Its just a yard or two of LOVE wrapped around them
But it teaches so many things.
I have never seen an apron
With “12” strings hanging from the back;
And I’m sure none of us could move forward
If we were all tied up in a “pack”
So I will Trust the Good Lord for their Keeping
That HE will Bless their lives all the time;
And I will hold them within my “Imaginary Strings”
Always tied to this heart….and…this Apron of Mine.
Written by Sherry Haas-Shelby
Not too long ago, my Oldest Grand Daughters Leah and Savannah wanted to make some aprons for their Fair entries. They just went upstairs and picked out some of the material I had on hand and they were ready to begin sewing them together. They have both sewn some before with their mom, so this was a pretty simple task.
I invited them to use some of my great Aunts handkerchiefs on the front of their aprons for decoration and for a remembrance of her as they had all known her also. Though she was their Great Great Aunt Carole.
Within no time at all the girls aprons were finished and they loved them. At the fair they both received “A” and proper points for them .
They chose their own color combinations and even though they both know how to sew, and were awake for their project..it delighted me to see their surprise of how pretty their aprons were when they had finished. Both the girls were so impressed with what they had made from old pieces of cloth.
Now we fast forward to last week. I have some younger Grand Daughters and they were in awe of their older cousins and their aprons and now they wanted one of their own also.
Again, we make the trip up to the material dresser and they picked out the material they wanted to use and this time they chose their hanky before they were certain of the material. Either way they wanted to follow Leah and Savannah and what they had done.
(Note here: Leah and Savannah are what we called the Older grand girls, they also have two little sisters Carly 4, and Norah almost 1. Older Brother Ben is 11….. We refer to these little ones as the younger grandgirls. Our Middle group of Grand girls consists of Allyson 7, Alaina, 5 and Emmalynn 5. ) Our Grand Sons are the same way. We have the Older boys Benjamin and Matthew, and then we have what we call the Younger boys….Logan, Andrew, and Jacob.
So Allyson sewed an apron, and then Alaina sewed her aprons and last was Emmalynn. The same pattern repeated itself. Each girl did the work, though this was their first time sewing and I thought they did a really good job as sewing and listening to me. Go forward, slow down, follow the line, now push the reverse button but keep your foot going. It was a good time, and we laughed much.
Alaina is much like me. When I was about 12 my grand mother tried to teach me how to sew. She was a magnificent seamstress and I mean anything from suits, to prom dress, evening gowns, costumes for Walt Disney …she was amazing. There fore teaching a little far tomboy like me must have been taxing for her. I remember her saying over and over again..
“SLOW DOWN , SLOW DOWN, God help you when you start to drive a car, that all I can say”. Today I laugh at that memory and how working with our girls triggered it back to my mind . I am still a fast mover today. I Don’t do many things at a slow pace and I see that in Alaina as I told her a few times that day ” Slow Down Girly…..you’re not driving a car”.
What a treat to share in this apron making circus. We laughed and learned from each other . And I am so grateful that they wanted an apron, grateful that I was here to teach it to them and grateful to GOD for the beauty, and love, and laughter, that each of OUR Grand daughters and grand sons bring into our lives..
IF you have ever watched the classic movie YOURS, MINE & OURS, with Lucille Ball and Henry Fonda. Then you will understand that in the middle of the movie when the two parents get married and have 18 children between them and they go to the commissary to buy their weekly groceries the cashier always announces over the intercom.. “THE BEARDSLEYS ARE HERE”. Its a hilarious old movie.
Well, sometime ago shortly after New Years…… Papa and Omie (me) decided that we would like to buy all the grandchildren new bikes for their birthdays. Then we figured out that it sure wouldn’t be much of a birthday present to the grand children born in the late fall and winter. They would wait all year for their bikes and the others would be riding them if they were fortunate enough in the birthing order process to be hatched in the spring.
Then we conjured up that we would buy them all bikes for Easter. Mind you grandbaby number 12 in due in 2 months. It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to do the math here and possible incur a small stroke. So we decided to buy a few a time. It was a good plan. It just didn’t materialize as we had hoped it would.
So last night, with only a week until Easter I figured I better go get at least half the bikes before the pickings are too slim. After all, Rockefeller is not my last name and our money doesn’t grow on trees. So off to the local Walmart I hurried. Picked up a few groceries and then to the bike section. What I CARE to know about bikes is that they have 2 wheels and brakes, oh and a chain is good. Seriously, you could never impress me with the brand of bike you own. It is just not important to me. Never has been, I was raised on a farm, and Dad would find our bikes at the local scrap yard, Red and Rusty were in and we were ecstatic to have something to navigate through the farm sand, and barn hill. Not allowed to ride on the gravel road, our paths were quite limited to say the least. Hills and grass, Hills and grass.
We picked through the bikes and found 7 that would work for the oldest seven grandchildren. This was not a small process at all, simply because Walmart doesn’t have the prices on the bikes themselves. So we constantly had to take a bike off the rack and walk it over to the scanner….price checking.
Next, came the BALANCING ACT. We loaded 2 of the 18″ bikes on to the top of our cart taking great pains NOT to crush any of the groceries. Then we had a couple Walmart employees each walking a few through the isles and up to the check out area.
What was hilarious to me and perhaps the funniest part of this endeavor was walking the parade of bikes toward the front of the store. People were stepping back and watching us, talking and pointing, kids were watching us with their eyes all lite up like little Christmas trees. Several older people would smile and nod and whisper, or say “There’s going to be some really happy kids somewhere”. I would explain that it was for the grandchildren’s Easter and they would just beam. One Gentlemen said to me at the check out “Do you have 7 children. I explained that they were for the grand’s and that I had almost 12, but was buying 10 and needed 3 more. He nudged me with his arm and said “You are a special Grandma and you are going to make a memory for them , they will carry for always’. “I sure hope so”, was my response.
It was a delight for our old hearts to watch the thrill that folks got just from seeing that many new bikes head out of a store all at once. We really are still a large country but have small town values. For the most part, people are happy to see other people happy. For me, it was sweet to see that folks really care about the small things in life, what really matters at the end of your day, week, year, life.
We will probably NEVER AGAIN, buy that many bikes at one time. I think we did do it once for our Own 3 children back in 1988. We did it for the children to BLESS THEM, not to for us to impress the world. We did it to show them how much Omie and Papa love them and we hope it creates a memory in their hearts and minds that will last for many years to come.
We all only live once, it matters not if we are talking about bikes, or jobs, or dreams. What is important is that we seek out that which makes us happy, and we remember that “TO MUCH THAT IS GIVEN…MUCH IS EXPECTED.
22 years ago, Burt sold me this farm. I still pay on it today and will be mortgaged till I die, but He didn’t just sell me a dream, He GAVE US A LIFE. A new beautiful family bonding life. Because He chose PEOPLE OVER PROFIT our children had a wonderful life here on this farm they would have otherwise only visited on occasion. Because Burt wanted the family farm to continue living , He sold it to someone that would strive to keep it alive and going and He didn’t sell out to the highest Mega farmer Bidder.
I am forever grateful, and more and more each day, for the gift of His love and unselfishness. I hope that I am paying forward in all the ways that I can, the kindness that Burt so willingly relinquished.
