Category: Friendship

He cried.

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He didn’t cry when he enlisted, because he was both proud and scared. But his mother did.

He didn’t cry when he was at boot camp, worn out, and so tired he could lie down and sleep in the mud. But his buddy did.

He didn’t cry when he was sent to the war zone, he was scared and worried, but proud to serve. But his girlfriend did.

He didn’t cry when he was so miserable with the heat that he thought every last bit of liquid was sucked out of his body. But he wanted to.

He didn’t cry when he had to spend days outside the wire, sleeping in the sand, and living off MRE meals. But he did get mad and cuss a lot.

He didn’t cry when the EID blew up in front of him, he was too busy trying to save the lives of the men and women in his unit.

He cried, when he saw the rifles and boots lined up, helmets on top, representing those who didn’t make it. Then he cried, because those were heroes, brothers and sisters in arms, men and women who laid down their lives for him, and all Americans, in a miserable desert far from home. But, not for long. He had to get back to the job he was trained to do.

He cried, when the airplane carrying him home lifted off from that evil land, and he cried again when he saw his family waiting for him when he got stateside. He cried to see the girl he wanted to marry. He cried when he walked into his home after nearly two years away.

He cried when he didn’t stop having the dreams about wounded and mutilated bodies of his friends and companions.

He cried when everyone told him to just forget and get on with living.

He cried, then he pulled the trigger that ended his life.

Maybe . . .

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Friendship is important to me. I have friends from all over the world, people I have actually met, not just people on line. I miss them, and I appreciate them, even if I don’t often say so. For the most part, my friends are wonderful, and I am so happy I have them in my life, albeit, distantly.

Every now and then, however, I make a mistake and end up with one of those friends who sucks the life right out of me. They are always needy, always wanting, always talking, and always have to be the center of attention in the relationship. They make me tired, and I know if I needed help, they would never offer. However, if they need help, and I am not quick enough to help, they will use everything from guilt to anger to get even with me. I have learned, the hard way, over the years that it is better not to have friends than have someone eating into my life like that.

I realized the other day that I hadn’t spoken to another adult outside my husband, Crystal, or Drew in weeks. (Making a doctor’s appointment doesn’t count.) Since moving to Mississippi, I have really gone out of my way to not to get to know people – women especially. I should be lonely, but I’m not. I should be feeling left out, but I don’t. I should feel isolated, but it hasn’t happened. And that makes me wonder why.

Maybe it is my age, I am comfortable with me, as I am, as long as I have access to books, computers, music, and my family. I keep up with my friends via social media, and letters, so I don’t feel lonely.

Maybe it is because I am too tired to make an effort to get to know people. When I think about it, I just can’t be bothered to go through all that social yada yada and make nice to strangers. I guess I want that feeling of instant recognition I had with those who are my dearest friends.

Maybe it is because people annoy me most of the time, and I am turning into the crabby cat lady that seems to live in every neighborhood. Because, I honestly think my pets need me more than most humans over the age of 16 need me.

Maybe it is because I don’t want to be friends with people who bore me, or worse, who are shallow and unsubstantial in their beliefs, actions, and thoughts. Heaven save me from women who shop, lunch, shop, do spa days, shop . . . I would go stark raving mad after one day with someone like that.

Maybe it is because I have the neighbors from hell with whom I have issues concerning their bullying behavior toward everyone else. The two of them are chummy as all get out, and try to force their idea of how things should be on everyone else.

Maybe it is because I just don’t quite trust the syrupy souther belle types, who bless my heart to my face, and treat me as gossip fodder when I am not there. Well, actually, they gossip about everyone who isn’t with them at the moment.

Or maybe, I just don’t care one way or the other. I think I should care, after all, humans tend to have that latent gene that makes them want to be part of a group. But I don’t care, and maybe that makes me a bit odd. Really, I would much rather read a book, be on line, researching, writing something, or spending time with my family that talking on the phone, chatting with people, or doing anything social. I guess I am turning in to the local crabby cat lady after all.

At A Little Stone Church

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At the little stone church on a dusty country road, cars and trucks park in a row in the evening sun. The people stream into the building, dropping off homemade snacks while the aroma of coffee begins to fill room.

It is obvious that the people are long time friends as they greet one another. Slowly the stage fills with amplifiers, guitars, fiddles, mandolins, and a smiling man settles himself to play the piano. The men pick up their instruments, the audience quietly chatters, and with a downbeat the band begins to play.

