThe frosty winter morning, bejeweled with the waning moon hanging tranquilly in the cobalt light of dayspring, began cold and white; I was up early and not exactly happily so.<br />
<br />
Then, the glow began; soft and warm, faintly tingeing the white expanse with gold and pink; rays, seemingly of molten gold, warming my heart if not the air and I began to revel in the beauty of the approaching day.<br />
<br />
Growing stronger, the light began to fill the cracks and crevices until the lingering shadows were dispelled from the snowy patchwork at my feet; morning had broken.<br />
<br />
Blues, pinks and purples infused with gold, were wrapping themselves across the sky, painting vivid streaks on the clouds; the snow taking on the reflected glory. The fog, rising from the lake and the myriad crooks and crannies of the surrounding hills, glowing pink in first light; craggy peaks rearing their snowy heads, as if reaching for the proffered rays. <br />
<br />
How many dawns like this have I missed, wrapped snug in my nocturnal harbor? How many bedazzling mornings have I forfeited, cozy but oblivious?<br />
<br />
No matter, I was here now, basking in the beauty of creation once again. Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden as I traversed the snowy landscape; how I know God loves me as he shares with me the beauty and glory of His creations.<br />
<br />
Every once in a while something so beautiful and unmatched crosses your path,and you know, along with Anne Shirley,that God is in His heaven and all is right with the world.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-80570647785330835492011-11-25T22:11:00.000-08:002011-11-26T13:31:21.895-08:00Homemade ChristmasI had a little chat with my dear friend Laura recently, and she said they were doing a “Homemade Christmas” this year. It got me thinking, but not too much. Then the Occupy Wall Street insanity started, culminating with my foray into the Black Friday shopping madness for a birthday gift.<br />
<br />
I think Laura planted a seed, OWS watered it and Black Friday fertilized it; but I finished reading a book called "Michael O'Halloran" by one of my favorite author's, Gene Stratton-Porter, recently and it brought to fruition the fruit from the tree of hominess.<br />
<br />
One of the characters, Junior, is a farm boy who wants to go to the city to find work; it’s about 1905-ish. In doing so, he gets his clock cleaned by the local thuggery; he’s a newcomer to the city, not at all streetwise, and it shows. <br />
He finally makes it home, repentant, but worried; will his father say "I told you so"? Instead, the father wisely understands it's partly his own fault. He has often taken his children into the city for entertainments, the city was "where it was at" so to speak, and so what could he expect but that his children would seek outside entertainment; would seek the city for fulfillment. <br />
<br />
It got me thinking about how I've raised my children and what I may still have time to correct. "The city", is Babylon, and I don't want them to seek riches there; I don’t want them to look “further than their own back yard”, as Dorothy says, in looking for something better. I want them to seek riches at home, in the depths of their hearts; the spark of love and affection that our Heavenly Father put there. <br />
There is enough creativity and love in our family, to be able to shun most of the worldly things and show the others how much we love them.<br />
<br />
We bought a digital projector several years ago, so that the kids would want to be entertained at home, instead of the theater, and for the most part it’s worked. We wanted them to want to be together, to enjoy each other’s company, and OUR company; to have their friends here instead of “there”. I can make caramel popcorn and we’ll play games or watch a movie with friends and/or family; truly making our home the center of our children’s lives.<br />
<br />
It’s my belief that this new Christmas tradition is the next step in this “home awakening” we’ve been trying to instill; it will be a little rocky in the beginning, I imagine; someone will not feel creative, or not enjoy crafting or what have you. However I can see no better way to cement the bonds of family than to make sacrifices for each other at the time when we celebrate the Sacrifice of our Heavenly Father, in the gift of his Son to us.<br />
<br />
I urge you to think about “Junior”, and his father; to work toward a Christmas that doesn’t require the very thing the Grinch Who Stole Christmas was irritated about in the first place. <br />
<br />
Merry Christmas!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-11848675619272577662011-10-29T12:48:00.000-07:002011-10-29T12:48:07.221-07:00The Breath of AutumnI worked in the steamy kitchen, alternating between sink and bubbling canning pots, feeling hot and somewhat agitated; outside it was a glorious autumn day and I was laboring inside. I needed air.<br />
<br />
I opened the window and the breath of autumn came in, lusty and clean. I was transported to “the Farm” once again; the only place of refuge and peace in my childhood.<br />
<br />
I’m in the forest; it’s been raining. The tiny breeze stirring the stillness; leaves, heavily laden are drip, drip, dripping around me and on me. I don’t care; the sound is at once calming and invigorating. The forest, or “woods” as we called them, is my solace. Nothing else matters; I am safely cocooned in my personal sacred grove. The world is my own.<br />
<br />
As I ramble, the air begins to take on a life of its own; fog begins to rise around me; the mist, light and fresh, highlights the rolling hills, bringing into definition the glories of God’s creations. As the fog lifts, so too my spirit; and, finding God in the treetops, I begin to feel His presence.<br />