UPDATE 3/31/2016
Easter Sunday, we lined all the grandchildren up in front of the garage after lunch. ( the man in the blue shirt has all the power here, Papa.) When He hit that button and the garage door opened the screams were PRICELESS…..but on the videos our girls took, you could hear lots and lots of ” thank you’s” and that was precious to us.
Then, the chaos began. Kids were riding into one another, there were adjustments to make to seats, and training wheels, and brakes to learn to use. The little ones in their attempts to ride would ALWAYS be in the way of the older kids who wanted to RIDE FAST. It was in the famous words of Carey Grant “Good Stuff.
Back about 34 years ago I married into a family that was southern born and southern bred as the old saying goes. From the deep south. Where there is no “Sweet corn bread” made from a Jiffy mix, but rather the old-fashioned kind of cornbread that you make from scratch with real yellow cornmeal, buttermilk, flour, etc, and you pour it all into a hot cast-iron skillet. And when you eat it you crunch the cornmeal.
Biscuits are the same way. They are made from scratch and flipped into a hot iron skillet. It has been this way for 5 generations and back. His Great Great Grandmother, Great Grandmother, granny, mom, and now me. I confess that it took me about four years to learn how to make them, and there are days when I still feel that I don’t get the texture or height just right, despite having made them regularly for twenty-something years.
I remember one day when Granny ( in law) Marie decided to give me a cast-iron skillet. It was like passing the baton at the Olympics. It was a right of passage, like finally being accepted into the family, heritage in motion.She gave me a skillet and told me to be sure that I did not cook meat in my biscuit skillet. That you need one skillet for meats and one for breads to keep the correct conditioning factors.
Well, things went along for about four years or so, and Saturday afternoon, Granny was 79, called me up and said rather sternly, “Did I give you Pops #7 Skillet”?
I told her no. She talked a little further about not being able to find it and was SURE that she had given it to me quite a while back. Here comes the funny part.
When she and her pop back in the 40’s were migrant fruit harvesters, they moved from one state to another as the crops ripened, and would stay in little white cabins, sometimes a barn, they had to share with other families, with only blankets between them. This one particular cabin was so small, she said, “You had to go outside to change your mind”. The oven in that cabin was so small that her skillet would not fit in the oven, so Pop had taken the skillet outside and broke the handle off about halfway down, leaving barely enough of a stub to hold on to it, but it fit in the tiny oven….biscuits every morning on schedule. All was right with the world.
Now she couldn’t find her #7 broken-handled skillet, and she was sure she had given it to me. In the meantime, I had started collecting skillets at sales and using them a lot more. Skillets that are a #7 and made by Griswald or Wagner are SCARCE as hens teeth. I assure you , and just as valuable. I started to worry …”did she really give me that skillet….did I misplace it…did I get rid of it in a fit of cleaning one day?
I wouldn’t put it past me. When I commence to cleaning, things start to fly. A couple days later she called again and ask about the skillet again and said she would be coming over that Sunday morning for breakfast, and she was sure now after contemplating on it awhile that she had given it to me. Her words were “I know I did. “ Now I was in an outright panic.
When my husband got home at the end of his long 14 hour day, I handed him MY ONLY , PRIZED, #7 Wagner skillet and told him “GO BREAK THE HANDLE OFF THIS”.
He looked at me with disbelief and asked the obvious question. I explained the whole ordeal to him and apologized all over the place and told him if HIS Granny had in fact given me the historical skillet from when her and pop first “set up housekeeping” as she put it I have lost it, misplaced it, and surely will be excommunicated from the family if I don’t cough one up. I also told him that she was coming for biscuits the next morning and to please not tell her.
So he ceremoniously stepped off the back deck and, using a hammer and a cement brick, he broke the handle off my #7 skillet. Granny came for breakfast that sunday….I made biscuits in the #7 skillet much to her delight and she was thrilled. And I believe I heard a “I told you So” scrambled in with the eggs.
NOW CUT to about 6 months later. Hubby and I and the children were all over at her place cutting her grass one summer afternoon and she was in her tiny mobile home kitchen cleaning. When we came inside and were all siting around the table eating a sandwich Granny said “Hey look what I found underneath the sink”. She showed me her broken-handled #7 skillet. Well I guess you know my mouth dropped!!!!
“I guess you never had it after all hon”. She said to me and she was laughing.
I laughed right along with her and said “Marie,…..I had your Grandson break the handle off MY #7 skillet because you were so sure you gave it to me and I was afraid that I had lost it”. It was a good laugh and I was able to share this same story at her funeral in August of 2007., and being that her entire family was from the south….it resonated with them all and they loved the story.
And Yes…I now have the FIRST REAL BROKEN # 7 skillet that belonged to Annie Marie (Granny)…..along with the #7 skillet that my husband broke the handle off of. Hers has a CC molded into the bottom of the skillet, and mine does not. I suspect that when I am no longer in need of the skillets, each of our girls will receive a PRIZED BROKEN HANDLED SKILLET. Or perhaps our son, as he is a biscuit maker. I write these stories so that if I am not here to explain….my words will.
ADDITIONAL UPDATE August 2025. My brother delivered to me this month a beautiful #7 Griswald skillet with the deeper, wider sides that was picked up at a flea market for me in Kentucky. I couldn’t wait to make a biscuit in a number seven skillet WITH a handle still intact. Love GOD moments like these.
As superstitions go, I have never been a believer in them. Now and again I will participate in some silly ritual like making a cross on my windshield if a black cat crossed the road in front of me, I wont walk under a ladder UNLESS its the only way around it, and I have been known to stop a rocking chair if it was rocking just because I guess.
On Friday the 13th of April, yes Friday the 13th, I spent the better part of the day with My Mom and My Dear Friend. We hadn’t done anything together in a good year so the three of us took off from my farm and just made a few stops at little junk stores. I remember that several times throughout the day I made mention that I was NOT a believer in the stigma that goes along with Friday the 13. I serve a bigger God, He is in control of my world. We came home around 3:30 p.m.
At 9:30 I went to bed as the stomach flu has visited all our kids and grand kids and I was not feeling very well. I had only ate a few pieces of chicken strips the whole day and I just wasn’t sure if it was the grease from them in an empty tummy or the flu. Either way I wasn’t comfortable.
At 12:43 .m. I got out of bed and stumbled down the stairs for the inevitable. It was going to happen. And it did. Afterwards I was laying on the bathroom floor, so sick, my mind was not functioning at full capacity. After 20 minutes or so I was able to stand up without being dizzy and make my way to the living room. I laid back in my recliner and my head turned to the south windows. It was brighter than normal. I remember thinking “wow the moon is shining bright on this part of the yard”. I layed there a few more minutes . I heard a pop, but thought it was the damper on the outside wood burning unit. Then I heard another louder pop. I rolled my head towards the dining room and I noticed that lights were flickering on the windows that face the east.
I jumped out of my recliner and raced to the kitchen. There are 3 large windows that face the west, and a bay that is over the sink and faces the west. I looked up at the light over the sink, it wasn’t flickering. .I looked again fearing it had a short in the wiring. Still nothing. Suddenly, The whole kitchen was flickering and it seemed so bright for just one light over the sink on. I looked out the 3 windows by the table and I screamed… over and over I screamed. Our entire barn was a blaze in flames. I have never witnessed such a fire in person. (Photo taken by our daughters,)
(Thirty five years ago, when my childhood home burned I was living up the road in my own place and when I walked down the house was completely gone and all that remained was a lot of smoke and ashes).