This isn’t your ordinary band. The youngest member is in his early twenties, but the oldest is nearing eighty. The music is pure country and gospel – American style. They have hundreds of years of combined talent and ability between them, and it shows. There is no set pattern to the songs they play. In turn the singers, young and old alike, stand to sing songs that have been part of American music for generations. Sad songs, gospel songs filled with hope, and songs that create memories of days gone past. The band catches the downbeat and simply needs to know what key the singer wants to sing. Then they bring the music alive.

White heads nod in time to the music, worn hands clap out the beat, and faces smile in recognition of the talent of the musicians and singers. The younger faces in the crowded room smile and listen intently to the words of each song, knowing they were learning at the feet of masters.

As I sit and listen, I am transported back to the days of my childhood when I would listen to these same songs on the radio. Suddenly, my eyes fill with tears of nostalgia and the yearning for days that are long past.

I can’t help but wonder where the good in the world has gone. In the rush of getting ahead, making progress, and living large, the world has lost touch with the simple joys of life. Singing on the front porch with a guitar and mandolin, sitting around the kitchen table laughing at old stories, walking out into the sunset to enjoy the beauty, all seem to be lost in the hurry of life. Where are all our simple joys? What has happened to our traditions?

For the time being, they are alive and well in the small stone church on a dusty country road in Oklahoma. As the sunsets to the rhythm of country music, the world seems to stand still just to listen, with pure joy, to the melody.

Alone

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I thought we were friends. She seemed to understand me. I thought we were friends, because she always acted like she cared. I thought we were friends, when she listened to my words. I thought we were friends, since we used to laugh together. I thought we were friends, because she acted like she supported me when another hurt me. But, I was wrong.

Betrayal is a painful thing. It sneaks up and stabs deeply in the most heartrending way. It comes without notice, staring coldly in the eyes of someone trusted. It rends the soul, and tears the balance of life asunder. Betrayal is a soulless thing. It is used as a tool to demean and torment when someone changes allegiance or love. It wreaks havoc, shredding honor and pride. It is a weapon designed to eradicate the last vestige of faith, the last refuge of hope. With betrayal, love dies.

In the empty, windswept canyons of the soul, anguish cries out in horror. Lost in desperate need, the soul, in despair, howls with disappointment and sorrow. The overwhelming agony of spirit can shame the heart into hopelessness. The cold, abandoned wreck that once was courageous, fearless, is withered to a skeletal, dried wisp.
The agony and destitution of the soul is matched only by the torture of the psyche and the void of the heart. The raging echoes of the abandoned spirit cry out in pain, but no one hears, no one cares.

The friend betrays, the heart withers, and the soul suffers alone in the windswept canyons of lost and lonely spirits.

