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 and he made it happen. Because that’s the kind of man he was. He made things happen. Right Then. And he wanted you to be his little girl, forever and always. Because after just a few hours in his presence, you brightened his day and made his heart swell to ten times its size with love and he just knew that nothing would ever top you and your smile.
Well, that was the way she remembered it, anyway. And she still has the little toy that he bought her all those years ago.
When her daddy passed on, she found her adoption papers, and turns out, that really is what happened. How wonderful for your memories to match up with facts.
She also remembered asking for a brother. She remembers being told by her parents that they tried. As an adult, she thought she remembered having a brother, but she couldn’t be sure. She thought maybe she’d just wished for one. And with her adoption papers, she found that she had indeed had a sibling. And that her daddy DID try. They tried and tried. But he couldn’t be got.
But she found him. He still couldn’t be “got”. People grow up and sometimes things don’t work out like fairy tales. And now, she’s found her sister.
And that’s why I pray.
She wants blood family. And who wouldn’t? Those of us who are surrounded by a multitude of aunts and uncles and cousins and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews may find it suffocating sometimes, but try to picture it the other way. If you didn’t have anybody who knew your stories from before you could remember them. No one to say you looked just like your grandmother when she was that age. Or the way you stand, all the Hicks’ stand like that (hands on hips, if you’re wondering). Wouldn’t that be a void? So I hope that with this sibling, she gets some verification in her life. I pray that it works out just as she wants it to.
Lord, I know that the life you gave my friend is better than what she could have ever hoped to have through her birth mother. I thank you for all the blessings you have bestowed on her through the years, with generous, loving parents who made every way in the world for her. I thank you for her doting, patient husband, who continues to do his best work to provide for her. I thank you for her children, who appreciate all the things she does for them daily. And I also thank you for her grandchildren, that have come into this earth knowing exactly who their people are, and always will. I pray for my friend to get peace through answers. I pray for her sister to embrace this new relationship and that they can comfort each other and begin a life together finally. I pray for everyone to mesh seamlessly, for no harsh words or negative thoughts to cross minds. I just want her to feel full and aware and be content. Yes, I pray mainly for contentment. You don’t always give us what we want–or think we want–for good reason. Let us all bear that in mind as we go through our days. It’s hard to remember. But we live for you, Lord, not for our wants and desires. I thank you for this spring day, and everything coming up new again. I thank you for those who toil and the minds that envision. I thank you for the hands that mend and heal, and I thank you for the farmers. I am always and forever grateful for the farmers. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
For her, I gave up breakfast. I can’t begin to imagine what life was like those early years in the home. I don’t know that she always had a warm breakfast, or any kind of breakfast at all. I don’t know if she got to have a bath everyday, or someone to braid her hair to keep it out of her eyes. I doubt she had anyone to hold her hand or rock her to sleep or tell her she was loved. And that’s what we all need. But I could give up breakfast for her. I could not eat, but I still know where my next meal is coming from. I know where I would lay my head tonight. I know who my blood kin are, alive and dead, and I know where to find them if I want to see them. I know their phone numbers, and the color of their eyes, and their health conditions. I know them in a pack of strangers with their back turned to me.
I know my family.
And for that, I am fortunate.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
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 shortcomings.
For this test of will, I gave up crying. I wish I could give it up forever and always. I cry way too easily. I’ve even been known to cry because I’m crying, how ridiculous is that? It has nothing to do with hormones, or the weather, or any number of things people like to blame it on. I cry because I’m tenderhearted and wear my emotions on my sleeve and because I’m a crybaby from way back. I cry when I’m sad, I laugh, I cry when I get hurt, I cry when I’m super angry. I’m just tender, I guess. I should never have a problem with my tear ducts needing washed out. And I should never waste another tear on a liar. Because they certainly aren’t crying. They don’t care.