While our youngest daughter and her hubby and children are building a new home across our 20 acre field in a wooded 5 acre lot they are living in a beautiful bungalow that we built several years ago for my elderly Aunt who is given the sad diagnosis of cancer. It room enough for a family for temporary headquarters but can be a bit tight after living in a real home with a lot more footage. This bungalow, which consists of a living room, kitchen, large bath and laundry room, bedrooms, offers quiet living way off the road with a spectacular view of the woods. It is the west 3/4 of the structure. On the east side is a 30 x 30 garage/shop that we make small farm repairs in.
Our Daughter and Son in law park their vehicles between the barn that burned and the garage/bungalow structure. When I looked outside and saw the old open front barn on fire …I was so scared for our kids and grandkids. I ran out our glass door without shoes or socks or coat. The wind was blowing so fiercely from the north and was pushing the flames across the driveway and into the cattle pen. The cattle were stampeding and jumped the fences . I ingested so much smoke while I ran as fast as I could. When I reached the bungalow, I beat on their bedroom window hard over and over again and kept calling their names and yelling fire…get out. Get out. Then I ran around to the west side where their living room door was and beat on it. They opened the door. Already they had discovered the flames because their outdoor German Shepherd was barking in a more alarming way than usual and Our daughter had gotten up knowing something was a miss. Our Son in law had already ran out the door, and stared their suburban and drove it to the west side of the building. I grabbed three of their children by their arms and pulled them, barely allowing their feet to touch the ground and I did NOT let go of those arms until all three children were safely in the suburban. I shut the back passenger door. Our daughter was in the driver seat with her baby in her arms and they drove up to our farmhouse.
Our son in law, ask if I thought he could save his Bosses truck, that He drives as the main crew leader for the company. The drivers side was all smoking and the flames from the building appeared to be the only dangerous part. So I said, “Maybe if you slide in from the passenger side. The moment He started that truck and drove it out from between the two building the wind hit it and the entire side of the truck was in flames. I was screaming for our son in law that it was on fire…..but as he is always a calm and collected man, he drove it to the water pump, put out the flames and then had the mind set to drive the truck out into the middle of a field just in case it still would blow.
Once our daughter was in the house with her children safely I then called 9ll. Carl was standing outside watching the barn in his pajamas and was constantly walking behind our wood shed building, and the grand kids playhouse. He was throwing up. Now the flu bug had hit him. Between his vomiting sessions and mine we stood in shock, in tears as we watched ……
.24 years of hard work and struggling to make ends meet and trying and acquire decent used, dependable equipment just going up in flames.
We had Four tractors, Farmall M restored and parade ready, A farmall 706 that ran but we had bought a motor to replace the one that was in it….a 1755 Oliver tractor, (my first tractor I ever bought of my very own) and was our steady work horse. We were just coming off of winter, so we had all of our equipment stored in the barn and lean to additions to keep them out of the weather. We had a New Idea EAR Corn picker, a New International hay baler, a Gehl 95 Feed grinder, a beautiful Ponderosa 4 horse stock trailer, three John Deere lawn mowers, (2 Honda Recon 250 four wheelers, a Badboy zero turn lawn mower that belonged to our daughter. While they are building they stored their outdoor things in our barn.) All our hand tools, hay and straw, wooden barn doors that I used for photograph props when I take pictures for families. All our yard ornaments were in there. Each fall I take everything out of the flowers gardens and rock garden and store them for the winter.
We continued to watch as our chicken coop full of chickens scattered and screamed with no way to get near them to save them. A turkey coop was gone. The barn which was 32 x 64 and had a 15 x 64 additions added on to the entire back of it. Added to that, was a 8 X 15 X 12 foot high corn crib that held 600 bushel of ear. It would have fed our cattle until late November when a new crop could be harvested. Now we will struggle to keep feeding our cows till fall 2018. We lost 20 Isa Brown chickens that were layers every day, along with 27 small chickens that had feathers and were bought and being raised to increase our daily egg production.
If the shock, and trauma wasn’t enough to endure try and adjust to,
Exactly 3 months earlier, to the day, Jan13) On our way to our grand daughters birthday party we were in a head on collision when someone else crossed the center line and we hit us . The claims adjuster from the Gauging Facility said She was doing 68 and we were doing 41. That was a G force of 109 mph. We had multiple injuries that we are still healing from, we lost a beautiful truck that we were unable to replace with same like qualities…..and a fire to our barn…
Whenever we get into a vehicle and another car appears to get too close, we both tense up. The force of that impact was so surreal. It haunts me all the time. I lay in bed at the end of the day and the scene from the fire plays over and over in my head. It just didn’t seem real. We are grateful that no one was hurt, that the flu HAD ME UP at 1 in the morning. And yet…
We were NOT prepared for the devastation of the visit from our “Insurance co”. They showed up on Monday morning….after we called 3 times. The “person/serpent” arrived at 10 a.m. turned on his recorder and grilled us until 2 p/.m. We had to sign for them to do a credit check on us, they made us answer questions about our mortgage, our utility bills, who we owed money to, did we have a drug or drinking problem, did we smoke…They would be diving into our checking account and our finances….what a total creep. Why. Because AFTER he got everything from us HE WANTED. He shut off the recorder, closed his little boy rule book and said..”None of your farm equipment was covered. You have no blanket policy.
Another hard hit. In 14 years the “AGENT” has never been to our farm, never called us. I called him about 6 years ago and added the new barn/bungalow building and made sure it had replacement cost. Our home also has it when I opened the account 14 years ago. Why this agent has never been here not one time in all those years SHOULD BE A NEGLANCE act and there should be some severe reprimanding for it. As of this writing he has still not bothered to call us or come by. Not that he would be welcome. The adjust that was here that Monday made us feel like criminals and he meant to. He later chastised me a couple days after when he let me know how “Unfriendly” we were to him after he said they would not coverage. Not sure what kind of world He lives in but I can assure you that I would not have his job of beating another person when they are already down, and I sure wouldn’t expect them to smile while I did it. Dealing with this adjuster was debilitating to both my husband and myself. For two weeks and two days we have hit every plateau of emotions like a bad rollercoaster ride. We are shocked, angry, hurt, angry again, we cry, our insides shake, we run to the bathroom, our nerves are shot. Our spirits broken.
