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Posted in Inspiring, Sayings

Mind the Other Gap

View of the reak of Puy de Sancy and cable car...
View of the peak of Puy de Sancy and cable car station above Mont Dore.

I don’t know how we got to the top, but we were inside a very small building atop a tower, like a firetower in a forest. My memory of many of the details of that day are lost in the cobwebs of childhood. I do remember a row of windows around the entire building, and a telescope of sorts.

I know it was a tourist attraction because there were other people up inside this building with us. In fact, it was somewhat crowded. Amazing what we do and don’t remember. I remember the floor was unvarnished hardwood and dirty, and my dress was red.

And I was wearing patent leather shoes with slick soles.

The attraction in this room on stilts, besides the magnificent view, was the ride back down to earth in a sort of passenger car on a cable. Great fun, like a zipline for civilized folks with small children. People ascended and descended regularly, and we viewed the view while awaiting our turn.

I was so little. Yet I remember a sense of needing to hurry. I suppose the quicker people loaded and unloaded the cars, the more money the owners earned. Finally we approached the doorway where the car was dangling, waiting for us to board. I watched this car swaying and heard it creaking while the owner reminded my parents of the huge space between the building and the car, with about a hundred feet of space below it. My parents cautioned me and explained the extreme danger in stepping wrong.

I froze. Anyone could see the gap was far larger than my tiny feet, and, in fact, my whole self could fit easily right through that gap. Of course, it was too huge a leap for a terrified little one.

I dug in. I was scared and wanted down. I cried.

That’s when my parents lifted me. I still was terrified, but they overcame my will with their own strength and jointly lifted me over that yawning hole, down into that cable car. I still was terrified. They had seen it was too hard for me and, after warning me not to struggle against them in my fear, had mercifully done it for me.

I am sure the view was spectacular on the ride down, but I don’t remember that part.

I do remember my parents’ loving mercy and surpassing knowledge and strength.

And I think of the gap between this world, that we think is so real, and the other world that exists all around us, that is really real — the Heavenly Kingdom.

The step we must take to leap from this world into the other is terrifying and too far, in our eyes.

But the loving mercy of our Heavenly Father and the Jerusalem Above, which is our mother, stand ready to bridge that gap for us, if we only will not fight it.

Love lifted me.
Love lifted me.
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.

________________

photo credit: Wikipedia

Posted in Believe it or not!, Blessings of Habit, Wisdom

I have a confession to make . . .

 . . . I didn’t watch the Olympics.

Olympic Games 2016
Olympic Games 2016 — See what I mean!

At all.

Oh, well, one night while we enjoyed fajitas at the local restaurant, their T.V. was on and we saw a couple of guys dive.
They were good.

But . . .

. . . I felt my blood pressure rising and just decided to be cool. Why spoil a wonderfully fresh meal with nearly naked guys getting wet for fun and/or profit,
albeit very skillfully?

They say everybody who was anybody was watching. I don’t know.

WordPress says those who were not watching are rare.

I am one of the rare ones.

I was busy.

I was enjoying really good food with a really handsome guy.

Other times, I was mowing, blogging, counseling, bathing, cleaning house, sleeping, washing clothes, baking, wrapping gifts,  ironing, helping my grown son move.

Out.

I already have a life.

I already have something to do.

I also did not blog about the Olympics.

Really, some kids competed and somebody won?

Good.

Rumors that it was rigged?

Nothing new.

AS IN: THIS IS NOT NEWS.

Happens all the time.

When they killed a bunch in Germany during the Olympics, that was news.

I really never wanted to watch much, after that.

Rare.

To care.

To dare.

To admit I wasn’t there.

I don’t do football, either.

Nor baseball, unless my grandson asks.

The only sport that really interests me, anymore, is volleyball.

If I get to play.

Your serve.

___________

photo credit: hops_76

Posted in Inspiring, Scripture, Wisdom

Sunday Scriptures – Wrong.

Guido Reni - Joseph and Potiphar's Wife - WGA19310
Guido Reni – Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife

Now Joseph was well-built and handsome, and after a while his master’s wife took notice of Joseph and said, “Come to bed with me!”

But he refused. “With me in charge,” he told her, “my master does not concern himself with anything in the house; everything he owns he has entrusted to my care. No one is greater in this house than I am. My master has withheld nothing from me except you, because you are his wife. How then could I do such a wicked thing and sin against God?” And though she spoke to Joseph day after day, he refused to go to bed with her or even be with her.

One day he went into the house to attend to his duties, and none of the household servants was inside. She caught him by his cloak and said, “Come to bed with me!” But he left his cloak in her hand and ran out of the house.

When she saw that he had left his cloak in her hand and had run out of the house, she called her household servants. “Look,” she said to them, “this Hebrew has been brought to us to make sport of us! He came in here to sleep with me, but I screamed. When he heard me scream for help, he left his cloak beside me and ran out of the house.”

