A Little Birdie Told Me

Darren and I were sitting in Outback Steak House at Lake Nona weeks ago. My seat faced the side of the building with windows shadowed by some type of screening. The view was not the same as looking through clear glass. Instead, it was more like a colored shadow. We were talking when a movement outside the corner window caught my eye, and I realized a small cardinal was  periodically pecking at the window. At least that's what I first thought. After awhile, I understood the bird was trying to fly through the window and kept hitting the glass wall. I gave up on the bird when the blue cheese salad wedge arrived, and soon got lost in medium rare steak and brown bread.

Darren and I were, again, at Outback the other night, but this time, we sat in the booth by the corner window. Shortly after sitting down, I heard a slight noise and looked out the window. Weeks after my first sighting, a small cardinal, I'm sure it must have been the same one, was flying at the window over and over trying to get inside. Unbelievable! That little, red bird NEVER gave up. Well, it did finally leave for a short time during dinner, but before I had eaten my last bite of brown bread and butter, it came back and, peck!

I've thought of that bird often this week. Unfortunately, it reminds me of myself at times, and humanity in general. What's up with our continuous window ramming, even when it should be evident it's not working?
People are coming and going through open doors just a few feet down. Maybe it's not about getting inside. Maybe our brains become so addled from the whip lashings, we forget there are other important and even wonderful things we could be doing such as flying. That would be nice, but nope! We just keep flying into glass walls, addicted to the pain. I've always wanted to say this, "need I say more?"

In case I don't write again before Sunday, have a very Merry Christmas! Fly little birdies! Fly!

When I was a child, I spoke like a  child. I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put away childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face.

I Corinthians 13: 11-12

Peace. Love, Linda

Look to the Light

There's a picture in my mind, and I'm sure it's not just my vision alone. It's a dark night on a two-lane country road. The air is sleet-frosty. The pavement is slick. It's black everywhere, but the headlights of the car cast light on the shoulder of the road and create shadows on a mystical forest. A sharp curve ahead causes the car to slow down a bit when out of the mystical forest leaps a deer. It lands in the middle of the road on four light feet and freezes, not because it's cold, but because it looks to the headlights of the car. Cut. 

Scene two. Long brown hair flies and bare feet pat across the wooden floor. Bella runs through the living room into the dark bedroom towards the bathroom. With a rapid fire click she passes the light switch and baths the dark bedroom in light and passes through the bathroom door. Click. The light goes on in the dressing area. Click. The light turns on in the "water closet". Flush. She's up and running back into the living room racing to see the last fifteen minutes of a Sponge Bob Square Pants she has memorized, leaving a wake of light in her path. Light floods the house so quickly no one even  bothers to discuss fear of darkness. When you're six, it's just about problem solved. Lights on.

It's 7:40AM and the car, headed for Midtown Cycles, pulls into the lakefront parking lot. I jump out for a quick picture. Something has drawn me off the routine path to work. It's the morning light. It slants across Lake Toho making all things in its path appear surreal. The world in 3D glows and all creatures are outlined in brilliance. I take a few quick shots, hoping at least one of them is decent, get back into the car and head to the shop. Light floods the earth. Flood lights.

The days are shorter now, and I fall asleep earlier in the evening. I start counting the minutes down to the shortest day of the year, not with gloom because the days are getting shorter but with joy because we're almost over the hump of darkdom, an infusion of light is just around the corner. Lighten up!

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. John 1:5

Peace. Love, Linda

Thoughts About Now

I like the fact that I write because I like to throw thoughts on a page and watch them run around dressed as words. I look at them differently adorned in shapely curves and cut off sticks, and such. Sometimes when they come out dressed in formal attire, I can see their lines clearly for the first time, and I recognize them as old business buddies of mine. Other times, they are friends I used to know but who are no longer close associates, but they still pop up every now and then. There are even times when I look at them, and I see complete strangers on the page. I wonder where they came from, but I don't ask. I just let them appear. Thoughts become words. That in itself is strange.