The barn that burned is the ONLY building on our property that apparently did NOT have replacement cost. It supposedly was Actual Cash Value MINUS depreciation. How does a building depreciate when you keep up the maintenance on it. We painted it several times. Its a metal building. We had the roof painted . We built doors for all four of the open fronts on it. And yet they say depreciation is 1 percent per year. The barn was about 50 years old so they say that our payment will be about 30K. (after they give us 8 pages of drawing that the adjuster did, and shows us that it would cost about 64K to rebuild everything. Such a nice insurance company. INSURANCE is something you pay and pay on for years believing that you have some piece of mind, when in fact they are NOT there for you, they are modern day PIRATES that rape and steal from you with their hidden clauses and constant new amendments. That’s how they all get so rich and keep so much money that have their own credit unions and such. Where is our govt…..in all this. Well, again it wasn’t enough yet…then we were told that 7500.00 of the 30 will be sent to the township until the inspector says that we have cleaned up the fire mess to their specifications. Then we can put in a request for the return of the money. Had we NOT had insurance, we would have received a 90 day clean up notice. Its the little extra kicks into our already seeping wound that you gotta love. NOT
As far as our personal belongings we are allowed to claim our mowers as lawn care equipment but NOT anything else. They wont cover a 24″ pipe wrench or a vise as they are deemed for farm use. Again by their SENIOR FARM SPECIALIST. What a joke….guess no one uses pipe wrenches on household plumbing and obviously we must all HOLD our mower blades in our hands when sharpen them with a grinder. Couldn’t use a bench vise for that…….They crossed off a pink cozy coup car with matching trailer as a piece of farm equipment also. ITS A CHILDS PEDAL TOY.
All around this has been a bit of a rough patch for sure. While I tend to like the rodeo, I don’t care to live it and its been pretty tough to stay in the saddle and not let go. My faith took a direct hit.
I understand that God is not a vengeful God, and obviously if HE were in charge of everything and everyone there would be no children beaten, raped, or sick with cancers……there would be no murders of innocent lives. We wont ever know this side of Heavens Gate why any of the bad things that happen to ANY OF US on this earth. We have to square our shoulders, damn the torpedo’s that others are firing at us, and walk forward at full speed. We dare not take a moment to feel sorry for ourselves or sit down and wallow in the muddy puddles of life. It will get us no where. We will be covered in mud, dried to our skin, and still be just as sad and broken. We have to fight, we have to believe that things will get better, that beyond the rain clouds ..there will be sunshine. Eventually.
Its not the manner in which a man falls that is important, but rather how he rises that shows his true character and strength and faith. We temporarily lost our faith and hope, but The GOD I CHOOSE to believe in knows our hearts and understands our state of mind during trials like these. Id like to believe HE UNDERSTANDS
Our granddaughter Norah and the actor portraying JESUS.
A few months ago on April 20, 2019 We are blessed to have 12 grandchildren. Five of them live in Syracuse Indiana. For the last couple of years these 5 kids have been a part the CHRISTS PASSION, play that is a dramatic presentation depicting the Passion of Jesus. It is an hour-and-forty-five-minute reenactment of the last week of the life of Jesus Christ. His trial, suffering and death.
We have heard them talking about all the rehearsals, combing thru Goodwill stores in search of pieces to make their costumes, and the late nights when they practice and perform the show. I’ve always wanted to go see them, just never have been able to make it happen. In April, this year I decided I was going to make it a priority to see their play. I brought two of our five granddaughters Allyson and Emmalynn, and we invited my dear friend Cheryl to come with us as well. Once we arrived at the large church, we stood in line to buy tickets, it was then I realized this was a certified real production company that travels all over putting on this play. They don’t just come in and perform the show, and take off.
They invite people from the surrounding areas to participate in the play. The are many openings of the play that a person can audition for, a seller of wool, a seller of grapes, a Shepherd, a seller of chickens, or sheep, someone who gathers wheat, and grinds it into bread, there are many townspeople needed. Its really an awesome procedure. From the moment we walked through the doors to the gymnasium, it’s almost completely dark and the smell of incense is heavy as you walk down a darkened funnel like isle to your seat. Tents line each side of the walls, and are set tightly side by side. People are walking about in authentically handmade clothes from that era. Some people are sitting in their tents, busy with food preparations, woman are tending children, making baskets, weaving rug, or spinning yarn. Others are weaving throughout the crowd shouting eggs for sale, buy my eggs, bread for sale, finest grapes for sale….they come up and ask you to purchase their product and explain to you why you should buy from them and not the other sell who may be circling up behind them.
There is a blind woman sitting alongside the streets of Jerusalem yelling at no one out loud. As if she is crazy. There are people selling fine jewelry, and livestock, hay, or grain. They are approximately 20 followers, supporters of Jesus and another 20 followers who are NOT supporters of Jesus. This whole production leaves you feeling as if you are really there, in person, just walking the streets of Jerusalem like everyone else. It gives you such a REAL FEEL for what it must have been like to be in that time and place. BIG, LOUD, BRUTAL looking men all dressed as Roman Soldiers are weaving in and out of the crowds of people. Suddenly they will shove someone and in a deep baritone voice yell, ” WHERE ARE YOU GOING, WHAT IS YOUR BUSINESS HERE”..”GO HOME, GET OUT OF THE WAY”.
Sometimes they will slip behind your seat and suddenly yell STAND UP, WHERE IS YOUR PASSPORT, and if you do not answer in the way they want you to they call the guards and you are taken away. Obviously, the only audience members that literally are hauled away by the Roman soldiers are people they have agreed to this participate in the play this way ahead of time. Still, it is riveting to witness.
(On a side note, they did stop and do this our granddaughter Emmalynn, who did not think it amusing and she cried right away. What was precious about the situation is here is this actor who is suppose to be the big, tough, mean Roman solider and now with everyone watching he’s trying to tell her he is sorry and its just a play).
In the past years, these 5 grandchildren have always been able to have parts in the play along side their mom. They have been townspeople, sellers, and during the time of the trial and crucifixion they were all followers of Jesus. They supported him with chants of respect and admiration as they pleaded with the Roman soldiers to leave the Son of God alone, to spare his life. They shout prayers and pleas for Jesus to be spared. They sit and cry alongside Mary when her only Son is crucified.
This year, my daughter in law, and grandchildren said they had to play the part of the NON-supporters, hecklers, non believers of Jesus. The people who shouted for him to be killed, to be beaten, hung and crucified. Several times their mom Brandy told me it was the most difficult part to play, as it was so totally opposite of how they felt, and it made her cry. Still they all played their part. I watched in amazement as our oldest grandson Benjamin 14, played the part with such authenticity. He shouted and yelled; he was pushed back into the crowd several times by the ACTING Jerusalem authorities as he tried to leap forward towards Jesus. Benjamin preaches at his church sometimes, and he’s right good at, so again playing this kind of role wasn’t his first choice but he took it and ran with it.
(After the play was over, Benjamin and one other boy could be found standing at the exit doors handing out tracks from their church, all tired and sweaty.)
From the beginning of the play, through out several scenes a very sick man is laying in the middle of the street on a tattered wool blanket. He cries out now and then for help but everyone continues walks past him or steps over him. (Within the production He is the man that Jesus tells says to him “ You are healed, get up and take your bed with you) One of many healings Jesus performs.
Before the play begins, the large auditorium is dark except for a faint light over the stage. As the narrator begins to read passages from the Bible, Jesus appears from the right side of the gym and walks slow and deliberate with purpose towards center stage. He wears a faint smile and waves slowly.
The man playing Jesus looks so incredibly real. As he is making his way onto the stage, he side steps toward the audience. I quickly sent a bullet prayer upward and ask God to have this actor portraying Jesus to shake my hand. I cannot even tell you why. I think my entire surroundings made it all seem so real I wanted to take a part of it home with me. TO FEEL DIFFERENT WHEN I LEFT, TO HOLD ONTO THE REAL FEEL OF IT ALL. LIKE I WAS A WITNESS. Jesus stopped only in two places. An elderly woman in the first row, and then he stopped in front of me, I put my right hand up to shake his and he wrapped both of his hands around mine, squeezed gently and nodded.