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The smell of damp, decaying vegetation, combined with the earthy, leafy smell of freshly fallen leaves, make a heady scent that for me is as the sweetest rose. Rough bark streaked from the rain is giving off its own woodsy fragrance. The richest lavender fields of France could not be sweeter than my woods.<br />
<br />
I wander for hours, never needing the companionship of anyone else, perfectly happy to gad about across the duff. My mind and my heart are free; no place that I need to go; only the need TO go. <br />
A small stream provides me a refreshing drink if needed, and fallen logs ample resting places; yet finding peace of spirit is all I really need.<br />
<br />
Wandering as I do, the sounds and scents of nature fill my soul to bursting; there is nothing on earth that matters, no trouble too large to overcome; peace prevails once again.<br />
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I’m cooled off now, and back at my task; I thank God for memories that let me relive the comfort and peace that was so badly needed then; I thank Him too, for the Breath of Autumn that whisked me back there, if only temporarily.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-10437151012127510442011-04-10T13:10:00.000-07:002013-05-30T16:25:13.525-07:00Spring's Merry AssemblageThe rain falls hard on the windshield; great drops splashing and splattering various patterns on the glass, before the wipers sweep it away and the rain dance begins again.<br />
<br />
As I gaze heavenward, the black, roiling clouds seem to menace and torment the travelers hurrying, in their private cocoons, down the highway.<br />
A more terrestrial view shows the evidence of the rains bounty; green shoots are evident in fields and pastures along my route; mud and great puddles join the merry assemblage of Spring’s gifts.<br />
<br />
The clouds part, and shafts of golden light begin streaking earthward in dazzling glory, highlighting the tree branches and flower buds; plump and ripe, full and eager to begin life.<br />
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Spring is here; new life begins again. The pleasures of summer sun await while the fury and the majesty of Spring’s renewal creates in us a Spring Fever, that is as filled with anticipation as the next cloud is filled with rain.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-21668797755092280952011-03-09T05:00:00.000-08:002011-03-09T05:00:03.016-08:00Spring is AfootI saw the first Robin the other day, and even though I see them throughout the winter here, my mind, of its own accord, wandered into spring.<br />
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It’s still cold here in my corner of Oregon; the daytime temperature reaching 50 degrees on a good day, but spring is afoot.<br />
Blossoms, grown fat and ripe in these milder days of winter’s last hurrah, are eager to burst.<br />
The bees are beginning to make furtive excursions into the wide world, between advancing rain showers.<br />
Broody hens are snuggling their first clutches of the season; little peeps can be heard through the feathers of an ever vigilant mama or two. Lambs with their tiny bleats are seen gamboling through the pasture, their leaps and bounds, a testimony to joy.<br />
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The days, too, are changing, growing longer; the light strengthening, as the sun slowly creeps back to its summery path.<br />
I wonder at the new blades of grass, the new leaf growth on the rose bushes. How do they know?<br />
How does the earth know to wake up and bring the promise of new life to fruition?<br />
Some would call it evolution. I would call it Divine.<br />
<br />
Within us, each and every one of us, are the workings of intricate patterns and designs; gifts of the Master Planner.<br />
Each seed, each blade of grass and swelling bud are exclamations of divinity, beckoning us to examine ourselves and our world just a little closer; patiently waiting for us to recognize our own eternal progression.<br />
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There are no accidents as some might suggest; we are where we are for His purposes. We cherish spring; as a new awakening of our divine destiny, a herald of miracles yet unborn.<br />
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Yes, spring is afoot; soon, it will be time to plant and tend the garden, sheer the sheep and putter in the chicken coop; until then, I’ll enjoy my hot cocoa and my book a few days longer; pondering eternity as I do.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-42282704801053039982011-02-01T05:00:00.000-08:002014-11-14T09:39:12.878-08:00Mid WinterIt’s mid-winter; a time when the thin, watery light from the sun casts wane shadows across the landscape.<br />
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The days are getting longer, one silvery sunbeam at a time. The cold drives all but the hardiest indoors; we cocoon ourselves with a crackling fire, sipping cocoa; dreaming of gardens to come, picnics to share, or celestial magic overhead.<br />
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As the earth sleeps, clothed in her winter finery, we too take respite from the physical; the toil and labor of spring and summer at once a distant memory and a pleasant anticipation.<br />
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Winter in snow country is unmatched in beauty; icy jewels glittering and glistening; the fields and meadows, trees and rocks cloaked and resplendent; even telephone poles and power lines take on an air of softness and mystery.<br />