Tonight, and this morning on my way to work, I thought about my father-in-law who is living in the same house as he has lived in for thirty-five years, but he no longer lives in the same world. I want to put those thoughts into words. He's somewhere else and often with someone else. Sometimes he talks to his hat, and he loves to wear skirts and ties together with or without pants. It's very sad because we make it sad, but if "now" is all we have, and his "now" is then or some other time and place, I just want to say, what's that all about, and why does it have to be sad? I wonder why we've created a world where we just can't "roll with it" more often than not. There are deeper thoughts inside these thoughts, but they didn't want to come out tonight and dance across the page. They don't feel like dancing because they just got a little sad.

The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind. The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous. The Lord watches over strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widows.  Psalms 146: 8-9
Peace. Love, Linda

The Little Tree in the Attic

A thought runs through my head this week like water over a log. It flows freely in and out rolling over my already crowded noggin' pushing all other precedents aside. I know that any time now I have to do something about it. The thought takes the form of actions resulting in subtle changes around the house, a red candle in place of a white one, a snowman place mat appears, and my cranberry and twig "Joy" hanging sign, or whatever it's called, pops up on the kitchen mirror. It's in motion. That's how it starts every year right after Thanksgiving. I don't know how to stop it, so I just roll with it.

I run into town to the bank, and my car pulls into Big Lots after making my Midtown deposit. I stroll through the already picked over Christmas collection and find that green candle I need for the fireplace. Did I say need? I buy it and some cereal I hadn't planned on getting and head back to the house. I decide to stop off for a bean burrito at Taco Bell, but I don't have even .99 on me, and I refuse to use a credit card for one bean burrito, so I head home with my new purchase, my stomach growling.

The thought really plagues me now, and a new momentum sets in. I pull out the wooden manger with the glass characters and set it up along with several of my Christmas figurines. Baby Jesus is still sleeping just like last Christmas as Mary watches closely by. I put her a bit closer to Joseph and go to the hallway.  I start pulling boxes out of the storage closet opening them as if they hold hidden treasure when I hear a sound in the attic. It compels me to go into the garage and pull the string on the attic door. The stairs drop down.

It's all over now. I climb the stairs and there it is, waiting patiently in the attic, all scrunched and  bound in a cardboard box. It's the little tree in the attic, the palate for my hanging treasures I've saved through the years. It's neither fancy nor formal. It's comfortable. Welcome back downstairs little tree. And now I can think about something else.

So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. Luke 2:16

Peace. Love, Linda

Over the River and Through Kissimmee

Light angled through the trees in mythical fashion draws me out the back door to the corner chair on the porch. With coffee in hand, I sit and just stare at the lines showing through the leaves in the oaks behind the house and the height of the pine tree that grew miraculously tall this year. I feel the soft, cool air across my legs not covered by my robe, and I am thankful. It's a quiet day because most commerce has come to a stand still and the major noise in the air is that of singing birds or cars moving on the roads to family destinations for hot potatoes and gravy and juicy turkey. You may hear an occasional motorcycle passing by; if you look closely, it may be maroon with gold pinstripes and say "Midtown Cycles" on the back. That's Darren and me. Today we're going on our own Thanksgiving journey, over the river and through Kissimmee to Ruthie's house in Lake Hamilton to share our lives and this beautiful day with family. Thank you, God, for this most amazing day.

How precious is your steadfast love, O God! All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings. They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights. For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light. 
Psalms 36:7-9

Happy Thanksgiving and peace. Love, Linda

Is the Word "Forever" a Finite Term?

I love the fact that I am comfortable with thoughts and questions I shied away from in my youth because I was swamped in dogma. I have no regrets about that. Amidst the conformity and tightly controlled religious messages a truth rang out that I have never forsaken, and I am thankful for the grace that God has given and the years I spent in church. I am fortunate that my path to God is through Jesus and He intercedes for me as an almighty spirit of the living God. I can ask anything of Him, and the world begins to move to answer those very requests. I'm stating these facts about myself because what I am about to say could be misconstrued by some as disbelief. It is not. It is just questions, thoughts. I like questions. They open up thought with a mark that looks like this "?". On the other hand, statements often close down the conversation with a mark that looks like this ".".