Marriage, An Occupational Hazard

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1971

The occupational hazards of living with someone for years are many. Among them is the ability to know that they will wear the same shirt and trousers together at least sixty percent of the time, always listen to a certain kind of music, tell a certain kind of joke, read a particular author with great enjoyment, and another for edification.  They will almost always eat the same foods, drive the same way, enjoy the same people, and want to do the same things for relaxation.  They become,  predictable, comfortable, and taken for granted.  Like an old sweater, shoes, or a favourite pair of pajamas. The occupational hazard of predictability and taking someone for granted is one of the most dangerous hazards a couple can fall into.  All of the advice givers for marriage will tell you that.  They will list a long list of reasons why and then tell you how to avoid doing it.  All that is fine  and good, but it doesn’t always apply to every couple.
For instance, I like it that you remember that I like Dr. Pepper in a glass without ice and that I tend to want to sleep on the right hand side of the bed.  You know I hate it when the cupboard doors are left open and I always need the closet doors shut at night.  I like it that you know I will love certain movies, and hate others, that I am crazy about musicals and I don’t care for mystery novels.  You know that I am equally divided between the colours red and yellow, but that anything in hunter green will please me.  You remember that I am a collector of small boxes and anything with a fox on it.  I like it that you know what art I find wonderful, and that I would want to see a certain exhibit without question when it come around.  I like it that you know I want Onion Rings with my burger if possible, not fries, and that I am particular about what goes on my burger.
You know what music I like, most of the time, and that we can dance, listen, and sing along to the same favourite songs thrills me.  I love the old sweat shirts you wear and the jeans you just can’t part with, along with your Greek fisherman’s hat.  I like it that you tell me about your computer knowledge even thought you know I don’t understand half of what you are trying to tell me.  It makes me happy when you see something on the internet, or in a book, or magazine, or newspaper that you know will interest me and take the time to make sure I see it.  I am always pleased when you remember my interests in literature and try to understand as I prose on and on about things that you have absolutely no interest in, yet you go out of your way to understand.
I like the way I never know if your are going to start dancing or singing at any given moment, and yet, you are sensitive to my need to do the same thing.  I like the way we love to go to the same places on holiday, yet never get bored because we both like to discover new and interesting things.  We even go see things that would bore the other, and take turns doing it, so we both get to see what we want and still give a gift of understanding to the other. I know you will always find our way around in  a strange city, and you know that if I drive, we rarely get lost.  I love the way you read so intently, and you tolerate the fact that my mind wanders and sometimes I don’t hear you.
There are any multitude of mundane things you do for me.  I know you will always pick up empty glasses and do the dishes if I don’t get to them first.  Not because you are making a comment on my housekeeping, but because you don’t mind helping out.  I like the way you help make the beds, and help me move the living room furniture around for the third time when you thought it was fine the way it was in the first place.  I love the way you will go with me to the grocery even though you hate to, and then end up buying all kinds of things I would never have thought to get.  I know that if we go into a computer, hardware, electronics, or bookstore, you will spend a minimum of thirty minutes just looking around and not buy a thing, except what you went in to buy.
I know all these things about you and you know all these things about me, but does that mean we have fallen into the hazard of taking one another for granted?  Are we too predictable? Maybe, sometimes.
There are the times, however, when we surprise one another with something new about ourselves.  Try something new as a couple, like dancing.  Discover a new talent, thought process, idea, ability, desire to learn something different.  We are often amazed at how alike we are and how very different.  We have been together a very long time, and I still feel that there is so much I will never know about you.  Not because you hide it, but because you haven’t discovered it yourself yet.  I feel that there is so much more to me than you know as well, and in time we will make these discoveries together.
You make me feel alive, passionate, funny, and intelligent.  I know you are the most honest of men, you have integrity, and intelligence beyond my comprehension, and that you will do anything you must to protect your family from hurt, want, or need.  You are a dedicated husband, father, friend, son, and brother.  You love those who love you with an intensity that you don’t comprehend.  And you are loved in the same manner.   Everyone looks up to you, admires you, and tries to emulate you.  I know that in your career there are few who have the abilities you possess and that you can be or do anything you wish.  I know that you are loyal, determined, and strong willed and that you are a natural leader.  I know that your colleagues are amazed at your comprehension and knowledge of the work at hand and in the future.
You are, in short, funny, loving, passionate, intelligent, gentle, romantic, determined, honest, caring, devoted, strong willed, and the man that I have loved for fourty-one years.  Do we have the occupational hazard of predictability?  Maybe, sometimes.  However, I am blessed to have you in my life and that you know me so well.  I can only hope you feel the same way.