Wander through familiar haunts and the scenery becomes new, ripe for discovery; restoring a childlike wonder we thought we had outgrown.<br />
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In non snow country where I live, we sometimes get bogged down with the sameness of winter; nothing growing, nothing snowy; nothing changing. <br />
<br />
Yet the sky and clouds change often and wintery clouds, are dark and heavy with moisture; a symphony of grays, occasionally bordering on black; scudding along, they seem to be hurrying, like Alice's White Rabbit, to warmer climes; often bringing fog to kiss the earth with its own kind of alchemy. Skeletal tree silhouettes and birds dashing here and there join the celestial brume to bring that winter enchantment to our lives; geese flying overhead remind us that spring is on its way.<br />
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Spring, God’s gift of hope and renewal is right around the corner, but take time to enjoy the beauty and magic of winter; it’s all too fleeting.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-63397936538978219882011-01-22T23:50:00.000-08:002011-01-22T23:53:30.073-08:00A String of Ordinary DaysI’ve been pondering life lately, likely caused by a looming, landmark birthday.<br />
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I have come to understand that my life is a strand of gold, fine and precious and filled with dozens and dozens of ordinary days; I do the shopping, I do the cooking, I wash the clothes-although I do not iron; I’m a mom; I’m a grandma; I’m a wife and daughter. I’m a Sunday school teacher, a gardener, a would-be farmer. Nothing one would consider special yet these things, while ordinary in their ordinariness, are anything <b><u>but</b></u> ordinary.<br />
Like the oyster with an ordinary piece of sand, we take the ordinary days and create beauty and joy. <br />
<br />
A day at the beach with sand in our hair and between our toes becomes a glowing pearl in our string of days; a kite flown at the park, an ice cream cone on the patio; the whispers of a child playing hide and seek in closets and cupboards; all of these ordinary events create more pearls and lengthen our string; polishing them as we go.<br />
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Heartache and sadness take away some of the glow, but can only break the string if we let it; some laughter and giggles, love and tenderness, and the glow becomes vibrant once again.<br />
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After my brother died, I hungered for ordinary days; I longed for the averageness of life to resume. It has. As the first anniversary of his death is marked this week, I realized that the string never really broke at all, but has been fortified with faith, and we go on; not letting the complacency take root again is a daily routine, not taking anything for granted again is a continual process, but we try.<br />
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I have tried to treasure every grain of sand in my growing string of pearls, and endeavored to make extraordinary my string of ordinary days. <br />
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I'm taking it one Ordinary Day at a time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-70407055148635249392011-01-07T00:45:00.000-08:002011-01-07T11:06:10.860-08:00Old Friends<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrStKdhVgRG7hVmliEzadJLzXxYaz8j4g7GlFWKNGgXBh38rLIM5N67PqVeu5J4cJzzjVER6atGLfj2Rexn_lC-8tLdZQwmDRpKytf_OszMwVbJOYUTHqNcFp7ZgU66C4v-6mh2Q2RSt1U/s1600/IMG_3943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrStKdhVgRG7hVmliEzadJLzXxYaz8j4g7GlFWKNGgXBh38rLIM5N67PqVeu5J4cJzzjVER6atGLfj2Rexn_lC-8tLdZQwmDRpKytf_OszMwVbJOYUTHqNcFp7ZgU66C4v-6mh2Q2RSt1U/s320/IMG_3943.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
I had intended to post about winter, but that will have to wait; we lost a dear friend on New Year’s Day and I have to tell you about him.<br />
His name was Meshach, and he was 13 ½ years old.<br />
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Meshach came to us as a mewling, at around sixish weeks old; our youngest son, Ethan, was just one year.<br />
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His mother was a pure bred Siamese; his father some old neighborhood Tom who happened to court his mother one winter’s night.<br />
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My husband’s sister was the owner of the Siamese, and we were offered to “go see" the kittens; what fun! I love babies of all types; “let’s go” I said!<br />
I think there were 8 kittens; I’m not sure. We sat down and let them crawl all over us. They lost interest rather quickly; all except one. He lay down next to my husband and cuddled up close; he’d made his choice.<br />
We had no other choice, we took the tiny thing home; he survived the 6 hour car ride from Utah to Colorado nicely, getting lost amid the bodies and baggage to emerge happily with his new family.<br />
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Meshach and Ethan became fast friends; Ethan would stuff the cat in a cooler or in a suitcase; I would ask “where is Meshach?” “We’re playing” my toddler would exclaim. “You have to let him out!” “We’re playing!” After a couple of go rounds, the container would be opened and dear Meshach, sleeping on the bottom, would look up at us as if to say “Are we done already?”<br />
Ethan would pull the cat across the room by his tail; “STOP!” I would holler, and he would; the cat would just sit there, waiting for the next round of “Pull the cat by the tail”; nothing, literally NOTHING, would faze him.<br />