In the Psalms, wonderfully inspired words are poured out onto the page with passionate abandon. We accept them in every literal sense in most Protestant congregations, but isn't it puzzling how we tap dance to make meaning of some of them to keep accepting them literally? Here is an example I find puzzling:

Psalms 89: 19 and further begins this, " Then you spoke in a vision to your faithful one, and said: 'I have set the crown on one who is mighty... my hand shall always remain with him.' Verse 28 says,"Forever I will keep my steadfast love for him, and my covenant with him will stand firm. If his children forsake my law.... then I will punish their transgression with the rod...,but I will not remove from him my steadfast love or be false to my faithfulness...His line shall continue forever, and his throne endure before me like the sun. It shall be established forever like the moon, an enduring witness in the skies."

What a beautiful declaration of God's faithfulness to his servant David, even though punishment for transgressions may be doled out, the love remains steadfast. Not only to David, but also to his descendants, one of which is Jesus of Nazareth. Ironically, in verse 38, David states, "But now, you have spurned and rejected him; you are full of wrath against your anointed. The Psalm ends, after David Laments God's anger, with  David's usual declaration of faithfulness and these words, "Blessed be the Lord forever. Amen and Amen." Even David's greatest despair expressed rose to the top after pouring out his heart to God. It's a beautifully human pattern.

Does David remind you of yourself at times? Do you think he forgot the meaning of forever when he was distressed? Do you think Christians have forgotten the meaning of forever? Do you think because the Jews rejected Jesus, all of them will die and go to hell? If so, does that mean his throne "established like the moon" is doomed? I don't know. I'm just askin' questions.

Peace. Love, Linda

Feeling Miscellaneous

It's 7:20 in the evening. I've already had my shower, and my fuzzy slippers are feeling soft and cozy on my feet, which are propped up and crossed on the recliner couch. The day was warm and foot traffic at the shop was slim, but work in the shop is fat, so that's O.K. Darren and I ate Mexican food for dinner, and my belly is almost stuffed but not quite because, finally, at fifty-five, I've learned to slow down on the chips...somewhat.

I don't have anything profound or insightful to say. I just want to write in my blog and feel connected. I am not certain of how things will play out with Darren's parents, and I'm not sure how we will get them down here, but I believe it will all work out for the very best. There is a lot of opportunity for growth going on right now, and I hope none of us miss as the rope swings across from the other side of the chasm and a voice from the master says, "Grab hold quick. It may not reach you when it swings back the next time." I'm not bored or sad or under the weather. I'm just feeling miscellaneous, not to be mistaken nor is it synonymous with lukewarm.

When I was riding to work this morning, backtracking a bit, I stopped at the Stop sign on 10th and Delaware.I was talking to God about the day, and I just briefly turned my palms upward. I'm not certain why it happens, but when I do that, I feel the energy flowing from my hands. It's almost tangible; maybe it is tangible. I'm beginning to think I should do that more often. Along the lines of miscellaneous, I found this verse. I like it.  "With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation." Isaiah 12:3

Peace. Love, Linda

Mama Loved the Psalms

If I had a picture for this upper corner, it would be of me sitting on the side of a bed in a nursing home with a Bible in my lap opened to the Psalms and reading to Mama as she rests peacefully. Her eyes are closed, her face peaceful; she is still. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest makes me know she is living and the look on her face that reflects an inner peace that has finally set in because, unknown to me, she is going home that Sunday afternoon. Her work on earth is done, and she has heard the spirit of the Father say, "Well done." Mama loved the Psalms.

As I sit on my morning off with the Bible on the couch beside me and the laptop in my lap, I open to the Psalms as a source of comfort and encouragement, believing in the promises of peace they profess, and holding a personal track record that has proven the promises true, over and over. Right now, my thoughts are for Pat and Frank. I send them love and peace and write these words from Psalms knowing that peace is possible and love heals when nothing else can. "Hear oh, Lord, and be gracious to me! O, Lord, be my helper! You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever." Psalms:30:10-12.