Lord, you hear our pleas. This prayer is for all of us, because we’re all affected. People just don’t seem to think about the repercussions for their actions anymore. Their lies affect us all, and they hurt like a gut punch. We know when we’re being lied to, and society dictates that we keep our mouth shut. So we stand there, politely listening, and feeling ridiculous. And the liar’s tale grows and swells and they really think they’re taking us for a ride. What can be their purpose? Do they feel inadequate without their version of events? When does it end, Lord? I pray for you to work on them, show them the only way is the truth, and that people will truly love them, regardless of how boring they think they are without the embellishments. If they have children, they are teaching these kids how to deceive from such a young age it will be difficult to set them right. It takes a lot of work to undo a lie, but I think the person who told it will find it’s worthwhile to come to terms and unburden themselves. They’ll feel so much lighter and hopefully find peace in truth. I pray that the ears that have been lied to with will not withhold forgiveness. May we all learn to love more like you. In Jesus name, Amen.
Now, on to general musings that don’t have a thing to do with the rest of this.
It was a good day for wildlife. It had rained overnight and I was surprised by the number of earthworms in my parking lot. I counted twenty seven on the way from my car to the door. It saddens me to think how many I flattened on my way in. I like worms. They’re, like, an affiliate of the NRCS.
When I took my daily promenade with Aquaman, we’re standing out from his building, finishing our conversation, and his eyes darted and he interrupts himself saying, “is that a possum?!?” And points.
Contrary to popular belief, it is NOT every day we see possums waddling down the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon, even though we are in Tennessee.
I turn to look and sure enough, there is a little round gray body scurrying across the road at the crosswalk, just like he should be. It tickled me so. I watched him for several minutes. I don;t know if he was scavenging food or searching for a mate, but I don’t believe he had rabies or anything. He was just out roaming. Maybe he’s an insomniac.
Funny. Possums are liars. “Playin’ possum”?? Yeah, little fakers.
The rabbits and squirrels and birds were also out in full force, taking advantage of the weather. It is blissfully perfect right now, I have to say. I shall appreciate it as well. But not so much that I will cry from the joy of it all. I will not cry for happiness or thankfulness or sadness this day. I will not cry from disappointment, or expectations, or the fear of the unknown. I will not spill one little tear.
But tomorrow, all bets are off.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
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 fine. The more you talk to him, the easier it gets. I promise. Even if you just sit there and cry awhile. I’m sure He’s used to it.
Lord, I pray for my friends who can’t or won’t speak the words to me for their specific prayers. I don’t know their hearts, all their dreams and desires and heartaches–but You do. And I pray for complete healing of their bodies, restorations of their souls, and a opening of their heart to you. I pray that they let go of whatever burdens they carry and release them to you. I pray for them to know that love is always the right answer, and if you can’t love, pray till you can. Nobody’s opinions matter except yours, and we are all buried in the same size hole. Unless we do something truly monumental in our time on Earth, nobody will know anything about us in a hundred years. We’ll be reduced to a headstone and maybe a few lines dedicated to our passing in the newspaper. It’s hard to leave a lasting mark. You tell us in the book of James that life is but a vapor. So why worry? It’s not easy to lay problems at your feet. Well, it’s more in leaving them there, not in the handing them over. So help us be proactive in helping others- that always puts our problems in perspective and helps us see our many blessings. I thank you for placing me among people who know you, in a country that we can worship freely. I thank you for the people I can depend on in my life. None are perfect, I don’t look to them as an example, but as people who have been placed here to do your work. We all meet for a reason. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Today I gave up fast food. Usually it’s not a threat, since I typically just eat it for lunch if I eat it at all. I had my wondrous salad again. What with all the salad and spin class, I should be in the negative weight by now! But life doesn’t work that way. But maybe this is the way I need to set my mind to working: not that I shouldn’t do something, but that I can’t.
It has certainly been a different way of life. And the day I corrected dairy sure made me wish I had gotten it right the first time.
I guess we’ve all got plenty to learn, and living for the Lord is as good a place to start as you will find.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
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 rings, it startles me from my reverie, even though the ring is now melodic.
There are forms to be filled out, calls to make, and appointments to schedule. But I’d rather sit and listen to the birds and count the rabbits and watch the rain. It’s so pleasant to be in a place where you can look out at the world and maybe daydream just a minute about the lives going on in the neighboring historic houses. Or maybe their lives, right here, a hundred years ago. Maybe not much has changed, other than the sheer number of people going places fast. Maybe if they would take a minute to reflect, they would see that this is still a special place, filled with people who appreciate the beauty of the everyday.
