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Monthly Archives: April 2019
Today I pray for one of the kindest, most understanding souls I know. I know she’s this way because of what she’s lived through. She was adopted at age 7. Think on that. I don’t know her all that well, really. But I know her husband and that counts for something. He has told me the story of her adoption, and how things came about for her. Today he shared a little more. She is in her late fifties, so if you think foster care and orphanages are depressing and underfunded now, imagine what it was like sixty years ago. Imagine being a little girl in one of these places. Imagine Annie, if you can’t imagine anything else. Luckily for this little girl, a Daddy Warbucks did come along. And he and his wife took the little girl to town and bought her lunch, and ice cream, and a trinket. Imagine it being the first time you ever had a notion of being spoiled. But really it was just being cared for. The sun was on your face and you walked hand in hand with a pretty lady in a flowered dress and hat and heels. And imagine your joy when you came back to the home and the big man declared he was taking you home, to go get your things. Home, as in his home. YOUR new home. That simply wasn’t done. But this was sixty years ago…
Today, I pray for the liars. That’s hard to do. Because, if I’m being honest (huh, the irony) I don’t wish them the best. I wish them the worst, really. Because lying is generally premeditated. It takes some doing. Liars, as you well know, come in all shapes and sizes. They lie to get attention. They lie as a cover up. They lie out of habit. They lie to give their life a little excitement. I don’t understand. It’s like they think they’ll never get caught. I’ve got news for them: the truth always comes out. They think their lies will only hurt themselves, if they hurt anybody. That’s not true either. For instance, if you were to meet someone that somebody you know has been telling tales on, you have a preconceived notion of this person. Which isn’t even true! You can’t give them a fair shake. It’s not fair. And that’s not right. Sometimes it’s not easy to detect a liar. Sometimes the liars seem so good, and the people they talk about are people you’re unlikely to ever run across. So they’ve created a well-laid trap. But eventually….the truth is exposed. And it’s a million times worse if it doesn’t come straight from the liar, with apologies extended for their…
I have asked several of you for prayer requests multiple times. I will not ask again. I understand that sometimes it’s uncomfortable voicing your problems. Even to a friend. I can see where that would be even more difficult than talking to a stranger. I won’t pretend to know all your worries and fears and struggles, but I know a few of them. And don’t borrow trouble, I’m not going to type them out here. Maybe that’s what concerns you, that even though I don’t have to use your name, someone could figure out who I was writing about. I get it. Thomas Wolfe was ostracized from Asheville after he wrote Look Homeward Angel. He didn’t use their real names, but the descriptions were so blindingly obvious (and accurate) people talked for decades. I haven’t read it (yet, it’s a book club selection later this year) but I say maybe the folks of Asheville should have treated him with a little more respect if they didn’t want their faults and realities trotted out for all to enjoy. I mean, read. Anyway. No matter. Some of you struggle with family issues, or career issues, or health issues. Some of you struggle to simply believe. Trust me, I get it. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. You just talk to the Lord and work it out. It’ll be…
Out my window, I gaze upon a church, a pink house, an alarming number of squirrels, and a yard that is often in need of a cut. I count the rabbits that frolic, and pray the stray cats aren’t nearby. I keep a close watch on the weather, because I seem to serve as the local weatherman, and look for my buddy, the black lab, that lives two doors down. I can’t complain about the temperature yet, we’re hovering at a stable 73°. Pollen is present, but it’s raining frequently enough to keep it beat down. The redbuds are in full bloom, the dogwoods are just beginning, and the daffodils are quickly expiring. The birds sing all day long. It’s quiet, for the most part. I’m near the library, and the school, and the police station. It feels safe in my cozy space. It’s not a town where many walk, but I do. Not necessarily to get anywhere in particular, just to enjoy the day while I can. Away from my backyard where I look out at a church, a pink house, and a multitude of squirrels. I go to see the cherry tree, and the red tulips down the road, and the old man at the corner sitting in his lawn chair with his wooden cane and mesh back hat. He always speaks and remarks upon the weather. There goes a rabbit. When the phone…