Peace. Love, Linda

Not So Much

I put out sunflower seeds for the birds but sometimes it's not the birds that eat the seeds but the two squirrels that run the tree in the back yard. Does it bother me? Not so much. That's how people say it today, "not so much." Even my granddaughter Bella says, "not so much." I think it caught on because it's a good way to make a negative expression take on an almost positive twist, but not so much.

I'm not sure why I'm writing about this because I have so many thoughts I want to express but have not been ready to sit down and put them in print. My in-laws are in a sad state. Darren is traveling back and forth to their home in Mississippi on a regular basis. It's wearing on  him not only because of the pain of his parent's demise, but also  because of the lack of direction they are willing to take right now to change it. The distressful interactions involving dementia mixed with insanity that are taking place between two people who have lived together for over fifty years is not driving his parent's choices; instead, it is a value system that doesn't fit the unfortunate and unpredictable state of affairs in which my father-in-law's deteriorating mind has placed them.. Old patterns are the brain's default in spite of changed events. Habits of negativity and old grudges don't go away under duress. They evolve into demons when love leaves the room.

It  causes me to wonder how our nation has spent billions of dollars on longevity with an obsessive value on  youth, leaving us with a horrendous gap in knowledge and understanding of the multiple faces of old-age dementia. It appears with the push for youth and longevity that our nation values life, but right now as I sit and write this, these words come to mind, "not so much."

If you pray, please pray for my husband's family. God's grace is sufficient for even the saddest of situations.
Peace. Love, Linda

October 16th

It was a day of uneasy scenes that didn't quite fit in the frame. We got up early and rode the bike to Daytona Beach to see exactly what we thought we'd see but less of it. The sky was cloudy gray with swaths of blue exposing themselves more boldly as the morning progressed. The trees along the way showed signs of change, but only slightly. The fields displayed fading, golden weeds and green edged with brown. Traffic was not particularly heavy.

We were about ten miles out from the Daytona Beach exit when I noticed no traffic was coming west toward us on I-4. The long stretch of rode was empty like the sky after 9-11. It felt odd. Then I saw flashing lights and a smashed truck on one side of the rode and emergency vehicles and a car in a ditch and the bodies of two bikers laying out in the middle of the rode with brilliant colored tarps over them. The bikes were already gone. I learned they were bikers on the six o'clock news later in the day. It was an uncomfortable sight. I thought about the families and sent up prayers for them and for our continued safety on our journey. Then I asked myself, what would we do without tarps? Thoughts are strange like that sometimes. My gyroscope uprights me during even the darkest of hours often with a twist of humor. I felt a sense of compatibiltiy with the author of Ecclesiastes today when he said, "...but time and chance happen to them all. For no one can anticipate the time of disaster. Like fish taken in a cruel net and like birds caught in a snare, so mortals are snared at a time of calamity, when it suddenly falls upon them."

When I was younger and read Ecclesiastes, it baffled me, but not so much any more. It's a clear view of life. Life is what it is; it's not what it's not, and it's all what we make of it. Even on a day of uneasy scenes, I'm comfortable with that.

Peace. Love, Linda

Who Controls the Rain

The rain blows in the night, and I hear it splat against the bedroom window. There's evidence of its strength marked on the kitchen ceiling where water has blown into the chimney pipe and rolled down the rafters and left damp prints in the drywall. It will quit soon, but I don't know exactly when. I don't control the rain.

The water is building in the dip in the back yard to levels I've not seen before. It started out creeping closer to the house but now it appears to be picking up the pace. I wonder what kind of creatures are out there moving to new territory because of the quick and drastic change in their ecosystem. I wonder how far the water will flow before it begins receding, and I wonder who is drenched with sorrow because everything they own is now flooded, and I wonder when it will stop because I don't control the rain.

The traffic newsmakers are busy this weekend because the roads are slick with water and oil and visibiltiy is limited. Cars are smashing into cars and trucks are smashing into trucks and many of them are ramming into poles and running into ditches. The rain still falls, and I'm sure the State Troopers and traffic cops are weary,
but all of this will pass as rainy events do. I just don't know exactly when. I don't control the rain.