I KNOW, I KNOW he is just an actor pretending to be Jesus. But I confess, it sent chills up my spine and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of what it might have been like to touch the hand of Jesus, or feel the switch of air from his garments as he passed by me in a crowd. Honestly, WE CAN ONLY IMAGINE…but it still felt special. To me. After all, this was a play, and perhaps somehow God was allowing me to really feel for a fleeting more a scared snippet of the joy.
The rest of the play was too beautiful for words. I could write about it for another three pages. I cried several times, I grew angry and I hurt when they beat OUR JESUS, and when they crucified OUR JESUS. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
As a young mother, in church on Easter Sundays I used to think I could “sympathize” with Mary losing her only son, and in such a terrible way. I used to hold our own son a bit tighter during that story. (Let me make it clear here, that we had four babies, and we have been so BLESSED to be able to raise three wonderful people, great people. I loved our babies; I cherished every moment with them. You would have to ask to hold them…otherwise I never let them go. They were my salvation, my hearts delight and our whole world. They still are, and have given us 12 Beautiful Grandchildren, who are also our whole world).
Still I thought that I could sympathize with Mary. Oh My. When we witnessed the whaling and sobbing of Mary kneeling at the feet of her Son Jesus, losing herself in such a loss, it was pure EMPATHY I felt. When a few woman had to help Mary up on her feet and get her out of the way of the Guard, we all ached for her. When Mary and several other women race to the tomb of Jesus to anoint his body with oil and spices and instead, they are met by an angel that tells them that Jesus have been raised from the dead, the tomb is empty. You can feel the relief and hear the joy in Mary’s crying and you can see and feel her tears of relief.
This was just a POWERFUL play. Here is a precious reason why I wanted to share this whole story. Wanted to get it down on paper so as never to forget it.
Our youngest grand daughter Norah, is two. She has been so mesmerized by this man portraying Jesus. On one of the first nights, as her Mom was trying to gather up her five children to go home, as it was getting late, Norah stops her mommy and says “Wait Mom, I have to talk to Jesus, and tell him goodbye”. She was so in LOVE with JESUS.. To have the faith and love of a child is precious. No wonder in Mark10:14 Jesus said “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
My words cannot do justice to how sweet Little Norah is, or how precious it was for me to witness the way she was always staring at “her Jesus”, sheepishly smiling at him. She never let him out of her sight. If he looked down at her to speak, she would just stare up and him and smile. My writing cannot capture all that this CHRIST PASSION PLAY is or explain a little girls connection to a pretend Jesus…BUT THIS PHOTO OF HER AND JESUS SPEAKS VOLUMES. As you can see, this was a group picture, but there is no mistaking the adoration she had for what she believed was “the real Jesus”. Perhaps our little Norah should bring home the Emmy, for her part was played with such honesty and truth…it moved all our hearts.
Gossip is not attractive, and neither are those who spread it.
Words are powerful; humans are the only ones that can speak. Animals cannot speak words, yet we carelessly toss words around and spray them like poison potions. Words have a double edge to them. They can create such beauty, peace, and tranquility, or they can destroy everything and people within moments.
We can use words to accuse, blame, abuse, or verbally assault others, or we can use them to lift up others, encourage them, and help them through whatever happening they are trying to walk through.
Gossip is like black magic, its emotional poison we learn from adults as we are growing up. More often than not, people suffering in their own lives, within themselves don’t want to suffer alone so they spread gossip. Some spread words for concern or pray. Others spread gossip to destroy. They embellish the stories before they repeat them, and if they can make themselves look better than who they are talking about they are more than willing to add to the sad mixture. The truth about gossip is, you need to ask yourself if you know for POSITIVE what you are repeating or creating is real, or is it something you believe because you are upset or angry from within and rather than own your mistakes, or mishaps, you choose to take the light off yourself and slash someone else.
Gossip cuts to the core and can change the lives of an individual in moments. It is harmful. It is MALICE with intent. Words have too much power over us. Gossip is a big audience grabber; it plants a negative seed, that SOMETIMES, PEOPLE can’t handle, cannot recover from, and take a permanent solution for a temporary problem. (suicide). It is not a laughing matter how many teens, women, and men have taken their own lives because the gossip or bullying about them was more than they could handle. They did know how to cope, didn’t reach out to anyone, and were powerless to survive the black storm.
SLANDER-Is when you spread something you heard or believe without proof about someone else, their life, or their behavior. Its pettiness and bitterness squared! When you believe something told to you by someone else and you repeat it, you receive a twofold lesson. You know that the person sharing the juicy gossip isn’t trustworthy, so anything you tell them will most assuredly be repeated elsewhere. Also, you have now become a part of the vicious gossip triangle without being consulted first.
Gossip is a way to HOT-WIRE a quick friendship, like having a common denominator. “If you have nothing nice to say, sit next to me. We can share stories. The bond is built on gossip and mistrust. Yes, folks, it has a name. It’s called CLOSE ENEMY INTIMACY. What you share is NOT real, it’s based on hating the same person, and that’s just plain counterfeit.
We need to be mindful of and remember this: Words are powerful, and when you gossip or slander another, you are hexing yourself, for if you do it about someone else, it will surely come back on you. Gossip takes the tension off of you for a moment, you are creating all these “juicy half-truths” around someone else, and it takes the eyes off you and your situation or troubles.
If we own what is going on in our own lives, stop pointing fingers and blaming others, if we honestly look at ourselves from time to time and look at our “MESSES,” we won’t have the time or the energy or the inclination to be engaged in other people’s business, or partake in idle gossip.
When we choose to gossip, we have no idea how far the ripples will go, how far the damage will go. In the movie “The color purple,” when Celie says, “Everything you have done to me has already been done to you”. I believe that. What we put out into the world will come back to us. Instead of spreading negativity, spread something positive. Navigating through this life is difficult; though we all are on different paths from time to time, our journeys still come down to the same thing. What matters most in this world is to GIVE LOVE AND RECEIVE LOVE. Share goodness. You have the choice.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT: ASSUMPTIONS
We can create so much emotional poison just by assuming we know something. Only GOD knows everything and everyone. Assumptions lead to our version of gossiP, our own version of the truth AS WE SEE IT. When we assume something, we suddenly believe whatever we think is true. Then we blame and react by sending emotional, poisonous words out of our mouths. Its as though we have just written a script for a new movie; we have it all planned out, how it goes, what will be said, how it will end when the TRUTH IS…you could be way off base and be left standing in an empty studio because no one else had the script to go by. They don’t understand anything that is going on. Most sadness and drama in our lives has been created by assumptions.
ASK ASK ASK…..TELL TELL TELL. Ask the questions when you want to know. Dont always expect someone else to KNOW what you want, tell your people exactly what you were hoping for or needing or wanting. It will cut out a bunch of unnecessary heartache and drama for you. Most the time, when the truth is revealed about something we have assumed, it has made an “ass” of you and me, its wasted precious time, and may have caused a great deal or hurt to someone else.
Making the assumption that your love changed a person is not true. If they have changed in any way its because they wanted to. They saw room for growth within themselves. Your personal love doesn’t to have that much power. Though wouldn’t it be nice if it did, imagine how much easier the world would be to live in.