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
I didn’t hit snooze. I thought, if that lady can get up and face this day, I shouldn’t have the slightest problem. I did open my
Don’t let things get you down. It’s so easy to feel overwhelmed. Just conquer one thing a day. Make a list and mark it off. You’ll get there. You’ll get there. I have had days where my list looked like this:
- Make bed
- Take shower
- Go to Post Office
- Make
dentist appointment - Finish book
- Put pork chops in crockpot 1:00
- Weed flowerbeds
- Dust
- Vacuum
- Clorox shower
- Clean makeup brushes
- Do laundry
Not too strenuous, right? Well, maybe not. But you put the easy stuff on there to get you motivated to knock out the dreaded tasks. Notice “delete 1000 emails” isn’t listed. I don’t need that staring me in the face.
Well, this is no self-help column, and I’m certainly not in a place to be dispensing advice, but just know that we all have our dark days filled with worry and a sense we can’t push on, what’s the use? And that’s when you count your blessings and compare yourself to someone who just lost a baby. Or their home in a fire. Or someone who lives in poverty in a third world country or just down the road under a bridge. Get some perspective, wallow for a day if you must, then get the heck up and go do something. It’s easier if the sun is shining, I will say that. I wish y’all the very best.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
The Montgomery Vindicator was a newspaper ran out of Sevierville, Tennessee from the late
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
Okay, okay, any history. Except maybe China’s or something.
But lemme tell you, I have been POSITIVELY CAPTIVATED by the obituaries posted by the newspaper.
June 28th, 1899
Jones — The wife of Will Jones, of Henry’s X Roads, died Monday morning, June 25th.
That’s pretty sorry. It doesn’t even list her first name or her birthday. When did she marry Will Jones? Was she a mother? How many children? What were their names? Where did they live? What church did she attend? Was she sick? I mean, current obituaries do a better job than this. Why was this particular obituary listed online for posterity? I thought they only chose the juicy ones, like below.
Miss Martha Charlotte Emert died at the residence of her mother, Mrs. Sarah Emert on Middle Creek, Thursday evening June 8th, 1899, at 4 o’clock p.m. age 22 years, 11 months and 15 days. For about two years Martha had been in very delicate health, but not until very recently had her afflictions reached such a stage as to alarm her friends. Martha was the pride of her father’s
That is all copied and pasted from the site, so I don’t know whether the person who transcribed it made the errors or if that’s how it was printed. But it is so enthralling, I am willing to overlook it. I like how they refer to the city of Sevierville as “this place”. Several obituaries stated “Five miles southwest of this place” or whatnot. I love the details. I wish more were written like this today. I think I’ll go ahead and get mine ready so all Atchley’s has to do is fill in the blanks. No mundane announcement for me! And no typos! We surely can’t have that. I would roll in my grave. Anyway, I found all 34 pages riveting. Many of them made me laugh, for which I immediately felt guilty. Like this one:
July 27, 1898 Sudden Death. Monday morning about nine o’clock, Addie Dixon, wife of Luther M. Dixon, of Harrisburg, while talking to her mother, Mrs. Mary Robertson, suddenly died. She was somewhat indisposed, but was not considered dangerous. Her husband had gone to his work and her brother, M. C. Robertson, had gone to the woods to kill her a squirrel. She began to feel queer and commenced describing her feelings to her mother, but before she could complete description, she was dead. She and her husband had been married less than a year and seemed to be starting happily and successfully on life’s journey. The young husband, the aged mother and admiring brothers and sisters have our sympathies. She was interred Tuesday at 10 a.m., with appropriate ceremonies.
We don’t know how old she was, but we know her brother wanted squirrel stew for lunch. And I reckon “considered dangerous” doesn’t mean combative, more likely contagious.
But they’re so wonderful!!! I was absolutely captivated and ending up sending many out to friends that I thought
https://www.newspapers.com/clip/12193899/knife_fight_near_scene_of_pickens/
I am telling you, I have thoroughly enjoyed reading all this stuff. I feel like my head is a big
Anyway, Amber suggested I write their stories
These thirty four pages could be the start of my magnum opus. I strongly encourage you to take a read, even if you just select one of the options and read a page. But I warn you: you’ll be totally addicted and up all night.