I watch the clouds roll and the water swirl and visualize the trees and grass and flowers pulling in the fresh moisture and sending prayers of thanks while loving every minute of it. I picture the clean, crisp, blue of sky after storm and the slant of fall light that falls on the lake with immense beauty, and I say thank you, God, for the rain. In your world, "all things work together for good for those who love God, according to His purpose." All means everything, even what appears to be a ceaseless, annoying rain.

Peace. Love, Linda

Creator of Simplicity

I've written this quotation in a previous blog because it made an impression on me, and the words ring in my head when I find myself in a quandary looking for solutions in all the wrong places. The quotation is this, "Keep it as simple as you can but not any simpler." It's Einstein's quote, a man of whom we  might see as a purveyor of complicated formulas and intricate data. Hmm...

It makes such good sense. So how do I get back to simple in the midst of confusion. Call upon the creator of simplicity, the great "I Am." Now that's simple.

 God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM." Exodus 3: 14 

Peace. Love, Linda

Whimsical Led Us to the Clouds

 It was our usual Saturday early morning walk, and the talk ran to random as it often did. Someone said the word "whimsical", and Martha asked with a studious tone, "Whimsical, what does that mean?" Mary Beth followed with a quick answer that I can't remember right now because I haven't finished my first cup of coffee, yet, but it was so good. We moved on, literally, it was our morning walk.


Later the same day, Mary Beth, Martha, Sally and I sat around the pool, relaxing awhile before going to Crabby Bill's for a rare dinner together, not so rare for them but rare for me to be with them on a Saturday evening. We voted on which calendar Martha should use for Better Blooming Orchids with hopes of breaking a stand off back at the lab, serious stuff, but not to be  taken too seriously. Somewhere in that conversation, the word "whimsy" came up. "Whimsy," Martha asked, "What exactly does that mean?" We laughed and tossed the word in the air a few times along with the phrase, "tide you over" or "tie you over?" It's still up for debate.

We sat at Crabby Bills and ate crab dip and chips and fish that jumped from the ocean into the frying pan or onto the grill and landed on our plates in various shapes and sizes. Then we walked outside and down "the point" at the lakefront. Halfway down the walkway, we were arrested by an evening sky and setting sun and an ever changing bank of clouds with a brilliant orange-gold outline. "It's an old woman with a big nose." "It's a wiener." "It's a bunny. Look, the Road Runner is chasing it."
"It's a volcano." Flying gracefully above the  transformations was a beautiful angel that  outlasted all other characters until the end of the golden light. Then POOF! She was gone. Angels are like that.

Mike Dooley makes T-shirts that say, "Thoughts become things." Sounds whimsical to some, but I believe it. I'm sorry I didn't have my camera last night. I may not have had to write any of this. They say a pictures says a thousand words. This is not last night's sunset,but I'll leave you with this, and you can look at it for awhile. Who knows what you might see, if you let your thoughts run to whimsy.

God called the dome sky. Genesis 1:8

Peace. Love, Linda

I Know Why She Hummed

I can close my eyes and see Mama sitting quietly in the church pew with her hands resting on her lap and her fingertips touching each other gently. She'd  lift one then the other and play a soundless melody with her hands. Mama hummed. Now that I think about it, she may have been humming then, just silently. I thought about her this morning as I sat outside drinking my coffee listening for the morning birds and wondering when the mocking birds will start singing again because I know it's soon. I was trying to still my thoughts and commune quietly with God, but even the nature I adore was not soothing my busy mind, so I started humming. I let the hum go where it wanted, and my shoulders relaxed. Peace. He said, "Be still," and I was.

I know, now, why Mama hummed.

Be still, and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

Peace. Love, Linda

Hello, September

So  it's not about the temperature change or the fact that the grass has slowed down because that hasn't happened, yet. It's still summer, and the screened pool is tolerable, so what is it that's changed? The same squirrels are meeting every morning by the big tree in the back yard to shove their mouths full of sun flower seeds and chase each other recklessly around and up the oak tree.