REAL LOVE is accepting someone exactly as they are, without trying to change them, without beating them up senselessly with harsh words, or trying to control their every move or word with your physical sighs, your eye rolling or your angry words. Love is not supposed to be binding or toxic. It is supposed to be accepting and forgiving.
Real love comes to the front line when you are under attack, and fights beside you. Fights with you and fights for you. What you wish for and need will come so easily when your spirit is allowed to move freely within you. GOD BLESS the ones who learned this lesson early in life, to love people as they are and not be their judge or jury. Those are the relationships that we should all strive to have. We should be giving love with an open heart and open hand, not a clenched fist, and we deserve to receive that same kind of love back. Open hand to come and go, to live the best life we can, and an open heart to feel and express as we need to.
WE ARE ALL DYING. SOME SOONER THAN OTHERS. LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE, DON’T LIVE BENEATH ANYONE’S BOOT OR DWELL IN A CORNER BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS SPREAD THEIR POISONOUS WORDS ABOUT YOU. What they do says MORE ABOUT THEM THAN IT DOES YOU.
There are two basic fears in all of us. The first is rejection, and the second is a fear of dying, and thinking that during our brief stay in this world, those who we really love will never knew who we truly are.
It’s a crazy world we live in most days. Seems we are always in rush to get a multiple of things accomplished in the shortest amount of time. I am as guilty of this as the next person. As the years go by, we soon realize that everything is NOT made to last, and the truly beautiful things never do.
They come into our lives for a moment, for a day, a season…if we are fortunate a few seasons. Then they are gone and there is this vast emptiness that lays dormant in the bottom of your soul waiting like roses beneath the snow. Then something sweet will happen, and the snow will begin to melt and the roses will come back to life again.
Once upon a time, long ago I knew a man, and he was a kind man, a loving man with a heart as large as the outdoors. A place he loved to be. If there was a selfish bone in his body, I never saw it. Never heard it. He was good to everyone he met, and those he didn’t care for, he was good at keeping his darkened opinion of them to himself and shared them only with me. He also shared the great sadness of his life and for some reason he believed and told me in writing several times that he thought I saved him from taking a permanent solution to temporary problems.
I don’t feel that he was necessarily correct, for I would say that it is the reverse. He reached out to a lonely, self-conscious momma of three small children, and fed my soul with his friendship. He saw me. Who I was on the inside, who I wanted to be, and when someone cares enough to really know you, you cling to their words, or in my case, to THEIR LETTERS.
I knew Burt from the time I was a wee child, and through the years, he had coffee at my parents’ home and just about every home in the neighborhood. He was a lonely man. Everyone treated him well, but no one took the time to talk with him as a friend and find out what his life was all about. To invest in him, listen to him and eventually allow him to speak candidly about his years on earth.
In the Spring of 1983, Burt and I began having coffee together at my home, maybe once a week. It was a intimate situation at all. I had three small babies all around my feet, two of my brothers were still in high school and I was a teacher and thesis writer by night, and I helped watch my older brothers 4 children while they worked. It was difficult some day to finish a whole sentence at my table.
On a frigid October day, Burt stopped by in the pouring rain and my little girl told him I was around the back of our old, broken down single wide trailer. (This trailer had no working windows, they had to be propped open with sticks in the summer and taped shut in the winter.) I was unhooking the gas line from an empty 100-pound cylinder of propane, and hooking up to another full tank sitting beside it. I was just finishing up when he came around the corner and ask if I needed some help. I smiled and told him I think I had it. Then he followed me around while I relit the pilot for the water heater and back inside to relight the furnace and cook stove. All of this was standing operating procedure for me.
A few days later, I received a card in the mail from Burt. In it to talked about how much our coffee sessions meant to him and how he was just awe struck that I could go out and change my own propane tanks and juggle kids…etc etc. I looked forward to him stopping for coffee each week, and if it rained, I knew he would be coming by and the visits would last longer than normal. There was nothing we didn’t talk about, and there seemed to be nothing I could say that bored him or irritated him.
For the next 26 years, Burt sent me the sweetest cards and letters. There was never any real occasion, in fact now that I look back on it, I wonder if it wasn’t a part of his healing to be able to write things out. There is nothing in these cards or letters that could have been detrimental for him or me. In 1994, he married his first High School girlfriend and ask me to work with him and buy his farm, as he didn’t want it to go to any of the bigger farmers. He wanted someone who would love the place the way he did, and carry on the dream his parents began in 1936 when they bought the farm. For a dollar down, to bind the land contract…I bought a farm on Valentines Day.
Many changes came to the farm, to the farmhouse, which was in dire need of repair. Seventy cats lived in this house, and there is no way to explain in this blog, the number of messes I cleaned up and carried out in multiple 5-gallon buckets. Not to mention I learned how to rip out subfloors and lathe and plaster just to rid this house of the strong cat stench. I learned to take out windows, put in new windows, hang drywall on ceiling with homemade T sticks and the help of 3 not so happy teenagers, I learned to do my own plumbing (thank God for PVC) I sided the house, built decks, and put an entire new roof on brand new 3 car garage alone, except for one day when my teen son ask to stay home from school to help. It was late November and the roof needed to get on and get sealed by the sun. Thomas laid out the 3 and 1 shingles and I ran behind him fastening them down.
(Side note: I was on the roof for 2 day, a man drives in my driveway, and asks me to come down off the roof, he wanted to talk to me about how I was shingling the roof. I had my old Eastwing hammer in my hand and I remember thinking “Dude, if you stopped here just to tell me how I am doing this all wrong, I am apt to plant this hammer aside your temple”. I climbed off the roof, trying to reign in my irritation. And it’s a good thing I did. The man, turned out to be a preacher/carpenter and he was down at my neighbors building a garage for them. He said he had heard me down here hammering for two days and wanted me to use his roofing nail gun. I thanked him but declined his offer. I had never used one and didn’t want to mess it up. He insisted I used it, and unload from his truck with an entire box of nails. He said when I was done with it, to just leave it on my front porch and he would stop and pick it up.
I did use it, it made my job much faster, and when he did stop to pick up the nail gun, I gave him 200.00 for the use of it. He then tried to decline the money, and I told him to give 10 percent to his church and use the rest for his kids for Christmas. It just a sweet story, that goes along with the house…but I love that a stranger helped someone else without waiting or wanting the notoriety for it.)
After he married and moved an hour away, our coffee sessions weren’t as prevalent as they once were. Still his letters would arrive in the mail. I had become like a child with his letters. If I retrieved one from the mailbox, I would race inside, and get all my household chores down, get laundry going, dinners prepared, and it was only when I could take 5 minutes to sit down and absorb his letters would I open them. Most of them were now filled with stories of his new life, his new church, the men’s group he had joined. Burt was always an emotional man; you could tug at his heartstrings easily. I like a man that is strong enough to cry now and then. It shows they are real, connected to their own hearts in a good way, and connect to others in a healthy way.
Now and then, I would receive a letter that would blow me away. Words from him about how he saw me, and all that I did, all that I was or was trying to be. He knew the wounds I carried, he understood the constant need and yearning I had to feel loved and accepted and treated decently.