Enter at your own risk…. http://sevier.tngenealogy.net/research-assistance/records-resources/27-newspapers-a-publications/10-some-death-notices-from-the-montgomery-vindicator-1897-1901?showall=1&limitstart=
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.
Supper was at library board. Evidently the rule of thumb for lactose intolerant folks is “when in doubt, assume that it will kill you. If it looks creamy at all, it’s a no.”
Corn pudding is out, then. And the salad, with its cheese throughout. I figured the green beans were safe, and I chanced it with the chicken and stuffing. Nobody uses butter in catering, it’s too expensive.
This day has been no fun at all. But, as usual, it’s given me a new perspective, admiration, and respect for those who have to do without. Life is hard enough without food allergies. Fortunately, cows have always been good to me.
But this ain’t about me and all the things I wish I could eat. It’s after nine, I can go to bed soon and set my alarm for 12:01 and go scarf some cheese. Or I can wait like a normal person and buy me an ice cream sandwich…or box of ice cream sandwiches…on my way into work in the morning. Perfectly reasonable behavior, I say.
I do have good news to share. It will probably seem like small potatoes/ first world problem, but I was pleased. So, I like Belk. They’re conveniently located in town so I can swing over there anytime instead of driving into Knoxville for makeup and whatnot. I have credit with them, and ever so often they send me “Belk Bucks”. There’s no limitations on what you can apply them towards, besides payment on your account. I’ve been out of eyeliner for a week and have been putting off going over for no good reason at all, other than I didn’t want to. I decided today would be my day before library board. I look at my Belk Bucks. It expired yesterday.
Grrrrrrr.
This would be $10.00 I was wasting, a total of $12 for the day when you count my nasty breakfast drink. I’m not okay with that. Perhaps they would honor it since it was just one day. But what if they wouldn’t? Did I have the gall to request the store manager? I really like my Clinique girls! I have to see them regularly, and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. This would be akin to fighting with your pharmacist. I don’t wanna….but I also don’t want to miss out on $10.00 I guess I could try to use it online but I thought my chances would be better improved in person. I can be quite winsome, when I want to be.
So I marched in like I was taking charge (Baker says I always look like high drama. We’ve reckoned it’s a combination of the hair, glasses, and shoes–and boy, did I have on the right shoes!) and strode up to the white counter. A lady from perfume sales hustled over. I pointed out my eyeliner and swooned over the lipsticks while she ferreted it out. Lo and behold, it’s bonus days, and I can never turn that down, so I picked me out a new lipstick.
Out of stock.
I picked me out another’n.
Out of stock.
Third time’s a charm, right?
Right.
And really, they’re all fairly close in color, so it’s fine.
She scanned my coupon and never said a word. I nearly squealed with delight. I forget, Belk ain’t Proffitt’s. Ol’ hoity toity department store that they were. Yes, it’s fifteen years later and I’m still bitter.
So that’s all well and good. After all that, and I was still the first one at board, believe it or not. I could barely believe it, myself. But there were witnesses!
Board was a little livelier than usual, which was also nice.
Onto my prayers.
I have some neighbors. They’re not right next door, they’re just over the hill. I met them at the Co-op (I’m sure y’all are wondering how I meet new people now. The answer is I don’t) and we’ve just had this bond ever since. I send them a postcard when I go on vacation because I can remember their address as well as my own. They keep me in lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes all summer, while I provide them with….entertainment, I suppose. They are history buffs, and have some really interesting stories about Trundles Crossroads. That is, Seymour. Over the years Mary has also shared several stories about her mother’s privileged upbringing in Nashville. She was a true Southern Belle. I could just envision her mother as a debutante, out on the veranda with her tea and parasol, letting the boys entertain her. How nice…
This Southern Belle life continued through adulthood, where she became an avid gardener and was active in several garden clubs and served on many advisory boards for historical structures, characteristic of many true Southern ladies. She lived a life I hope to someday aspire to. But a decade ago, she fell and hit her head and that was the beginning of her dementia. She lived out the remainder of her life at a prestigious nursing home, where she was well attended to.