Meshach would tend all of the other animals--we are a multi-animal family here; washing the babies, holding them down for their baths; mothering everyone. Strange for a male cat I was told; not so, he learned from another male cat, but that’s another story.<br />
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He was quite the mouser in his glory days as well, catching eight-EIGHT mice in one day (OK, so we lived in a drafty but glorious old farmhouse; there were mice). One never feared; Meshach was on the job.<br />
Meshach got old; he lost his inside manners, and had to become an outside cat. He did well for a while, sneaking in for a snuggle every now and again; the people he owned looking the other way.<br />
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In the last year, we could tell he was failing, but he couldn’t be trusted inside, so he was alone in his final moments; something I will always regret.<br />
We lost a beloved dog about three years ago, his name was Bear; Bear and Meshach were best friends. My daughter asked if I thought Bear and Meshach were together again.<br />
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I told her I absolutely believed they were!<br />
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Farewell beloved friend.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-7598057296034954082010-12-31T14:12:00.000-08:002010-12-31T14:12:47.048-08:00Beginning of HopeToday is New Year's Eve. The very name implies excitement and merriment, yet as I've expressed <a href=http://theviewsfrommykichen.blogspot.com/2009/12/its-always-darkest-before-dawn.html#comments”>before</a>, it is, to me, the darkest day of the year.<br />
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The light from the current year is nearly extinguished; the spark of new light on the horizon.<br />
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The New Year dawns full of hope; fresh and clean. We have the chance to wipe the slate of procrastination and slothfulness clean; make amends and put our best foot forward…again. <br />
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We’ll make resolutions and goals, and we’ll try hard to make them stick. The light from the dawning year will shine brightly, like freshly polished silver.<br />
<br />
What a gift! What blessing!<br />
<br />
Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we can be forgiven and have our earthly slate wiped clean; the New Year is a yearly reminder of this gift; a yearly chance to make ourselves better than we are today; a step closer to accepting the gift of the Atonement, and letting it work in our lives.<br />
As we work on these resolutions and goals, let us be reminded of the Ultimate Sacrifice on our behalf, and strive to draw closer to our Heavenly Father and to our Savior Jesus Christ; let that be one of our resolutions; one of our goals.<br />
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Let every day dawn bright; let every morning be the New Year; polish your silver daily and never forget that the Lord wants us to succeed; wants us to draw near unto Him. Let the light in you be a reflection of His light.<br />
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May your New Year be bright.<br />
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With Love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-47542195899629943822010-12-23T00:41:00.000-08:002010-12-30T12:54:45.945-08:00Angel's Among UsIt's Christmas and that means shopping. It means a whole lot more, and I know that, but it also means shopping, and I hate to shop; unless of course we're going to the thrift stores!<br />
I went out the other day, alone; this is something that rarely happens and was quite a treat. <br />
I went with my daughter and her husband to take Mr. Bug to see Santa; then I was off and running.<br />
My first stop was the big Barnes and Noble nearby, and as much as I love bookstores, I was actually dreading this trip, because, well, it's Christmas time. I hate crowds. But, I love my children, and we have a special thing we do with gifts; they get four: 1.) Something you want, 2.) Something you need, 3.) Something to wear, and 4.) Something to read. So you see, I had to go to the book store; so in I went.<br />
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As I was walking to the store, I inhaled something that tickled my nose and made me start to cough a little, and made my nose run to the point of me making rude snuffling noises in the store; the crowded store.<br />
I'm browsing in a section I needed a book from, when a little old lady in a wheel chair rolled up behind me. I paid little mind as I needed to choose between two selections and I was concentrating on finding out which was best. In a minute or two, my aisle mate commented that I must have a cold; no I told her, I think it's a..."an allergy" says she. Why yes I say, I think it must be. She comments on the fact that kids in school bring home lots of things, I counter with the fact that we're homeschooling so that doesn't happen much; I mention we have seven children and before you know it, she's invoking prayers on my head for what I'm doing for my children. "Do you watch Glenn Beck" she whispers (it is after all "the People's Republic of Eugene"); I do I say, and off we go again, and more prayers upon my head, this time, not only for what I'm doing for my children, but also for my country; she'd worked in the schools, and they were not teaching the Constitution or matters of our Republic. I say they are in theater, more blessings. <br />
(Now when I say prayers, know that she said "God bless you for..." numerous times; I happen to take this very seriously, and thanked her for asking God to bless me.)<br />