There are a few of his hand written letters, that I have laminated. That may sound crazy to some, but if I live to be a ripe old age, I don’t want the ink to fade, I want to be able to read the words he wrote to me. The words that live on, even though he is gone from this Earth. He told me I was his hero. Imagine a man 36 years older than me, 36 years wiser, 36 years stronger and more accomplished, thought I was a hero. Those are the letters that I still read today, to remind myself that sometimes …just sometimes there are people among us, that see us, and because of them and their generosity with words, we can SEE OURSELVES in a better light, and continue to grow in a good direction.
I miss people communicating by rural mail. No one writes letters anymore, if they can’t text it or type it, they don’t do it. The kids of today, wont ever know that feeling of excitement when a letter arrives all the way to their mailbox from wherever just for them. This side of 100 years ago, letters were the only way to stay in touch with loved one. By the time you received news by way of mail it was old news but it was still good to receive, a gift that could transport you out of your life for just a few moments. The times they are a changing, we must change along with it, or get left behind. For this writer, I am grateful for this stack of letters that I have, and for the days when I least expect it and I pick a book from my bookcase and find yet another small card or letter that I must have stuck in there when they arrived back in the day. They are timeless. There is a song Charley Pride sang and the word remain in my head and seemed to fit this blog post.
Through the years, I have often fallen, I’ve been every kind of fool a man could be, for I never could control the devil in my soul, but somehow you never did give up on me.
When I couldn’t keep my word, I struck at you for anger for things I didn’t need, when I couldn’t neither break or bend, you were there to be my friend, and somehow you never did give up on me.
And I’m proud to know God gave me such a person, who had eyes to see the good somewhere in me, without you my life would only be a ruin, somehow you never did give up on me.
Burt saw the good in me, when I didn’t see it myself. He knew when there was too much silence between us, when he didn’t hear from me, I was hiding out. Something was wrong, and I was dealing with it on my own. He told me once, that even though I put up this brave shield of strength, he knew it couldn’t dodge the barbs and bullets of life as well as I hoped it would, and he was worried about me. He would love me always and forever. WHAT A GIFT HE WAS FOR ME, WHAT A GIFT HE LEFT FOR ME.
The opportunity to buy his farm, and give my children and grandchildren a beautiful place to live and grow would have been more than a person could ask for, but to have a friend of his caliber, and keep him till the end. Well, I spoke at his funeral. I choked, and cried while I spoke trying to do him justice but my closing line still holds true today. Burton Chester Stafford was STEEL BLUE AND BLADE STRAIGHT.
Shortly before Christmas 2015, I received an instant message from someone I had never met. It was an older woman named Rosemary, and she messaged me out of the blue to tell me that she really enjoyed some of the posts I had posted periodically on Facebook. I thanked her of course and tried to come off as a “normal” person, when in fact at this time of year, the Holidays tend to remind me of what family is and isn’t.
It seems that the older I get the more I can identify with that old adage that family isn’t always about BLOOD, its more about who shows up time and time again when you need it most with a few spare feathers in one hand and some “super friend” glue in the other and is there to piece you back together and tell you that you WILL fly again soon!!!! I was in the midst of that sort of day when I received such an message from Miss Rosemary.
I responded in kind, and then she responded again. Then I answered that message, and she answered another one of mine and by the new year January 2016, we were sharing messages that were 8, and 9 paragraphs long. It is true that we will divulge more to a stranger sometimes…..thinking that we will never meet so it sort of becomes a “safe place” to land. We shared, family stories, past hurts, gave encouragement and just seemed to communicate as if we had known one another for years.
Well, finally I believe that Miss Rosemary invited me for coffee. I would normally never go to a strangers home, but I had been inquiring around town and heard several glowing reports about her and her equally….beautifully spirited hubby. So I accepted the invite and over I went one Wednesday morning.
From the moment I crawled out of my truck, she opened her door and she was a DOLL!. Bright, happy, beautiful , with more talent and kindness in one hand than I have seen in a long time. She invited me into her home as if we had known one another for years. I was PLEASED that her husband was lingering in the next room. A safety guard that anyone as good and kind hearted as she is should have close by. Half way through our visit, Tom joined us for coffee. When I write “joined us” I mean He was literally invited. He didn’t just walk in and park his tall lanky frame at the table. Miss Rosemary “invited” him to join us. If you cannot read between the lines here, let me lay it out plainly.
I adored these two people . Not because they were so warm and receptive to me, not because I felt like I had known them for years, and not even for the fact that I wanted to drop at their feet and ask “Am I too old to be adopted by you two”. No, none of those reasons.
I was mesmerized by the way they treated one another. The MUTUAL LOVE & RESPECT is so completely evident in their marriage of 50 years. She has an idea, she mentions it and off Mr, Tom goes to “help Miss Rosemary” make it a reality. They laugh with each other, and at each other. They don’t bark or snarl or say crude hurtful things in a joking manner. They are the real deal. What a BLESSING for me to just sit in their presence. I assure you , they are the best kept secret in town.
To date, I have had several wonderful visits with these two fine people. I have had Miss Rosemary at my home, and still I can attest that she is both delightful and inspiring. There is NOTHING that she cannot create, in fact the home in which they live resembles yet another precious “Little home” they created together.
We bought a farm 23 years ago, I am still in the processing of bringing back this old vintage farmhouse built in 1880, Shortly, I hope to begin to make my own doll house to replicate my home today, and I pray that Miss Rosemary and Mr, Tom will be available to help me make the inside of my doll house as adorable and warm as they have made theirs.
There is an absolute doll inside a real dollhouse in town, and she is a real, living, breathing lady. She has a wonderful, kind husband, and together they have created a beautiful life with four children, grandchildren, and a town that adores them. Their story matters to me, their history, how they met, how they raised a family, and where they arrived at the home they have today. It matters to me, because THEY MATTER TO ME. Because they are a SAFE PLACE for my tired, weary soul in this CRAZY, GONE MAD WORLD. They feel like family, and we share no common denominator of BLOOD. We are connected by HEART.
Update: 2025
We did make a dollhouse that resembled the home I live in, and I am thankful to say this has been home to my family and myself for over 34 years now. What a blessing. The inside of the dollhouse is not complete yet, but perhaps this year by Christmas. Who knows.
My older brother Stan, after we bought this vintage dollhouse off ebay and we added an addition and cut windows and doors and such to make it look like our place.
Our youngest of five grandsons Jacob .. February 2020
Two of our seven granddaughters working on the house. Alaina and Emma
Many times throughout this crazy vessel called life, we jump on board a passing tugboat, leap onto a speeding jet-propelled outboard, or perhaps wine and dine with others on a fancy Yacht. Real life sometimes gets turbulent, and staying above the rising water tide can be almost impossible.
Every single human begins the same way. We are held in a tight, warm environment, where noises are sometimes muffled by the sound of the very water bag inside our mother’s body, keeping us alive. During this period, we float with ease and comfort, feeling loved—more love than we can even comprehend.
Then we are pushed out into the world, the cord sustaining our lives is severed, and from that moment on, we never feel that warm, whooshy feeling again. What do you do with your one broken heart? When you feel slighted by a parent, sibling, or someone you have given your heart to.
We only have one heart to feel with, one heart to love with, and it gets beaten and bruised throughout life’s journey.