I understand that losing your mother is traumatizing, no matter what age you are, or she is, regardless of how sick or frail she was. Losing your momma is hard, hard stuff.
So my thoughts and prayers have been for Mary on this day, and for several days after I got the news. I consider it a massive loss that I never knew this woman, I would have dearly loved chatting with her and recording her stories of a life I can only dream about.
Lord I’m grateful you’ve gained a new angel, especially one that has an educated Southern accent. But I know my friend’s heart hurts to the point of bursting. I don’t know how you take news that your momma has passed and not fall to your knees. And she may have. I pray for dear Mary, that she remembers all the sweet memories she made with her mother. I pray that her heart will heal with each passing day, and that she knows you are there with her. I ask you to watch over her and guide her heart to grieve openly and to seek what blessings she can during the dark times. Again, I’m struck without knowing the right words to pray but I don’t want her to hurt. I want her to remember that her mother is with you now, and that is Home. May her horses remain her outlet, and keep her safe as I know she enjoys these lovely days from the backs of a few of them. May you bless her and keep her. Thank you for placing this couple in my life. Thank you for the gift of living in Tennessee. Thank you for the grass at our feet, wind at our backs, and the graceful beauty that horses represent. In these things I pray. Amen.
I know several women, and men, who have lost their mothers. I believe it leaves a hole, always and forever. Hopefully you will eventually smile when you remember, and look for her in the birds or the breeze or the sweet smell of magnolias. Maybe you just missed her, looking over your shoulder as you attached your diamond earrings. Maybe she’ll always be with you, nurturing and loving and being your biggest fan and lifelong ally.
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 light. I so enjoy spending time with her, we never run out of things to talk about. I’m forever thankful she came into my life and has been a never-ending supply of encouragement and solid advice. She is one of those rare people who have actual life experiences to relate to, and not just an off-the-cuff unsolicited opinion giver. She is kind, and as beautiful outside as she is on the inside. She deserves way better than my piddly prayers.
I come to you tonight Lord, thankful for another day on this earth. I thank you for my jobs, my friends, my home, and my health. Not in that order. I thank you for the abundance of food in my old refrigerator that continues to run, which I totally appreciate. I thank you for my dog and my sight. Thank you for all my warm clothes and reliable transportation. Lord, I just want to love and honor you as you see fit. I want to pray for all us sinners, and especially the lost and the infirm. May those who don’t know you
I don’t feel as though I’m doing this sweet couple justice tonight. They pray for me daily. I just want them to know I love them and appreciate them and think of them often.
Again, I ask you if you want me to pray for you, either through my blog or privately, it is my honor. Facebook messenger is the best way to contact me, as I do not check this email often. And I barely glance at my primary emails. Don’t hesitate. Prayer works. It always brings me moments of peace when I know somebody is praying for me and the Lord works on me. Ohhhh…how he works on me!!! I don’t always like that part 😉
Love from a chocolate deprived Applachia,
Amy xoxo
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
It was only after I was home, back in my pajamas, melting into my couch that I remembered I hadn’t chosen anyone for Lent. I hadn’t prayed, and I hadn’t intentionally fasted anything. Which got me to thinking.
I’ve got several close friends in the nursing field. Bless their hearts. I hear these horror stories about their jobs, how their shift ends at seven but they’re frequently there till ten, charting. How there aren’t enough nurses employed to be staffed as the hospital should be. How they’re ran ragged all day, only pausing for lunch as they chart, chart, chart, between administering meds and answering call buttons and all the other vitals and check ins that occur regularly. They don’t pee all shift sometimes. I can’t even fathom. They must really love their jobs. It’s not for everybody.
And when I say they must love their jobs, I don’t mean where they work. I mean the caregiving aspect, making a real difference. I would feel privileged and safe in the care of any one of them. They are caring and smart and observant. I know that if something is amiss, they will notice and treat accordingly, with swiftness and effectiveness. I feel that when these women are with you, they’re really with you, you know what I mean? I know when I spend time with my girlfriends, they are wholly
I think I should leave her prayer requests private. They are pretty significant, as things go. She is not unhealthy, but there are concerns regarding housing, financing, and her last job. I just want to lift her up in prayer and take her worries away.