We talked for a few minutes, back and forth, and I felt like I'd known her for ages.<br />
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For me, that day, she was an angel. I needed to feel the Spirit of Christmas, and because of her I did.<br />
I went about the rest of my day with a lightness that made me almost giggly (which, you may want to know, that if you start giggling in public, when you are alone, people will stare; just sayin').<br />
A stranger, called upon the God of heaven to bless me. Because of my political stance which you may read about on my other blog: <a href="http://mybookofcommondays.blogspot.com/">My Book Of Common Days</a>, I have people who know me personally who wouldn't ask a blessing on me, yet a stranger finds my efforts praiseworthy. I just can't get over it.<br />
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Scrooge's long dead partner Jacob Marley told Scrooge :"Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business."<br />
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Would we not be better off if we took Jacob Marley's words to heart; followed our Savior more obediently; emulated him more closely?<br />
This chance encounter with an angel who lifted my spirits and encouraged me in numerous ways should be the norm. WE should BE those angels!<br />
Since "Charity is the pure love of Christ", are we loving those around us? Are we yet who Christ would have us be? "Even as ye have done it unto the least of these thy brethren, ye have done it unto me."<br />
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Go and bless someone; as a recipient, I know it feels darn good.<br />
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Merry Christmas!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-11414640101137616722010-12-03T02:21:00.000-08:002010-12-31T00:34:21.147-08:00SnowWe had our first snowfall the other day, and here in my section of the Beaver State that may just be all we get; a skiff; a smattering; a modicum; a spattering; a sprinkling. I think you get the idea.<br />
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And you know what? I'm perfectly happy with that!<br />
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It's not that I hate snow, on the contrary; it's just that snow is cold and wet and slippery and slushy and messy and...well, you get the idea.<br />
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I've lived in the high desert of Colorado where the snow can fall as late as mid June; where the mountain roads have to be cut out in early summer so they can be used; where the ground doesn't thaw from September to June, maybe even July.<br />
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I've lived beside the Wasatch Mountains where at 5000ft you can get 10 inches of snow in an afternoon.<br />
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I've lived beside Lake Erie where the lake effect can dump over a foot of snow during the night, closing roads and schools and making for some incredible snowman snow.<br />
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No, I actually love snow; from indoors. <br />
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There is nothing on earth cozier than a snow day, in front of a crackling fire with a good book and a mug of hot chocolate steaming away the drafts.<br />
As I look out the window and see the freshly fallen snow, no footprints, no mud showing through, no scars on the landscape; I am at peace. There is a calm that descends on the world that cannot be described; earth is resplendent in her winter finery.<br />
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Then the children bundle up and away they go; trudging through the drifts, making trails and hiding spots; laughing and playing; the air sparkling and crackling with their excitement.<br />
Red noses and frozen fingers and toes mark the day; in and out; warm and cold.<br />
Then, finally, they are spent; the excitement having burned itself into a slow simmer.<br />
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I look out again, and the fresh virgin snow is gone; all I see are scars, deep and vivid in the late afternoon light; footprints, piles, trails, grassy bald spots; all part of the scene; all part of the lingering chaos.<br />
However, my mother's heart steps in and tears sting my eyes; this scene is a scene of joy, happiness, and unbridled excitement. <br />
Happy children making joyful noise created this chaos and I look with new eyes; a masterpiece before my eyes and my little Vermeer's snuggled all around me now; blankets, books and hot cocoa at the ready.<br />
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Yes, I love snow; from indoors.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-48853642188049321222010-09-21T23:18:00.000-07:002010-10-02T15:19:53.477-07:00The Last Day of SummerToday is the last day of summer; the last hope for warm, lazy summer afternoons for the next few months.<br />
For now, the nights will get longer; we'll cocoon ourselves with sweaters and wool socks; we'll feed ourselves comfort foods that invoke days gone by, and dearly departed loved ones.<br />
Cooler weather will fill our senses as the days meander onward, into the heart of winter.<br />
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As I traverse the days of my autumn existence I take pleasure in the cooler days and the dense morning fog; the hope of Indian summer ever present in my heart and mind.<br />
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We’ll put the garden to bed, the tools snug in their places; we’ll fill the woodshed, the spicy scents of pine and cedar pungent and sweet; the harvest is in, or nearly so; the larder filling up with gleaming jars.<br />