Inspirational Women

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In my lifetime there have been many women who have inspired me to be a better person. It is difficult to choose one above the others, so I want to share with you, instead, several women who have inspired me.
When I was a little girl, my great grandmother, Sylvia Underwood Vandenburg, set the example of what a mother, grandmother, and great grandmother should be. She inspired me through her unrelenting work to feed, clothe, and educate her family. Grannie raised four children of her own, then raise six grandchildren in her home, when their parents abandoned them, while other grandchildren came and went on an as needed basis. She then raise three great grandchildren when her grandson divorced and needed someone to help take care of his kids while he worked.
Grannie was the finest example for sacrifice and service I have ever known. Her garden provided food for her family, neighbors, and anyone in need of food. She cooked for an army of people every day and lunch at Grannies was an event that stood until a week before she died. Because we are a farm family, lunch was the biggest meal of the day. It didn’t matter if we dropped in at the last minute, or if we brought along friends, Grannie always had enough food, and would just smile and “add another potato to the pot,” to make sure the meal stretched for everyone.
Her garden also provided flowers for everyone from new brides to the old and infirm. Her fingers sewed an unending supply of dresses, shirts, quilts, and dishtowels for all of her progeny and our friends. To have a quilt made by Grannie Vandenburg was the best wedding present any girl in the family could have. And when each of us had our first baby, and sometimes third or fourth, as long as she could see to do it, she made us a baby quilt. Those are held as sacred heirlooms by all of us.
Grannie was a small, quiet, homely, uneducated woman who was widowed at the early age of 50. Her life was hard, especially by today’s standards, but she was a tower of strength when it came to protecting her family. She always had the right advice, loving hug, or swat on the bottom for all of us children. She was wise, caring, possessed a wicked sense of humor, and she was one of the most spiritual women I’ve every known. All my life I have wanted to be just like her. To me, Grannie was exactly what a real woman was supposed to be. She could hoe a cotton field, do all the weekly wash, work in her garden, provide three meals a day, and still have time to sit quietly listening to a child struggle to learn to read at the end of a long day of work. Today, when I am sad or feeling lonely, the aromas of vanilla cookies and talcum powder bring back the feeling of unconditional love and security Grannie gave to all of “little ‘uns.”
When I was 26 I joined the church. In the small branch I attended in Harrison, Arkansas, there was a group of women who taught me what being a member was all about. Andrea Lewis, Mary Tasto, Marlene Lovelady, Ruby Essex, Eydie May Abell, and Candy Lovelady set the example for a very new and insecure sister over the six years I lived in Harrison, Arkansas. Each of them taught me in their own way. The older women, Andrea, Mary, and Marlene, who were each old enough to be my mother, gave me an ideal perspective on how to serve, teach, pray, and do visiting teaching. Mary taught me that the church was a place I could laugh, as well as shed tears and that I was too serious about every aspect of the gospel – something sacred didn’t mean something to fear. Andrea taught me that visiting teaching was much more than a lesson and a quick chat as we served together. She and her husband, Joe, were the couple I wanted Hal and I to learn to be like the most. I learned so much about service from Marlene, and those lessons still stand as my litmus test for how well I am doing. Ruby is the most spiritual of women whose calm devotion and knowledge in the gospel and in her testimony helped me to build on the basic knowledge I had as a new member. All of them are what I call prime examples, and it is my opinion that those four women are, in fact and deed, the best of the daughters of God.
The two younger women, Eydie Mae and Candy, were my first two friends in the church. For six years we raised our kids together, served together, struggled with our testimonies together, and built a friendship that still stands today. We were known for our silly antics, like the time they kidnapped me on my 30th birthday and took me to a big surprise party. We were known for being the terrible trio, because we were always up to something. We served in numerous callings together and shared every aspect of our lives.
In those years of learning and becoming a stalwart member of the church, they taught me to believe in myself, to laugh loud and long in joy, and to weep tears of sorrow without shame or embarrassment. Eydie Mae took the complex doctrines of the church and helped me see that the gospel is really quite simple, we make it hard. Candy taught me about dedication and strength. The two of them became my sisters in such a deep and meaningful way that no matter what happens, I will always stand by them.

Today they both live in Florida, and I live in Hong Kong. I miss them very much on days when I am feeling alone. But, all I have to do is wander in to my memory and find something that brings me joy, a laugh, or a comforting thought. I miss the wonderful small branch in Harrison. It is, and always will be, my home ward. The women there still set an example for me. And I will always yearn for those days when I could sit among them and feel the divine love and spirituality that makes them all so unique.

Finally, the women on the Sister’s List stand out as the most amazing women I’ve ever known. I admire their knowledge, spiritual joy, and ability to join together in the best Relief Society every created. When I am down, or angry, or hurt, or frightened, or worried, I just send an email. Within minutes, or at most, hours, I am sent words of comfort, peace, understanding, and usually a laugh or two. They even get indignant and angry on my behalf, and we all solve the world’s problems regularly, with laughter, and most of all, with compassion. I have learned the power of prayer from them, the importance of sisterhood and the ability to communicate and share our knowledge of the gospel principles. I have learned strength, and I have learned that no matter how hard things are, together we can overcome even the most horrific of worldly things. The awesome power of women who work together to accomplish miracles is proven daily by the women on the Sister’s List.
I am eternally grateful that the Lord has provided us with computers and the Internet. I am grateful that I couldn’t sleep one night and surfed into the LDSCN site all those years ago. I am grateful that my testimony has grown in leaps and bounds by the profound example of the testimonies of the sisters I have come to love even though I have never met them in person, or even heard their voices. I look forward, one day, to traveling to meet them. But if that doesn’t happen, I know I can look forward to meeting them on the other side. I know I will know them, all I have to do is look for a bunch of women who are laughing, and talking all at once.
I am so blessed.

The Emu Rodeo

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A few days ago, I went outside to get some tomatoes from my garden and noticed something moving around in our supposedly empty pasture. When it got closer, I realized it was an Emu. You know, one of those huge birds that look something like an ostrich. “Well!,” I thought, “where in the heck did that thing come from.”He was about six feet tall, very mean looking, and seemed determined that he lived here.