For Deuteronomy 31:6 tells us~ Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.
And Joshua 1:5~ No one will be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.
I’m not going to spell out my prayer for her today. I won’t risk slipping. But I love this girl, and she works so hard, and she has a good heart and loves what she does. And so I pray for her. May she be vigilant and kind to her patients, may she bring them peace and comfort in their distress. May others look to her as an example of fine nursing ability. May the powers that be convene to help place her in a dwelling to make a home for the rest of her days and all her life finally fall into place. I pray she cease worrying and lay it at your feet, Lord.
So in honor of my friend, let’s say I gave up comfort during my shift. I didn’t take my last break even though I wanted to and I really needed to. Because if I were in her shoes, a break is a pipe dream most days. I have no pressure on me decorating cakes. It’s one of the many perks. So I can sacrifice a break. And yes, it does feel like cheating, but in my defense, she never texted me back with anything to fast. Probably because she was running her hind end off and thinking, just pray for me and my patients…don’t let anything slip through the cracks. I don’t know how they do it. And I hope I never have to find out. May the good Lord have mercy on all those truly working on the front lines of the healthcare system.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
I ain’t got no lies to tell. I didn’t really “do” Lent yesterday. And I didn’t really do it today, either.
I am a lazy slacker.
Yesterday, I started out with good intentions. As is my new custom, before I got out of bed, I concentrated on who my person was. I had her. I prayed. Then I thought…what am I giving up? She never said. Well, I knew it wouldn’t be toilet paper, so I set about my routine activities for the morning. And all I drink is water for about the first hour I’m awake, so I was safe there. I sent her a message and waited for her reply. I knew she wouldn’t give me virtual farming (that would be cruel and unjust) so I went to town on my game. I started a little laundry.
I poured me a giant glass of chocolate milk.
And that’s where I went wrong.
I had just sat my glass down when she answered that I could fast chocolate…or if I wanted to be really hard core: sugar. I wrote back no thanks, I’d done been down that treacherous road once this Holy Season, I would pass on
I have another person in line, and she wasn’t making me give up anything, but I told her I’d fast dairy since I had that cheeseburger by accident on my no dairy day. Again, milk. So that was out. I am still waiting on several people to get back to me with prayers and one I have what she wants me to pray for, but not the sacrifice. I sighed. I guess I could just think something up.
It was then that my belly rumbled and I thought, “I’ll think about this later,” in Scarlett fashion and trundled into the kitchen to fix my customary Saturday brunch omelet. And hash browns. I wasn’t getting carried away doing anything. I’d slept in, in true sloth fashion, and hadn’t gotten in a big hurry to be up and at ’em. Why should I? A gorgeous East Tennessee spring day stretched ahead of me, with dinner and yoga at Baker’s this afternoon.
About the time I sat down with my breakfast to watch a rerun of Big Bang Theory, my phone went to chiming.
“The last ride,” Beth wrote in our group chat. A picture of her kitty, the magnificent Sage, sitting regally in her backseat.
This was disconcerting. Sage has been sick for a couple of months, off and on his food, and being very needy. He’s fifteen. Beth is struggling. I have never known of her taking him on random road trips. Her schnauzer is her ride or die. Sage is the curl up and purr.
We all began typing at once. She was indeed taking him to the vet. For that. Which is very brave, I don’t care who you are. Sage has had the good fortune of supreme health his entire life, and has never had to set paw in an clinic. That also reflects how good of a mom Beth is. She was taking him to LB’s vet, right down the road.
“Want me to come? You don’t have to be brave alone,” I wrote.
“No. It’s ok,” she replied.