The gray mourning dove (or is it morning dove?) still coos soulfully as the sun begins to break above the horizon and picks through the mulch and sticks under the oak tree for seeds the squirrels miss in their feeding frenzy. That hasn't changed, so it's not that.

It's not about the bike rides. They're perfect in the early morning or late evening, but the summer air still melts us when we pause for the light to turn green or the person to the right of us to move into the intersection carefully, so that's not it.

Oh, I know what it is. 

It's the light. Hello, September.

Peace. Love, Linda

Baby Birds

The baby bird flitted across the gap between the cluster of oaks in the field behind the house and the oak in my back yard. It landed lightly on a naked branch and bounced off quickly coming toward the pool screen. It stopped, resting for only seconds and took off again to the tree in the neighbor's yard. It barely landed and came back to the screen for another brief rest. It saw me sitting quietly in the corner for the first time and quickly flashed across the giant expanse from the screen all the way back to the oaks in the field behind the house. Baby cardinals, blue jays, mocking birds, woodpeckers and now this little brown thing fly from the oaks year round. The Twin Oaks Day Care is bustling. New life quickly evolves and the cycle continues. It reminds me of my daughter and her daughter. I wonder if grown up birds put away baby bird things, but hold the wonder of first flight in deep seated memory. Maybe on rare occasions they quietly search old memories, hold their breath, close their eyes, and feel the sweet swoop of new found freedom.

Even the sparrows find a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your alters, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God. Psalm 84:3

Peace. Love, Linda

Who am I?

On any given  day, someone may approach me that I have never met, and I will  be given the opportunity to tell them who I am. I'm Linda Oliverio. That name is not mine alone. From Face Book, I have learned of other Linda Oliverio's quite different from me in most aspects. So what makes me special? The same thing that makes us all special, God's trademark. We are created in his image. We are spirit. It is extremely difficult to imagine ourselves as spirit in this ego driven body, but Jesus very pointedly stated it in the book of John, chapter 6, verse 63, "It is the spirit that gives life;the flesh is useless." That's a tough concept to grasp in a material world, but imagine what strides we would make toward love and peace, if we truly understood it. The spirit gives life. It's humans that spend so much time and effort figuring out how to destroy it.

The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. John 6: 63b

Peace. Love, Linda

It's Your Day

At dawn when the first light breaks above the horizon and the sky rushes to put on day wear stepping out of its night clothes, anything can happen. In the midst of this remarkable creation, we are given the opportunity to rise up and become the creator. What an awesome responsibility.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, 

the moon and the stars that you have established;

what are human beings that you are mindful of them, 

mortals that you care for them?

Yet you have made them a little lower than God,

and crowned them with glory and honor.

You have given them dominion over the works of your hands.

You have put all things under their feet.

Psalms 8:3-6

Peace. Love, Linda 

Morning Stirs

Morning stirs in the trees behind the house as clouds dance across a sky ripe for light and fresh for color. The RA RA RA ruckus of sand hill cranes meeting for morning vespers by the lake shore nearby stirs the air and sound waves bang together with RA RA RA tweet tweet tweet, and the baby birds in the tree behind the fence take a stirring, daring flight toward the oak in the backyard. They flitter into the treetop and stir the leaves so slightly waking the gray squirrels sending them on a scurrying flight up one branch and down another. Lizards, green and black, run up the screen and pause to see who's watching. Red necks bulge and secret messages stir across the air waves as rendezvous are hatched. Morning stirs and so do I as I pour a fresh cup of fragrant coffee mixing in sweet cream and sitting for just awhile in my special place on the back porch untouched, yet, by any perceived slights the day might bring, reveling in grace.

 

Come and see what God has done; he is awesome

in his deeds among mortals.

Psalm 66:5

Evening

A Bing Cherry Pause

It was sweltering hot in the shop, loud with the rev of motors, dense with the choke of exhaust, frenetic with the bustle of customers. I breezed out of the office to meet it head on when my grease tainted fingertips, unfit for a snack break, made a quick dip into the plastic container of sweet, juicy cherries sitting on the black refrigerator adjacent to the coffee pot table. In spite of the multi-tasking mesh my mind had become that morning, something caused me to pause when I put a cherry in my mouth. I bit down on the firm,flavorful fruit and gazed out the always opened garage door. I stopped activity for one brief moment and breathed deeply. Time flowed backwards taking me somewhere familiar but not identifiable. I felt peaceful, detached; then my conscious took notice and forced me back to work. I spit my seed into the trash can and rushed outside to greet the next customer. What a simple,delicious combination of spirit and earth, if only for a moment.