After some thought on what to do, I called the Lincoln County sheriff’s office to see if anyone had reported a missing emu  After the sheriff had stopped laughing at me, (and that took a long time) he said that he hadn’t had any reports, but that he would put up a notice in case anyone did call in. Then I called the man who leases the pasture and asked him if the emu was his. Mr. Buroughs, who already thinks I’m a few cards short of a full deck, was polite, (but I just knew he was trying not to laugh too,) said the emu wasn’t his either. So I called the post office and told Carla,*the postmistress, that if anyone mentioned a missing emu, I had their bird in my pasture Now Carla, deals with everyone in this town I live in, and we have a few real inbred types wandering about in these here woods, but she even laughed at me and asked if I had taken my medication that day. However, she posted the notice for me.

I then sent an e-mail to my husband informing him what was in the pasture. He called me right a way to ask if I had taken too much medication, and said he wasn’t too sure if he believed me. I was beginning to wonder about myself, except every time I looked outside, there he was, a six foot tall bird, with beady black eyes and long feathers. So, I determined I was either entering the “Harvey” syndrome, there was really a bird out in the pasture, or I had gotten hold of some really strange medication.

I was relieved to know that it was the second option. Our neighbors had just purchased a breeding pair of emus and the male had jumped the fence and wandered over to our place. I was so glad to know I’m neither unhinged nor over medicated. However, it became evident that an emu rodeo would be necessary to retrieve the stray bird.

About eleven-thirty the next morning, three pickups pulled in to my drive. Six guys unloaded two four wheelers and a dirt bike. After the prerequisite howdy-do’s, they told me they were here to round up, as Tiny Woods put it, “That thar big ole rooster whut done jumped on your property.” It actually took a moment to register that he was talking about the emu. Then, there commenced a rodeo I will never forget.

First, being men, they didn’t think beyond their toys, and that the noise of the four wheelers and the dirt bike was going to be rather distressing to that huge bird. Second, it is not a good idea to upset something six feet tall that runs up to 40 miles an hour and kicks like a horse. The guys loaded up and took off across the pasture and split into three trails, two cutting right and one left. I guess they were planning on getting around behind the bird and running him into the corral to load him into the truck. Right. I climbed up on top of the pickup and wished I had a video camera, this was going to get good!

That old emu looked up and saw three loud vehicles roaring at him with five big, hairy, whooping men on them and took off at a dead run right for the trees. One four wheeler cut around to the back of the stand of trees and ran right into the deepest gully on the place. All I could see was a plume of dirt, and bits of metal flying off the machine. I got an earful of inventive cursing, screams of surprise, and loud crashing sounds.

Meanwhile, the dirt bike ran right through the trees following the emu as he headed due south. I lost sight of them when they disappeared in the direction of the creek. The second four wheeler decided to cut behind the trees in the opposite direction of the first. Things got real quiet for a few minutes except for the distant sounds of the engines Suddenly, the emu came crashing out of the woods headed due north at a dead run. Out in the open he picked up speed, heading right for us. Tiny Woods, who is about six feet seven inches and weighs in at around 350 pounds, jumped into the bed of the truck like he was a skinny kid just as the emu took a long jump and went sailing over the back of the truck. Tiny got kicked right in the chest and fell off the truck on his large posterior. I fell flat on my face on top of the truck and ducked in case the bird came back for revenge. About then the guys on the wrecked four wheeler got it back on its wheels and came tearing after the emu, and the other two vehicles came out of the woods throwing up grass and dirt. Predictable, the guys were getting more inventive in their language by the second.

The bird cut around behind the barn and headed for the second stand of trees behind the loafing shed. Tiny jumped in the truck, as I slid down into the back, and took off – nearly throwing me out on my backside. He went around by the house to cut off the bird while the other three vehicles went through the woods, but that old bird was on to them, and he went running back around the barn heading for the pond. Tiny just about tore the transmission out of the truck turning it around, and the dirt bike rider took a header over the handle bars when he ran right into the creek bed.

One of the guys on a four wheeler strung out a lariat and commenced to whirl it around his head like he was going to rope the emu. Just about the time he let the rope go, the bird jumped over the end of the pond and took off for the back of the pasture again. The driver of the four wheeler couldn’t stop and went right into the water, kept on going, and came out the other side of the pond, then headed after the bird. The dirt biker got back on his bike and took off to the back too. The second four wheeler was going down the fence line behind the trees, as if he were going to be able to sneak up on the darned bird make that much noise with an engine. Tiny slammed on the brakes at the top of the hill and I climbed back on top of the truck to see better. Before the bird got back to the woods, he turned and ran straight back toward where he’d been at the barn.