She kept his cloak beside her until his master came home. Then she told him this story: “That Hebrew slave you brought us came to me to make sport of me. But as soon as I screamed for help, he left his cloak beside me and ran out of the house.”

When his master heard the story his wife told him, saying, “This is how your slave treated me,” he burned with anger. Joseph’s master took him and put him in prison, the place where the king’s prisoners were confined.

 — Genesis 39:6-20

________________________

photo credit: Wikipedia

Posted in Homemaking, Photos, Who's the mom here?

Weekly Photo Challenge: Wrong

Again.

I am so accustomed to being wrong. People tell me I am wrong all the time.

They say I pronounce words wrong, and I shrug.

I am a linguist . . .

They say I load my dishwasher wrong.

I offer them the job . . .

But in the kitchen, I am usually right. I love to cook from scratch and invent recipes. I love to eat and watch others loving eating. Since all my kids are spoiled with extraordinary food, they all have learned how to cook, at least the basics of my secrets, and have begged for my recipes, freely given, before they would move out — even all four of my sons.

So-o-o-o, when I get it wrong in the kitchen, I am miffed at myself. No excuse. You know how to do this and you just didn’t do it.

That’s how I talk.

How ironic that since I believe in no excuses in the kitchen, today the photo challenge should be “wrong”. Sighs.

Today I burned a whole pan of rolled sugar cookies. These are the fiddly ones you bake only when the grandkids are present, but I volunteered to donate these for a charity function, so had a nonchalance that proved expensive:

wrong again
 

What can I say?

I could make excuses about an important phone conversation,

but I know to take the timer with me on such occasions.

But I didn’t.

Posted in Inspiring, Photos, Scripture

I’m not a tat kinda girl, but . . . get you some tissues and GO READ THIS. It’s not what you think.

Tiff Miller's avatarThe Faery Inn

One of my sisters and I were able to go to the doctor’s office with my parents for the latest MRI results.

They’re not good.

The cancer has spread to the meninges (the membranes that cover the brain & spinal cord).

Okay – backing up just a bit.

For the last several weeks, my Dad has been struggling with pain from an extruding disc in his back, which has nothing to do with his cancer. He can’t sit or stand for very long, and spends most of his time lying down. He has also been dealing with nausea, headaches, and lack of appetite that he thought might be related to pain meds. It’s not.

So the MRI this week. The cancer in the meninges. Those symptoms are directly caused by his cancer. It’s all throughout a good part of his brain & spinal cord, and that is very concerning. The…

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Posted in Inspiring, Who's the mom here?

Sylvia

鞋 拖鞋 時尚 塑料 卡駱馳 Crocs

A Great Loss

Today, at about 06:00 Central Daylight, my good friend, Sylvia, died.

She was a very sweet, elderly lady who never did really grow old.

She had the loveliest natural silver hair and pale skin, which made her look really good in pastels. She wore pink a lot, long before it was the current fad .She wore lots of modern fashions, including Crocs shoes on her tiny feet, in pink or powder blue.

She lived quite a life. Being only about 5 feet tall and sweetly quiet in personality, she married a lumbering guy who had many long, loud opinions, and whom we all, also loved. I am sure he is devastated, right now, although we all knew Sylvia’s time was at a close.

A teacher by profession, Sylvia never backed down from imparting proper English upon anyone who needed it (with an appropriate Southern drawl, of course.) Long after her retirement, she was still at it, peppering conversations at church with corrections of our grammar. Somehow it never felt like correction; more like a blessing. I guess that was a sign of her closeness to Jesus.

However, she also taught Spanish, and would greet anyone in that language, once she learned they had even a smattering of a grasp on it. “Hola, Catarina,” she would greet me. “Como estas, hoy, mi amiga?”

And we would have to answer in Spanish.

Since I majored in languages, we could converse a long time before one of us got stumped.

Sylvia was a people lover. She always believed everyone was innocent. Of course, while she could rationalize with Lizzy from Pride and Prejudice that we can’t ALL be good, she ignored that rational thought as much as possible. It was so easy for her to love anyone, and for anyone to love her. Even those who felt silly mispronouncing Spanish in the aisles of the church just loved her. My daughter, who knew ASL and some French, would answer her in one of those, and Sylvia was delighted to learn “just a bit more — you never know when you might need it.”

And because she was a lover of all people and thought all people innocent, she loved me when others thought me guilty. She had no evidence. In fact, the evidence made me look mighty guilty, but she refused to believe all that, and just loved me. I want to be like her, some day.

Her funeral will be huge.

I toy with not going. I don’t want to see her dead. It’s too late to hug her one more time. Her husband’s tears will cause mine to drown me. I don’t like some of the people she loved and who loved her in return.  There won’t be enough room in the church for us all, anyway.

Besides, I just want her back. Selfish, I know.