I will be still, and let the earth be still along with me. And in that stillness we will find the peace of God. It is within my heart, which witnesses to God himself.   From A Course in Miracles

In a Squirrel Cage

At the break of dawn when the first light peeks over the flailing vines on the other side of the fence and pushes past the line of trees on the  horizon, something impish happens in the tree in my back yard. Three, sometimes four and occasionally five small squirrels begin their morning dance up and down the willowy branches. They fly from wispy tree limb to wispy tree limb. They grab small bits of "tree stuff" shove it in their mouths and run again. They are life. They are life at its finest. Should a squirrel ever be locked in a cage?

 Awake, my soul!...I will awake the dawn. I will give thanks to you, O Lord.
from Psalms 108

Green as Grace

 

I remember the drought of 1998 ( I think it was "98) when wild fires spread across miles of the Florida landscape and yards were parched. Fourth of July fireworks were canceled and  watering of lawns was unheard of except in the wealthiest neighborhoods, and even then with forced restrictions. I longed for rain, and eventually it came.

This summer compares to that one because we have had drought again, and much of Florida has been parched for weeks. Forest fires have prevailed and many of the lawns in our town resembled dead motel yards on old Highway 27 with names like Desert Sands. However, this week it rained, not once, but a few times. Hallelujah! 

After the first rain, I drove to the shop just before 8:00AM, and gazed with wonder on some of the most barren lots. In the course of 24 hours, green had moved into the landscape and began capturing the yards again. The word "grace" came to mind, and I felt that grace for a luscious moment. The world was once again green as grace.

"For in him, everyone of God's promises is a "Yes." For this reason, it is through him that we say the "Amen" to the glory of God. 2 Corinthians 1:20

Sunday Morning Blessing

 

For from the greatness and beauty of created things

comes a corresponding perception of their Creator.

Wisdom of Solomon 13:5

Peace. Love, Linda

Miracle in the Classroom

When he walked into the classroom, I could feel the stuff inside of him oozing into spaces between the desks and under the wire book holders and up to the ceiling and into my stomach. I felt deathly ill, but I wouldn’t hold back Julius Caesar; it was a tenth grade rite of passage. I kept talking while he walked across the room in front of me, silently. A hush fell on the usually talkative class as they watched him with their eyes and watched me with their eyes and waited to see what my response to his tardiness, his crassness, and his obvious intoxication would be. I didn’t misstep. I swallowed my nausea and put back on my “isn’t Shakespeare amazing face,” and wrapped up my last stanza.

He sat down hard in his assigned desk, put his head on the table top and immediately passed out.  I rushed into action to see if he was breathing and called the office on the intercom to come to my room ASAP and bring the nurse. The assistant principal and nurse lifted him from his seat, draping him between them with his arms across their shoulders hefting him out of the room and down to the clinic.

The class totally dissolved then ended, and I went to the lounge for lunch still puzzling over the bout of nausea that swamped me when Paul crossed in front of me. I shared the story with the assistant for my sixth period drop-out prevention class. She was southern, a beautiful mix of black and white, and as Pentecostal as they come. After hearing my story, she had no doubt about what should be done. She called in reinforcement, and they walked into my classroom during fifth period planning with determined faces and spirit filled hearts ready for battle. They asked me if I would join them.

I’m tolerant and not particularly judgmental, so I accepted their desire to pray over Paul’s desk without compunction; however, when they asked me to participate, I felt a bit awkward. My dry Southern Baptist upbringing cringed as it walked over to the desk and timidly took the hands of two devout prayer warriors. I joined hands as we circled Paul’s desk and a triumvirate was formed. It was too late to back out, but I still had my decision making faculties, so I decided to be quiet.

