For Such A Worm As I

It's Friday again and I'm linking up with the great writers at Kate Motaung's Five Minute Friday weekly writing party! http://katemotaung.com/2015/07/30/five-minute-friday-try-plus-a-giveaway/    The word for today is Try.   Whew! Go.  One of my childhood memories that even now carries over into adulthood is my Mother's encouragement at mealtimes to get her children to "Try just a little bit of everything served."  Even if we didn't think we would like it, or even if we knew we didn't like it, we were told to get a bite-sized portion.  To this day, I love almost every food, probably as a direct result of her training.  I remember coming in contact with a wonderful older man when I was in my teens.  He was a top maker who sold his toys at a family-friendly museum-like center.  There he taught people young and old how to throw his tops just right and make them spin.  My family stayed on and on until we finally had it mastered.  I was sobered when he poi

Today Kate Motaung's ( http://katemotaung.com/2015/07/16/five-minute-friday-free/ ) word for Five Minute Friday is Free.  So, here I go! Start. When I think of the word "free" so many things come to mind.  Our national freedom, hard earned through great sacrifice and the favor of God Almighty, & my spiritual freedom bought by the Blood of Jesus Christ Who gives me freedom from sin.  But there's another freedom I have been thinking about.  It all started this afternoon after I called to talk to a friend of mine about a Wednesday night kid's Bible program.  At some point as we discussed curriculum, Mrs. S said, "I know that you worry alot about things, so I don't want you worrying about this one, okay?"  I was offended.  You don't know me very well, Mrs. S, what gives you the right to think that I am a worrier?   I thought.  It nagged at me after I got off the phone.  What did she mean?  Am I a worrier?       I hate worry.  It plagues certain p

  I just finished watching the story of Mary Jane Ponten's life.  http://www.joniandfriends.org/television/mary-jane-ponten-gods-perfect-time/    I have long been drawn to disability and disability ministry.  I grew up hearing about Joni Eareckson Tada.  I grew up with regular trips to visit my mother's younger brother who was paralyzed from the neck down following a car accident.  I grew up going to a church that had a Deaf ministry, whose director's son was a sunny young man who zipped around in a wheelchair and smiled at anyone around him.  Because of what Jesus Christ has done in my life, forgiving me of my sins and promising to keep me forever, I want to do something with this life He's loaned me.  He has given me a passion for those who don't look exactly like everyone thinks they should.  They aren't disabled really.  They may have challenges different from mine, but each and every person has been created beautifully and wonderfully by our Great Creator. 

Sometimes I sit back and marvel at the way the Lord does things, especially when it comes to topics I need to hear or things I need to think about (or give up to my All-knowing Father).  That being said, I have been thinking alot about hope and hopelessness.  You might imagine my surprise (and yet my feeling of "I shouldn't be surprised at all"ness) as I read Kate Motaung's word for today's Five Minute Friday: Hope. ( http://katemotaung.com/ ) *Disclaimer: I didn't get all I wanted to say within the 5-minute time frame, so here's 5 minutes worth of thoughts and then some.  Also, I did some editing for clarification purposes (and because I have a somewhat-stronger-than-moderate case of perfectionism).    I walked along our family's dirt lane.  The evening sky was growing darker both with the passing of time and the rain that was threatening with noise and wind.  I felt lacking in hope for some reason.  I've been listening to Dave Ramsey talk about n

{DISCLAIMER: Those with weak stomachs, read at your own risk!}   It was drizzily when I left church.   My umbrella kept me dry as I crossed the parking lot, but I felt weary and sad with the grayness of the afternoon.   Any other day like this I would have exulted at the atmosphere, but something was wrong with me.   I lugged myself into the car.   My umbrella slapped my ankles as I climbed in, a cold wet slap, and I felt cold as it slapped me, cold and unfeeling.     I pulled out of the parking lot and drove slowly.   I was so numb.       “Lord, something’s wrong with me.” I began to pray and gradually confess the gunk of sin in my heart.    There was the envy I felt toward one person, the jealousy that they had what I did not.   The bitterness I felt for not having and not knowing if I ever would.   Something about starting to confess my sins to my Shepherd was like the glimmer from a door cracked open, letting light into a pitch black room I was locked in.   There was hope!   This

     He doesn't worship him.  He just loved him. And now he misses him.  Twenty-seven plus years and he's still so close to my Daddy's heart, sometimes Dad tears up when he mentions him.  My Grandpa, a man I never got to meet.     "I wish you could have known him," Dad'll say, his mouth quirking at the corners a little, eyes getting a bit red.  My Dad, the strong, the affectionate, the hard-working, showing emotion at the memory and the missing of a man I never knew, a man who impacted his life in more ways than I'll ever understand.                                                                                 --------      Interesting how someone can be here one moment and unattainably gone the next.  This truth has struck me so strongly with the passing of both my maternal grandparents within 10 months.        Meemaw (that's what we called my grandmother) was so full of life, so animated, so not old , even after 85 years of life.  She was the prima

I have, at times, participated in Five minute Friday writing challenge hosted by Kate Motaung at http://katemotaung.com/.  It's a great exercise for me as a would-be writer to engage in, using my current skills and hopefully fine-tuning them--in an unedited, fast-paced writing spurt of five minutes.  Now that I have a blog, it is much easier than it used to be when I would put my "spurt" in the comment box. :)  The word for this week is Favorite.  So, without further ado, here I go:           I don't have a favorite sports team.  I don't have a favorite ice cream flavor (there are just way too many good ones!).  I don't have a favorite color (I love so many!).  But I do have one favorite above all.  I have a Favorite with Whom  I love to spend time.  He is my Lord Jesus Christ.  I get up in the morning and I want to go meet Him.  I find Him in a cozy corner of my house and there I read the loving words He has written to me in His Word, the Bible.  There I get

   Today is July 2nd.  One day after the first anniversary of my grandmother's passing.  One day before the two-month mark following my grandfather's passing.  It's been a different year.  I felt my grandmother's absence (we call her Meemaw) strongest three days ago.  I was cleaning her house which my family began living in over a year ago to care for Meemaw after she was diagnosed with cancer.  So many memories flooded back as I worked.  There was her hot pink housecoat hanging in her closet, (she loved pink, even before the brand came into being), and her navy houseshoes that I can still hear scuff-scuff ing with her footsteps as she hurried off to some task.  (Yes, we still have them.  Some things just take time.)       I vacuumed around her purple recliner.  Bobby pins used to litter the carpet beside that chair, a testament to her great use of the wonderful little inventions and to the crowdedness of the ledge she tried to drop them on.       I polished the sink an