Split into three trails, all three vehicles came roaring after the bird. Tiny jumped out of the truck and ran to open the corral gate. Even thought the bird ran right into the corral, he just kept right on going and jumped over the back fence like it was a foot high instead of nearly five feet. Tiny looked so funny standing there with the gate closed and a stupid look on his face, with the bird long gone toward the front of the pasture that I lost it and started laughing. I got so tickled that I feel off the top of the truck and ended up on the ground. About that time all three vehicles went tearing past us headed to the house.  Both passengers on the four wheelers were getting ready to throw lariats, and the language was even more inventive. Geez, I wish I could curse like that when I got mad instead of crying saying the same old words over and over.

The emu was now in the woods headed for the dump at a good clip. Tiny and I jumped in the truck and we went flying around the end of the woods and by the house. The bird passed us going the other way. I was laughing so hard I was incoherent and Tiny was cussing and roaring at the guys on the vehicles as if they could hear him over all the noise. As Tiny cut a donut in the pasture, all three drivers passed us and went roaring over the dips (washed out places where water runs off into the pond). One passenger on the four wheeler went flying off the back when the driver hit a particularly bad dip, and he was almost run over by the dirt biker. The other four wheeler went round to cut the bird off, heading it back toward the truck. The guy on the ground took one look at that big bird running straight for him and dove right into the pond, lariat, boots and all. The emu just missed landing on him when he jumped into the pond too.  There was a mad scramble and lots of splashing and muffled cussing as they both tried to to get away from each other as fast as possible. Just as the bird ran out the other side of the pond, the other roper managed to get a lariat around the bird’s head, and the fight was on!. That was one ticked off bird and he tried to bite, kick, and stomp that poor cowboy to death.

I had never seen a roper try to run away and hang on at the same time. By now I was beyond mere laughter, I was cackling and trying not to wet my knickers. Tiny was mad because every time he told me to hush (only not so nicely) I would look at him and fall apart laughing harder. That poor roper was yelling for someone to rope that darned bird’s feet so he could get him down, but the other roper had lost his lariat in the pond and was fishing around for in the mud at the bottom. Meanwhile, the bird took off again, dragging the roper with him (why that boy didn’t let go is beyond me), and the roper got the ride of his life. I am willing to bet he had never run so fast before. That boy’d be up, then down on his bum, then running alongside, then being dragged along behind. That bird tried to scrape him off on the side of trees, drown him in the pond (resulting in the other roper having to run for it again), slam him against the barn and drag him through the corral fence – face first. Around and around the barn and pond that bird went with the roper hanging on for dear life, and the vehicles making worse because the drivers were trying to keep the bird from heading for open pasture.

Finally, the other roper got his lariat out of the pond and managed to get along side the emu and rope his legs. All three went down in a tangle of feathers, boots, ropes, and dust. After a bit of insane activity, they managed to hog tie the bird’s feet and wings so he couldn’t stand or flog them. But the first roper didn’t manage to get out of the way fast enough and that old bird bit him right on the bum. I had managed to get my laughter under control, but that caused me to lose it again and I simply sat on the ground next to the truck and howled with laughter, All six guys, cussing and yelling at each other had to pick up the bird (after they tied his beak shut) and put him in the truck. No one thought it was funny but me, no sense of humor these inbred types, none at all.

I offered them something to drink, and was politely refused. But, as they drove out of the drive way, that bird must have gotten his beak loose, because I heard outraged cussing followed by a meaty smack from one man to another and the words, “I thought I told you to tie that *&%##@ bird’s mouth shut!” I sat on the porch and laughed until I had to go in and use the bathroom or really wet my knickers. Heavens, it was funny! Only in Oklahoma would there be an emu rodeo where the bird darn near go the best of six men, four vehicles, and two lariats.

*names have been changed to protect myself.  I don’t think that those involved would appreciate being the object of humor.

Christmas Thoughts

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Here’s the deal, its Christmas and things are not going well in our world. People are worried about jobs, money, gas prices, house prices, wars, terrorists and general misery in the world. But it is still Christmas. And that has nothing to do with the worldly worries around us, it has to do with the miracle of a Virgin Birth, followed by the raising of the baby that became a boy, and then a man, who was the Savior of mankind, the Messiah for all. That is what Christmas was about. So, no matter how many presents are under the tree, or not, no matter how much food you have, or not, no matter how many worries are out there in the world, or not, the one thing we are celebrating that has unending meaning and purpose is the birth of the Christ child. That is one thing that never changes, he was born, he lived, he sacrificed himself, and he died.

Ok, you don’t believe in the miracle of Jesus Christ, but you still celebrate Christmas. For the peace, the traditions, the pagan festival that falls at the same time, whatever the reason, this is still a time for being introspective and peaceful. It is a time for family, friends, laughter, and joy. Stop the merry go round of life for a few minutes and take the time to allow yourself to be happy. Just BE for a moment and soak in the pleasure of the season. Let yourself be light, be joyful, be celebratory, for in our country this is the very time of year for those feelings to be shared.