I kept thinking, fifteen years. FIFTEEN YEARS. Sure, he’s “just a cat” but when you don’t have a child, your fur babies ARE your babies. It may sound ridiculous to some of you, but I’ll have you know I may not drop Lightning Bug off at school with a lunchbox, but I pat his little head and rub his little ears and look in his sweet brown eyes every day and tell him I love him and I’ll be home as soon as I can. I look after him, making sure he has food, water, and at least two tennis balls nearby. I open the curtains so he can sort of know what time it is. I tell him what I’m doing after work, so he won’t think I’m not coming back. I may not buy him running shoes and soccer lessons, but I read to him and stroke his head before I go to bed. I love my dog. He’s here, he loves me unconditionally, and he never says anything hurtful. He doesn’t lie. He only asks for love. So fifteen years with a cat? Beth was not okay. I knew this. But I also know that she values her personal time, and that she’s strong, and I couldn’t intrude no matter how badly I wanted to, no matter how much I believed she needed me there. It was to my great relief when I offered a second time, she relented.
Out the door I went.
When I got to the office, it was a madhouse as usual. A beautiful springer spaniel sprung around at the end of a faded and frayed purple leash. One of the girls finally got free and asked me what I needed. I told her I was just there for my friend Beth. Her expression immediately softened and she frantically pointed to a door just off the lobby. I was afraid I was too late, but I don’t want to just barge in like the Slim Jim man, either. I gave a couple of soft knocks and entered. Beth sat in a chair in the corner, weeping. In her lap was a soft pink blanket with hearts printed on it. And on the blanket was a beautiful black and white fluffball that I knew to be Sage. With one hand, I rubbed Beth’s back, and with the other, I stroked Sage. Because that’s what you do when you meet a kitty. You reach for their fur, to see if it is as soft as it looks.
It was.
Dr. Biggs had already administered the sleepy time medicine that would put him under so he could feel no pain. Sage was drifting, but I looked into his golden eyes before he went on to his next life. He was Cat Royalty, remaining aloof and dignified to the end. He was in his momma’s lap, and all was right with him. And I prayed.
I cannot write anymore about that.
So all that’s left of Sage for Beth are the memories of a little black and white 
I brought Beth back here with me. It was a beautiful
And so I got Beth situated on the couch with my alpaca blankie that’s dried an ocean of tears, a fresh box of Kleenex, and a cold water. And I resumed my breakfast.
Beth looked at me agape.
“You left your breakfast?” I just kind of raised my eyebrows over my fork. Like, what else would I have done? “Uhh, hang on, I’m right in the middle of my omelet. Can this wait until Sheldon solves string theory and Leonard and Penny get together?”
No. When somebody is parting with their pet of fifteen years, you freaking drop it like it’s hot and go to hold their hand.
After some Sheldon and sugar cookies, Beth was feeling well enough to face the world and we got up enough speed for the wind through the sunroof to dry our tears. We had big plans, as I mentioned before, and the show would go on. It was probably
Tracy’s house is always welcoming. Her dog is non-obtrusive, it isn’t like being here. And there’s room to spread out, although we tend to congregate in the kitchen. After all, that’s where all the action is. And we don’t want to miss out on 
Have I mentioned what a nice day it was? 77 for the high, but it didn’t feel the least bit oppressive, due to a nice breeze. The pollen wasn’t coating everything just yet, and truly, birds were singing as we carried our yoga mats out into her fenced backyard. It was so serene and perfect. And as we breathed in unison, and stretched our arms to the sky, then let them fall–with awareness– I was reminded of monarch butterflies gently flapping their wings. Seriously. It was beyond comprehension how absolutely
Here’s the one we did. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9LmRtvSkgA
After it concluded, we lay on our backs and watched the clouds. Petey came over for kisses. He even did cobra pose with us.
So, like all good girls’ nights, we shared secrets and laughter and tears. We were missing two things: Rhonda and wine. But I was trying to be good, and had infused strawberry/cucumber water, which was delightfully refreshing.
I believe things happen for a reason. We’ve not had this dinner/ yoga night planned but for a few days. Sage’s final day just happened to coincide. And I’m so glad. I pray that Beth will find peace in time, I pray that she finds a little more every day. I pray for sweet Sophie, too, she’s lost her buddy as well. I hope Beth can focus on what a great life she gave her sweet boy, and how he went knowing exactly how much she loved him.
If only we could all be so lucky.
Soft kitty, warm kitty
Little ball of fur
Happy kitty, sleepy kitty
Purr purr purr....
