Light

It's raining buckets right now, and the light is dim. I don't mind because we need the rain desperately. I'm thankful. It's making a cool splashing sound on the pool deck as it flows off the roof. A croaking frog is singing by the front porch. They're all down with the wet change in weather. It's evident in their choral eruptions.

I'm writing about rain right now, but that's not the thought lurking around in my mind. The thread is light, the word light, the thought light, the concept light. "Let your light so shine before men." "I am the light of the world." "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine." "Boom. Boom. Out go the lights." "Where were you when the lights went out? In the dark."

There's a darkness that prescribes itself as light. Be careful. Light glows; it permeates; it warms; it springs forth color. It's fluid. It's satisfying. It's growth producing. It's natural."For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light." John 3:20-21. Come to the light. It's where freedom resides.

 

Peace. Love, Linda

Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow

In the calm of early morning, I sit with my coffee on the back porch and watch the new day sun crawl up the side of the house to the top of the oak tree. At that time, the sand hill cranes that roost at night on the lake shore not far from home raise their voices. I used to think it was their morning "ra-ra" meeting before they divide into families to fly out and forage for food, but this morning, I changed my mind.

The May light, a soft breeze, and the choir of song bird solo's, duets, and trio's melded with my thankful heart. That's when I changed my mind about the cranes. Now, I like to think they start their day, like the rest of the birds, with a chorus of praise and acceptance of God's plan for their day.

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him all creatures here below."

Peace. Love, Linda

A Peculiar Observance

There is something that I have observed more than once that is peculiar to me. It's like a theme running throughout a story that is craftily woven so you can only, really see it when it peaks above the surface from time to time. You can only, then, pounce on it and say, "Aha!" Otherwise, it slips back beneath the surface weaving its unseen magic into the tale at hand. I've spoken of this matter before when I wrote the blog entitled, "Whimsical Led Us to the Clouds."  In that blog, I shared about an early morning conversation about the word "whimsical" and how the day ended with a whimsical session of cloud watching. I just recently had another such occurrence, and it doesn't seem to be accidental. I think it's thematic and serendipitous. That sounds serious.

Darren and I were in the car going to Waterford Lakes with my mother-in-law when the discussion came up about my being a "dream crusher." It's Darren's way of describing me when I put a slow down or nix on something at the shop because I keep the books and pay the bills. We make a great team with his dreams and expansive nature and my practical side, but he still feels better calling me "Dream Crusher" when I disappoint. I found myself that very same evening sitting at the table with my mother-in-law bursting her bubble conversing about an assistant living home that was courting her for her business, leading her to believe things that I knew could not be true, or I knew she had possibly only heard what she wanted to hear. In the middle of my discussion with her, I could hear myself talking and could see her face transform from shining hope to sad resignation. Our earlier conversation in the car came to me, and there I was once again the "Dream Crusher." Sometimes reality bites, but for some reason, I prefer it. It feels comfortable. However, not everyone is so inclined. As for the peculiar observance, I don't know what it is about words and how they can weave there way throughout a day affecting events, but I think it's significant, and I'm sticking to that.

And on a different note, the pouring rain outside is wonderful! Thank you, God, for the rain on dry, dry land.
This pictures seems fitting to my tale.                                     Peace. Love, Linda

I've Had My Turn, and I Know Your Pain

I want to write about things that take place in my home lately, but it seems too much to share. Not because it's morbid or disgusting but because at times it's painfully ordinary. I don't let it get to me much, but I hear the sadness coming from an aging voice speaking over the phone in the back bedroom asking a man who is speaking in numbers today and pushing chairs back and forth in the cafeteria because he must finish his work, " Do you love me Sweet Pea?" She hasn't figured it out, yet, that Sweet Pea no longer knows he's Sweet Pea. He's gone to a place that sometimes mixes love and hate into a brown mess and deposits it inappropriately. It's sad. I'm not so much affected by it now as when Mama wandered in a world none of us could visit because all the keys were lost. I begged God much and shed so many tears for her that it gave me a shot in the arm that bolsters me up for these kinds of things, possibly for the rest of my living days, but even still, sometimes it's very sad to witness. I guess "I'm just sayin'" to you who know what I speak of, I've had my turn, and I know your pain.

My child, help your father in his old age, and do not grieve him as long as he lives; 

even if his mind fails, be patient with him; 

because you have all your faculties, do not despise him

 for your kindness will not be forgotten. 

Sirach 3:12-14

Peace. Love, Linda