Or, maybe, your a bah humbug type, all grouchy and grumpy when it comes to this time of year. Take a deep breath and catch a plane to somewhere warm and sunny, or cold and mountainous to ski, whatever. But go do something other than the same old grind. Maybe the grump in you will allow the happy out. Take a chance and maybe you will find something in Christmas after all. After all, a holiday is a day off from work. That is generally something to rejoice in. Generally, unless you like your grumpy puddle too much to take a chance.

I saw a little kid today in one of the big stores. All the decorations and flashing lights were mesmerizing to her. She kept turning in circles looking up as she gazed at the lovely, bright baubles and ribbons. Her mother, shopping and harried, snapped at her to stop turning around and to pay attention. The kid sighed and said, “I am mommy, see if you turn around you look big then little then big in the red ball.” I wish I could say her mommy stopped and payed attention to her, but she just grabbed her arm and dragged her off. So I went over and turned around and she was exactly right. It brought her joy, fleeting as it may have been, to discover how different things took in a rounded ball than they do in a regular flat mirror. I want to be like that little girl, finding new and exciting things happening around me during the Christmas season. I don’t want to be like her mother, harried and too busy to notice the beauty and mystery of the season.

I was listening to music in one of the stores when I was with my grandson. He started singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town along with the music. At first, I started to shush him, but decided to sing along with him. People stopped and stared, but they all smiled and a few even joined us. What a moment! Nick may not remember it, but then, he may because we got a round of applause at the end of the song and everyone laughed. Hey, it was a good moment in everyone’s day. And I have a new memory to store away and write about in my journal. Nick and Nana, singing in the store, who would have thought that would happen. When was the last time you sang along with the music in the store or elevator. Maybe now is a good time to start. How can you stay gloomy when singing Jingle Bells?

But, Christmas is about the Christ child and his birth. So when I see a Nativity, my heart softens a bit, and when I see the lovely lights on houses reminding us of the star of Bethlehem, I get that lurch in my heart that makes me feel peaceful. As I drive through my neighborhood at night, and I see the Christmas trees in windows, and the care with which the decorations are place on the houses and in the yard, I get a bit nostalgic. I remember all the years we spent without Christ in Christmas in my family, and I remember the way I felt after finding Christ and bringing him into my life. Christmas is much more meaningful to me now. It has purpose beyond presents and food. It is all about sacrifice, and eternal life now that I understand why I am here and what my purpose is all about.

So get out of your miserly puddle, take a deep breath, and start singing Jingle Bells. It is CHRISTMAS, a time to let go of the unhappy things in your life, set aside the worries and woes, and simply BE so that you can soak up the love, the joy, and the peace that comes this time of year.

Serendipitous Day

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This was written just before Easter in 2003 when we lived in Karori, New Zealand, a suburb of Wellington.

Today was one of those days when the normal turns serendipitous without notice. I got up and decided today would be a good day to walk into Wellington to get the things I needed for Crystal’s Easter Basket. It is about an hour’s walk if I don’t get in a big hurry. When I got to the Botanical Gardens, about half way there, I sat down on a bench to rest for a minute. I don’t usually do that, but today I simply felt a need to sit down.

As I was sitting there, an elderly man came along at a good pace. As he passed me, he said good morning, and I responded the same. He stopped and asked me if I was from America. We began to chat about where he had visited in the US and general information that two strangers usually exchange. He sat down and that is where things shifted to serendipity.

We began by talking about the beauty of the gardens, then that shifted to gardening in general, and before I knew it, we were talking about the magical wonders of creation. One topic led to another and we wandered through comparative religion, the occult, historical fact versus fiction or oral misinterpretation of the Holy Bible. Then we went back to the topic of astrology and the modern day fascination people seem to have with things like earth worship and the odd factions of fanatics who can ruin an entire religious concept by being over zealous and pushy. We talked about the differences and similarities between many religions and we discussed our own spiritual paths.

During the discussions things came up that we used to illustrate our personal growth. I may have lost my son to a murderer, but John lost his wife to one, and the killer was his own son. Oh, the horror of that! John said that was when he began to search for a spiritual balance and meaning in his life. Because he loves his wife so much, he knew that she could not be dead. We talked about the spiritual visits some people have and how powerful dreams can be in our lives. We discussed how people have to find the right path for themselves and the first step is to begin searching.