I have taken up a stranger for my Lent today. So therefore I had to set my own sacrifice. For the day, I chose to face challenges. My first challenge was getting out of bed and without hitting snooze. I used to be really good about that, getting up right away. But I’ve progressed to a more slug-like existence in recent years. My second challenge was opening mail. I hate going to the mailbox. First of all, it’s dangerous on my road! Second of all, I rarely get anything fun. Just a bunch of crap. Thirdly, there are spiders. But to be honest, I still hate email worse. There aren’t even spiders! And it’s not dangerous, other than I will be presented with lots of ways to spend money. I usually don’t even bother opening it. It languishes in my inbox for all eternity. Right now I’m sitting on 7,723 unopened items. That’s just one of my accounts. Anyway. Today I’m praying for a mother of a child she birthed very recently, prematurely, and lost quickly. Is there a greater pain? I doubt it. Lord, we don’t know the reason. It may not be revealed in this lifetime. All we know is the heartache of losing someone that wasn’t ever ours to begin with. Please be with this mother in the coming days, months, and years, as she…
The Montgomery Vindicator was a newspaper ran out of Sevierville, Tennessee from the late 1800’s through the 1960s when it combined with another local newspaper. I am told it operated in the Hatcher’s Cleaners building downtown. My intention when I set out on this particular blogging journey was to tell you that bit, and then turn it into several stories, the first being a fictional newspaper story, then in recurring posts, the Montgomery Vindicator being the name of a firearm passed down from generation to generation since the Texas Revolution, then whatever else came to mind. Perhaps a Judge whose nickname was The Vindicator. Or something. I first learned about the Vindicator during a side conversation at library board the other night. It immediately intrigued me and set my mind a-swirl. Early this morning I thought I’d start the telling of it and Googled “Montgomery Vindicator Sevierville” to get all my facts straight. One of the first links was for “some death notices from 1897-1901”. In case you didn’t already know it, I am a sucker for obituaries. They frequently let me down. I need more details! I assume the worst anyway, you may as well appease me. I’m already thinking it. I am also a fanatic about local history. Well, really, any Southern States history. Okay, okay, any history. Except maybe China’s or something. But lemme tell you, I have been…
I’m sitting on my couch, hungry. I can barely concentrate to type. It’s not even that I’m hungry, per se. I have a craving…lots of cravings…for cheese. For ice cream. Ice cream sandwiches, to be particular. I haven’t had an ice cream sandwich in years. Haven’t even thought of them…but….oh….how dreamy one would be right now. I’m driving myself crazy. Of course I would want all the things I can’t have right now. I’m repeating no dairy day. The person I’m praying for didn’t have a request, so I thought this would be a good a time as any to re-do this sacrifice. I was better prepared this time around. I had purchased an almond milk mocha Starbucks frappucino in lieu of my regular milk based one. I thought it would be okay. That’s what I get for thinking. It tasted like watered down chalk dust with a tablespoon of the cocoa baking powder stirred in for “flavor”. It was so bad, I poured out half of it. $2 down the drain. Lunch was better. I had all the fixin’s for a loaded salad with Italian dressing, just hold the cheese. I didn’t miss the cheese, but I was hungry an hour later. I think it’s in my mind…
And then there’s today. I’m a little grouchy. Monday has nothing to do with it. My back hurting has a lot to do with it. And a dull headache. And, you know, the lack of CHOCOLATE. I didn’t think I was dependent. Well, turns out, I was wrong. I was all prepared to glug my big Starbucks mocha this morning when I thought I might ought to check the label. You know, to be sure. Cocoa. Huh. Who knew? Where did I think mocha came from, anyway? A mocha plant? I don’t know. So there went that, and I couldn’t have regular coffee, either, because I have that funny chicken creamer that is chocolate flavored. I’ll just glower here with my boring 2% milk, thanks. I had one million and six people come by work today. Something about Mondays and Fridays. I don’t know. It was deceptively cold out, the wind would flat cut you in two. But oh! It looked so clear and pretty and the sun was shining and it was just enticing you to come out and freeze right to death. Dirty redbud winter. Shame. But enough about all that. I’m here to pray for my friend. She recently had surgery and has been suffering through some complications with that. I really feel for her, because she is so active and upbeat and one of those people who just shine the…
I can’t seem to get my act together. I woke a little late for my taste and had to bounce to get to work on time. Luckily, it’s all of five minutes from the house 🙂 I didn’t have much time for thinking what with all the icing to be done. Food City keeps me hopping, and I like it! My back doesn’t much care for it, though. I don’t know how I stood ten hours a day, five days a week at the Co-op all those years. I remember my feet giving me the devil and being nearly crippled there at the end, but not my back. Never my back. But I’m older now, and whether or not I like to admit it, heavier, too. It takes a toll. And I’m standing in the same spot virtually all day, and putting pressure through my hands and arms. It’s all connected, according to my yoga guru. I guess it makes sense. I’m just tired. Around three o’clock I was really starting to hurt and I would have welcomed a fifteen. I didn’t want to ask for one, since my coworkers were doing inventory and busy too. I guess I could have just went, nobody would have said a word, but I was right in the middle of all those carrot cakes. and it was time to start cleaning…