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The changing of the leaves, like the changing of the guard, creates a striking show; my mind wanders back to other autumns long forgotten, but ever present; a green forest rich with autumn beauty in what seemed a treat just for me. Wood smoke hanging low in the air as I scramble over the spongy ground, the sights and smells of autumn a riotous carnival of color and beauty; the trees dancing in the breeze would sing to me of the dying and rebirth cycle about to begin again; at once, ancient and new.<br />
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Scarlet and gold, bronze, crimson and green, vying for my attention and my heart; for this, autumn is my favorite season. Winter has Christmas and the New Year; summer has its pools and parties; spring has new growth and secret gardens. But autumn, autumn shouts its glory for all to witness; the last hurrah before the long winter’s nap. <br />
Combine this with the smell of dry leaves and wet pavement, or wood smoke and spicy cider, or all of the above; I enjoy the season as it awakens every cell within me to the beauty of God’s majesty, and treats my senses to the abundance of His love.<br />
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Who can count the joys of autumn?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-15680117249302964172010-08-20T16:36:00.000-07:002010-10-02T15:19:35.088-07:00The Slow LaneI had to go and buy a baby gift for a baby shower; I also had offered to go to the "Duck" store (Oregon Duck's for those of you who don't know), because the "theme" of the shower is "Oregon Duck's" and my friend needed some "stuff" for the top of the cake. To accomplish these goals, I had to go to...the mall.<br />
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Those of you who know me well, know that I abhor the mall; too many people, too many noises, too much consumerism.<br />
So I did what I had to do, made a couple of other stops and headed home.<br />
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I hadn't realized until I was "leaving town" that I had been anxious and agitated; it wasn't something I'd noticed or even felt; until I was leaving the city behind.<br />
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I turned on to the country lane that headed out of town, and my tension literally lifted; I felt softer somehow; lighter.<br />
As I traveled on, the flicker of sunlight through the trees seemed to be beating the tension out of my mind and out of my heart, one filtering branch at a time.<br />
Each winding curve pulling me further and further away from the organized chaos; lulling me back into myself, where I could think and breathe once again; the whir of the tires on the blacktop coaxing me back from my self-induced coma.<br />
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Crossing the river, the water seemed to carry my troubles oceanward; swiftly and steadily soothing my visual senses, harassed by the concrete jungle.<br />
I turned onto our gravel road, safely home again, healed from the hustle and bustle of city madness; I reminisced about another gravel road, and a dear friend I had to leave behind in one of the many places I've been privileged to live in. <br />
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My friend would tease me, because of my love for dirt roads; not the "off road" kind of dirt road, but the "way out in the toolies" kind of dirt road; you know, with battered and weather beaten mailboxes and quail skittering ahead.<br />
"Dirt roads are dusty" she'd say, and I knew that well enough; but dirt roads also mean solitude, serenity and a removal from civilization; peaceful places are usually at the end of a dirt road.<br />
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It's a slow life, living on a dirt road; a life measured by the season's, not the sales; by the rising and setting of the sun, not the alarm clock; by the heart, and the heart alone; a life I treasure one day at a time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-64617353938661740762010-07-15T00:48:00.000-07:002011-01-30T17:44:40.573-08:00A Drive Down Memory LaneI took a drive down memory lane this week, and I've got mixed emotions.<br />
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When my parents divorced, my one brother and I went to live with our grandparents on a beautiful Oregon mountainside, surrounded by 40 acres of forest. A live creek year round flowed into a pond that Grandpa built with the "Cat"; trees and more trees, and a cabin that I was madly in love with, filled with mystery and memories.<br />
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I had to take one of my daughter's up to that area on Monday for a church camp called EFY (Especially for Youth); the exit was just two more up the highway, and Mountaindale was two miles beyond that. That was all I was after, just to go to the little country store and show the kids the charm; it was after all, about a 10 minute drive.<br />
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As I pulled around the corner, the country store was closed; the promise of "video’s" empty and void. The charming boardwalk bleached gray by the sun and the rain looked sad and lonely; windows boarded up. Where are the little feet that used to hurry for an ice cream or a soda pop? Where are the farmers and cowboys who used to come for the newspaper and conversation? What happened to this happy country place?<br />
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So, on I went; driven by the need to see what else had changed I suppose; daring myself to go another mile, to see another landmark of my childhood. <br />