During our talk, we found out that his friend’s daughter is in my granddaughter’s class at school, and they play together a lot. We found out that we know some of the same people involved in different things that we do, and he said he had a lot of respect for the Mormons because of all they did to help people find their roots with our genealogy programs.

But the best part of the talk was when we were discussing what different religions believe. We agreed it came down to several concrete things that seem to be innate to the human spirit.

1. Less is more. The less we have of material things, the more we learn to depend on God for help.

2. To accept others who believe differently means we must have an honestly open mind.

3. In all religions, it all boils down to this: If we give, we get much more in return. One must learn to give of self to gain spiritual enlightenment or growth. In all religions, that one precept seems to come through more than anything else. In sacrifice we learn humility and compassion.

We had a spirited discussion on the impact the Old Testament has on the New Testament and Christian patterns of belief. Then we had a discussion about my beliefs and how I came to that through the experiences of my life. We talked about how neither of us believes in coincidence. We called it-planned coincidence, because everything happens for a reason. I never sit on a bench when I walk into Wellington. He usually doesn’t cut through the gardens on his way either. Usually he doesn’t do more than say good morning, and I rarely talk to strange men other than to respond to a greeting. I guess we were meant to meet. He called it fate.

It was a wonderful, serendipitous morning that required me to think, laugh, talk about things that I often ponder, and share my inner most feeling about God. As we parted ways, he shook my hand and said that he hoped one day he would have the spiritual strength and balance that I possess. What a great compliment to get from someone I’ve only known a few hours.

I don’t know that we will ever meet again, but today was meant to be and I feel wonderful. My brain got a workout, my spirit got a boost, and I laughed a great deal. John is 72 years old, fit, agile in mind and body, and he is finding his spiritual maturity a very interesting path indeed. I am so glad I got to be a part of his journey.

Going Home

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He stood in the rain, looking with longing at the door.  He knew they would welcome him home, all he had to do was knock, the door would open, and he would be invited in. As the night closed in around him, he watched in quiet despair as each window began to glow with a warm, golden light. The urge to cross the street and walk into the house was so strong he actually took a step before remembering he had left that security of his own volition.

When he was a rebellious and angry youth, he walked away from the love and sanctuary the house represented. He felt stifled and misunderstood. He hated the rules, the consequences, and the smothering love of the people who were in that house. He wanted freedom, a chance to explore the world on his own terms, and he didn’t need anyone protecting him while he did it. He was, after all, autonomous and independent. Despite the pleading of those who professed to love him, he pushed everyone away when he finally broke free and moved on.

He found, as days and, eventually, years went by, that the world wasn’t as wonderful as he thought. Trying all the things he had been warned against, at first, was a thrill. But, it was a thrill with a price and the more he paid, the less thrilling each forbidden act became. In time, he became jaded and lost in the haze of addiction and desperation as he tried to find purpose and value in the life he led.

Loneliness plagued his life. Friends came and went, not one of them willing to make the effort required to be a true friend. It was always good until the next thrill came along, then the friends drifted away like smoke in the wind. Empty days followed by vaguely remembered nights were his standard, eventually evolving into an unending desire for something of value.

One afternoon, he got on the familiar bus that took him by the house. The unintentional act brought back the memory of security and love that he experienced in his younger days. So, there he stood in the dark, pouring rain, staring with yearning at the house of his youth. The door opened and closed as people arrived. Laughter drifted out, and people could be seen in the windows talking together. The desire to be part of that grew with each breath he took. But the shame within him for the way he lived his life created a barrier he couldn’t over come.

As he turned to go back to the bus stop, a man touched his arm and asked if he needed help. He said that he had made a mistake and was leaving. The man recognized him, offered a hand in friendship and asked how he was doing. His heart suddenly broke, and he told the man what had happened in his life, and how he was lost, and unworthy of the love of those in the house before them. The man listened attentively as he slowly drew him across the street and to the door of the house.

He stopped, suddenly confused. He glanced at the man’s face, seeing both a welcoming smile and tears in the man’s eyes. He took a step back, intending to turn away to the bus stop and his lonely life. The man’s caught his arm, turned him toward the warmth and light of the door, and said, “There is the doorway, no one can make you enter, but only you can take the steps to go inside. It is your choice.”

He stood in a pool of light, glanced back into the darkness and rain, and realized it had been his choice all along. He took a step. He was going home.

****Our oldest son was one who wandered his own path.  At the age of 21, with a one year old baby at home, he was murdered.  Thankfully, he came home after several years of wandering the year he turned 19.  In the process of becoming a father, he turned his life around.  We deeply miss him every day.  Karron****