They took turns praying aloud over the desk. They rebuked the devils, not just one devil, but every kind of high school, troubled child devil I had ever imagined. Suddenly, my assistant started making unusual clicking noises. Her sister in battle began speaking a language that, to this day, I cannot comprehend. I opened my eyes a crack and peeked out the door window, slightly anxious someone would walk in right at that very moment and, well, I don’t know what, but the thought made me even more uncomfortable than the tongue clicking and the Coptic words circling the single wooden desk and wafting up to the ceiling. I was relieved when they ended with a resounding amen. I went home that afternoon filled with nothing less than wonder at what had happened in my classroom that day, but the story doesn’t end there.

It was 8:10AM the next morning, and the bell was just about to ring. I had greeted all of my first period students at the door, and was just about to pull it closed for the final bell when Paul walked past me. I felt no physical symptoms as he came through the entry way. Maybe he had emptied the trash before returning to class.

     “Good morning, Paul.” I said, surprised they had let him come back to class the very next day without some sort of discipline action. He just nodded his head and crossed the room heading straight toward his assigned seat. He sat down in his desk chair and immediately jumped up and moved to an empty  desk by the wall on the opposite side of the class room.

     “What’s up, Paul? Why aren’t you in your seat?”

     “I don’t want to sit there anymore.”

For some reason, I didn’t feel I should press the issue that day. I was quietly astounded. There really was "victory in Jesus," and I was a first hand witness.

I had one more “Paul experience” that was unsettling besides the fact he soon ended his school career in a crisis center under suicide watch, and I never saw him again.  Just a few days after the miracle of the defeat of the desk devils, he turned in a written report with these words across the top, “The beast said with a grin, you will be mine.” That sick feeling rolled over me again as I read his paper. He was an excellent writer, so I gave him the grade he deserved and wrote these words at the bottom of the page, “Greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world.”

Somewhere in this story a miracle is hidden.

I just hope somehow, somewhere Paul discovered the miracle of grace and rest for his soul.

 

The Healer

     The bare terrazzo floor was cold beneath my feet. I sat back in a chair I can't picture now, and put my right foot into the plastic pan on the floor. Mama opened a box of Epsom Salts and poured in a generous dose. She went to the kitchen and brought back a pan of water, hot off the stove and poured it over  the salts and my swollen, purple foot. It scalded me, and I jerked my foot out of the water. "It's too hot!" Tears ran down my cheeks, and Mama gently placed my foot back into the water.

     "You have to leave it there as long as possible," she said with sympathy and a voice full of tears lodged in the throat instead of flowing.

     Mama kept me home from school that day and poured water and salts over my foot for hours. I didn't hear her prayers, but they filled the room and penetrated the ugly red stripes running up my leg and the puss filled blisters on my heel and they transformed my poisoned foot into an eight year old foot again, just like God intended. It wasn't until years later that I realized how serious my infection was.

     Mama isn't materially present any more, but the spirit of love and healing she gave to me that day and countless days after never cease, and neither did Mama. Love is eternal.

     

If you abide in my, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.

John 15:7
Peace. Love, Linda

    

Walking on Clouds Again

The Miracle of Swoops and Swallows

Today I worked diligently at Midtown. It's been a hectic week. I am thankful, but I miss my peace time, so this evening I came home and went straight to the comfortable chair by the pool that reclines in such a fashion as to suspend my body in space facing the sky. I breathed deep breaths and watched the swallows whirling and swooping and paddling madly across the sky. I could tell by their reckless flight that the air traffic controller was fast asleep. They owned the air space above my house and the field behind the house, and they gave my whirling, swooping mind rest. Thank you fine swallows. By the way, I haven't noticed you here before and this spring, I see you by the hundreds filling the sky. Did you tire of San Juan Capistrano and decide to visit Florida for a change, or do you know something we don't know? Great show! I'm sorry I didn't get a shot of you with my camera, but I have a picture of one of your friends I'll share in your place. I know, you deserve better.

...You who seek God, let your hearts revive. Psalms 69:32b

Peace. Love, Linda