Curve after curve, house after house, I was comforted that they're all there; they all still exist in one form or another; another generation living and working alongside the Dairy Creek, it's hum and thrum giving life to the places, big and small along its banks.<br />
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Forward I went, leaving the main road; compelled to drive up into the mountain, into the belly of the beast; fearful yet hopeful. Homes have been added, but the essentials were still there; one family still lives there as the road marker clearly indicated.<br />
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Finally, at our driveway I could go no further. The knowledge that much had changed stopped me; gone is my beloved cabin, supposedly crushed by a falling tree years ago; gone are grandma and grandpa; gone is my little brother; gone are so many things I held and hold dear. Gone are the forests of the neighboring property, but "our" trees, “<u>my</u>” trees still stand; the forests I trod in daily, finding myself in those woods; alone, just me and my trusty dog.<br />
I came to love solitude in those woods, spending hours just walking; drinking from the creek, sure I saw a bear hibernating; making stories and fables in my head.<br />
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It’s all gone, and the pain of that is as fresh as it was 30 years ago when grandma sold it after grandpa died. I wanted to live there forever; to hide myself and my pains away and breathe deeply the mountain air; always.<br />
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It was not to be.<br />
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But my life is a Testimony that the Lord loves us, and knows us by name; knows our needs and our wants, and gives us what’s best for us.<br />
I know beyond doubt that where I am, is where He wants me to be; all the memories are still mine, I can reclaim them at will.<br />
So really, I have the best of both worlds.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-83750975212304218312010-06-24T16:26:00.000-07:002010-10-02T15:19:03.147-07:00Seven Stories UpToday my window looks out on 14th and Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C.; the height and the double pane windows do not entirely obliterate the cacophony from below. However dampened, the discordant sound seeps in to my soul, causing unrest.<br />
How I long for home; my little gravel road, my expansive backyard, my sheep baaaing at me from their corner of pasture, the rooster announcing his prowess, the stars in their proper and visible place in the firmament; all these I crave while here in this bustling, vibrant city.<br />
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The sounds, the smells, the energy of the city-any city really, are not for me. I've lived in large cities-Toledo Ohio, 309,000; I've lived in small towns-Hotchkiss,Colorado, 1000. I prefer the small town; there is a heartbeat that can be heard as well as felt.<br />
The pace is slower, life seems to be really lived and not hurried through; time has less importance, and is measured in days not hours.<br />
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I love going on vacation, seeing something new, learning something I hadn't known, but going home to the pace I live by is beyond satisfying.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-5720553224517303592010-06-08T01:38:00.000-07:002010-10-02T15:18:46.314-07:00The Last TimeThere are moments in our lives that are defining; perfect snapshots, in an imperfect world; moments that you will not recognize until later, possibly much later as “The Last Time.”<br />
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The last time you sing that certain bedtime song; the one you’ve sung for nearly 20 years. The last time you speak to someone in this life; the last time you laugh with him; the last time a frail hand reaches out to stroke your cheek while its owner expresses love for you.<br />
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When you pull up to the door of the kindergarten class with your last child in tow, you pretty much understand this is the end of that road, that chapter, but what about the rest of the ends?<br />
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Where will you be? What will you be doing, and who will you be with?<br />
These aren’t ordinarily mind boggling questions, or something to lose sleep over; however, there are moments that you consider the question and just as quickly put it out of your mind, lest someone accuse you of worrying over nothing.<br />
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I’m here to remind you that today may be one of those moments; one of those chapter endings. Don’t waste it; don’t be inattentive. Tune your spirit into the whisperings of the Holy Ghost; listen for that still small voice that urges you to make that hug just a little tighter, that gaze last a little longer; time spent just a little more meaningful.<br />
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Guard your moments, enjoy every one of them. Tell those around you that you love them, and mean it.<br />
And if by the grace of God, today wasn’t that Last Time, take time to thank your Heavenly Father, the One who lends us breath.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-18141540804234675012010-05-31T00:58:00.000-07:002010-10-02T15:18:29.328-07:00A New DayThe rain in my heart has slowed to a drip, a drip that will likely always remain; a new day, a new chapter of my life is moving forward; a New Reality as my dad says.<br />
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I was pondering things the other day, as I am wont to do, and I realized how very much I love words.<br />
We’d gone to see “Alice in Wonderland” with Johnny Depp, and while I think I was disappointed in the movie overall, I was delighted at the language that was used by Carroll, and that they had carried much of it over to the movie.<br />
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As the gallimaufry of characters were gamboling and galumphing their way across and through Wonderland, I realized that I loved words; I love words that sparkle with wit and intelligence; that while some may excoriate me for using big, fun, vivid words, I didn’t care! I was free to use whatever tongue tickler made me happy, and I was not about to be affected by superfluous or supercilious polemics to the contrary.<br />
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Why is it that we sometimes become pendulous when someone uses a word we don’t know? Why do we let big words exacerbate our confusion, instead of letting them enlighten our comprehension?<br />
Because sometimes, these big, bold words are so much jabberwocky to our ears and brains, that’s why.<br />
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Can we banish this insipidness and move to a more developed palate? Can we exuviate the common, and adopt the extraordinary?<br />
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This is all very silly I know, but the question is very real; can we bring ourselves to elevate our vocabulary by 2 degrees? 10? 25?<br />
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Language is so beautiful, and so descriptive, we’ve let some fabulous words languish for ease, speed, and downright laziness.<br />
It need not be so! Go buy a wonderful dictionary, the 1828 Webster’s is my recommendation, and buy a good thesaurus-no good recommendations, I’m still searching.<br />
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Dust off those archaic and arcane words and tickle your tongue; it’s well worth it!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-17728878035765579932010-02-12T17:12:00.000-08:002012-01-29T20:33:58.846-08:00After the RainIf you read my other blog <a href="http://mybookofcommondays.blogspot.com/">My Book of Common Days</a> you know of the heartache and anguish my family has experienced recently from this post <a href="http://mybookofcommondays.blogspot.com/2010/01/lifes-speed-bumps.html">Life's Speed Bumps</a>. It has caused quite a bit of reflection; I hope my thoughts can be helpful to someone out there.<br />
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It's been pouring all morning, matching the rain that's falling in my heart. I looked up a moment ago, and saw a beautiful rainbow; I know without a doubt, as the Spirit whispered to me, that this is a promise for me as well; the rain will end.<br />
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The Lord doesn't promise me sunny skies and smooth sailing; on the contrary. I know that there must be opposition in all things. I have been buffeted by high winds and rolling waves, yet my faith has been my anchor.<br />
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I can't say I'm happy yet; I can't say when the rain will stop. I can however, say that I know that my Heavenly Father loves me and that through all of this, I have felt His hands lift me, enabling me to be stronger than I thought I could be.<br />
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Each of us has the power to choose; to choose to be lifted up or to choose to wallow in grief. I even think we are allowed to wallow just a bit; just don't wallow too long, you might miss the rainbows.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632332578372146524.post-49293396399838200072009-12-31T16:32:00.000-08:002010-10-02T15:17:39.317-07:00It's Always Darkest Before the DawnToday is New Year’s Eve. For ME, this is always the darkest day of the year. I realize it isn’t actually THE darkest day of the year; the Winter Solstice is that in actuality.<br />
However, in a spiritual sort of way, New Year’s Eve is that day for me. It’s an ending; it’s a time to put to rest the troubles of the past, and make a fresh start. The saying “It’s always darkest before the dawn” becomes applicable. Tomorrow, New Year’s Day, is a dawn of beginnings and day of fresh starts.<br />
I can’t promise that our fresh starts will “take” so to speak, but we have the physical reminder that we can have redemption and renewal if we strive for it.<br />
In reality, every day of the year can be a fresh start, a moment in time for trying harder and choosing to live a more Christlike life. Sadly, many of us can’t seem to pull it together until the New Year rolls around and we are faced with the season of goals and promises and that’s why, today is the darkest day. <br />
The day I vow once again to get on the treadmill, to eat better, and be more diligent in my spiritual endeavors; tomorrow is the dawn of the new me—again.<br />
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Tonight, on this darkest of nights, we’ll gather with friends, play games, watch movies and eat junky treats; we’ll laugh and we’ll love, having those who are special to us gather round.<br />
Tomorrow and every day, we’ll recommit ourselves to become who our Father in Heaven knows we are.<br />
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If I may paraphrase the sentiments from that Jolly Old Elf for a moment: “Happy New Year to all, and to all a Good Night!”<br />
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Have fun, and be safe.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1