If I could go back in time, I would grab hold of my young self. I would tell myself over and over that ‘”you do matter, that you do have worth, you are pretty “enough” and “smart enough” to go farther in this world than others would have you to believe. I would strive to be sure that my “young self” understood that she needed to go into every situation standing on my own two feet. Don’t lean on anyone, don’t expect anyone to have your back, and don’t look for others to validate your feelings or emotions. We are all entitled to feel the way we do, and no one human should ever have the right or the power to take those things from us. And, be careful sharing your life stories with people you just met, casual strangers. People need to earn the right to hear your stories, and you need to earn the right to hear theirs, too.
Believing other people’s opinions or compliments about you is unnecessary. You need to know how you feel about yourself. Take stock of all you are, stay humble, but stay alert. Trust yourself and your instincts. You really do have to love yourself, or at least accept yourself, before you can completely love others.
And I would tell my younger self what I tried expressing to my children and now my twelve grandchildren, whenever the opportunity presents itself, I tell them:
“Go well into this world; protect that precious heart of yours. Please don’t give it away to the first person who shows up on the scene with fancy flowers or fancy words. Actions will always reveal who a person truly is. Believe them the first time they show you what they are made of.
When you decide to share your ONE HEART, release it slowly and carefully. Watch the other person…. how they treat others and handle situations when times get tough or life is really kicking them. Please pay attention to how they treat their parents, siblings, friends, or co-workers.
Every time your heart gets broken, it will heal, but with every blow, it will take longer to recover, and there will be scar tissue, lots of scar tissue forming around all those cracks.
I hope that, with healing, those cracks will make it easier for more love to find its way back into your heart. We will all struggle and work hard to become brighter, better, and more intelligent people, and we will face many opportunities for heartaches… until our lives on earth are through.
Hopefully, with time, wisdom, and grace, we will have the opportunity to handle the next situation better and work harder on controlling our emotions and how we respond to hard situations or hurting people.
I recently read that our minds reserve special places to process negative emotions. Yes, you read that right, though I had to re-read it a few times myself. Apparently, negative emotions actually help us achieve enjoyment, satisfaction, and purpose because they can keep us safe and alert to danger. Negative emotions are also believed to prevent us from making the same mistakes repeatedly. (I have to question that theory a bit, I tend to walk around the same mountain too many times before I get smart.) But, they say when we are sad, angry, or hurt over something that has happened to us, we are more likely to fix it and protect ourselves from it happening again in the future.
Without unhappiness, we would not truly thrive or survive. We would become stagnant people, standing in the puddle of our pain day after day, and that is not progress. That is a grave!!!
We wouldn’t grow or change as people, and we wouldn’t look forward to a brighter tomorrow. Without negativity or broken hearts, we probably wouldn’t make the necessary changes to improve the situation, and perhaps we wouldn’t fully appreciate the precious moments when they come.
Leaves on the trees turn green, then beautiful hues of orange, yellow, red or gold. Their beauty would not return the following year without the old leaves dying at the beginning of winter, so the fresh, vibrant leaves can return for the following spring.
I am responsible for the energy I bring into a room, and it’s contagious. I need to rise above the daily grind of things, take the hits I have coming right between the eyes, learn from them, and move onward.
Stop wasting time on things that won’t change, things that don’t matter and are not worth the enormous amount of energy they zap from my being.
Try Applying the four steps of agreements to every situation.
Use your words carefully. There is so much force in them. You can hurt or heal with them. It’s your choice every time you open your mouth.
2. Don’t take anything personally unless they speak your name before the sentence. When you take their words into your heart, you become their prey. If you can repel their words while they are shooting them at you, that is a gift.
3. Don’t Assume.
Assumptions cause us to believe whatever we want to think is true. When we assume, taking things personally often follows. Take a moment; if the statement is true, let it in; if it’s not true… let it go.
4. Always do your very best.
Always do your best when dealing with others, though remember that your best may not be good enough for them. Moods change from moment to moment; the mind grows weary, and the body grows tired. Slow down, be slow to anger, slow to get frustrated, and slow to reject others because you have had a bad day.
Live your life to the fullest each and every day; never think you are above anyone else; you are no better than the person you stand beside in the grocery line or at the post office. YOU ARE just as good as anyone else, though, and should never hang your head in shame or try to stay in the shadows of any room.
You are here, on this Earth, at this appointed time for a reason. Enjoy it. With the blink of an eye, a sad, quick blink, you or anyone you love can be gone, gone forever. Do your BEST always…..Even God’s Angels Above can do no better than their own very best.
Go well, my brothers and sisters… out into this crazy mixed up world, and spread love and light, laughter and joy.
Life can be so hard. It can push you up against the wall with so much sadness and turmoil, drama and tragedy till you are not sure which end is up. Life is also full of beauty, bliss, joy, and happiness. Most days, we feel like we are in the middle of the ocean of life, our boat is taking on water, and we are struggling to choose the right island to row towards. I’ve heard it said that HAPPINESS is something we create, but I believe that sometimes our arms can just grow weary from rowing the boat, and we need a little support, a little push to keep us going in the right, happy direction.
There is cancer all around us, diseases, losses, sicknesses that linger too long and affect the quality of life a person is having. People with money don’t seem to deal with half the stress that people without it experience. If you work hard and always try to do what is right, it looks like you just get knocked back on your butt and there is no “Atta boy” anymore.
I recently learned a vital lesson for life and dealing with people. I find it to not only be profound and accurate but it DOES IN FACT help me in dealing with people from all walks of life.
Take a moment and write down the name of a person(s) who has hurt you, angers you, annoys you, irritates you or plain fills you with resentment and frustration when you are around them. Seriously, sometimes just writing their name could ruin a good feeling for me.
Now ….imagine if you will WHAT IF…..what if that person(s) is doing the very best that they can .
As miserable as resentment, disappointment, and hurt make us feel, we are only fooling ourselves into believing we will feel better by continuing to dislike that person or by talking about them and judging them on their every action or word.
See, we really don’t know people. We assume we do, and we even make up our own stories about them in our minds. But we don’t really know them or what makes them who they are and what has transpired in their lives that got them to the boat they are in today.
Judgment and anger take up too much of our emotional well-being, not to mention our time. Let those people “OFF THE HOOK”. Stop trying to figure out why they are doing or saying or acting a specific why, stop pushing them or talking behind their back because they aren’t acting exactly as YOU think they should. Using compassion and generosity will serve us all better, towards a brighter future.
WITHOLDING AFFECTION WILL POISON THE VERY GROUND WATER FROM WHICH LOVE NEEDS TO GROW.
We must learn to accept people for WHO THEY ARE..not for who they could be, or who we wish them to be. It is a known fact that we tend to judge others in an area where we ourselves are the most vulnerable, or feel not good enough. We need to practice compassion towards ourselves now and then, embrace our own imperfections, accept ourselves before we can WRITE off other people’s imperfections. When we KNOW and BELIEVE that we are enough exactly as we are, we are worthy, our stories matter, we will not feel the need to criticize others.
CONNECTING WITH OTHERS VIA GOSSIPING IS NOT A GOOD COMMON DENOMINATOR; IT TEARS UP ROADS OF REPAIR, BURNS BRIDGES.
ASSUME these people are doing the best they can. If they bite your head off, take something you said or did completely different from the way you meant it…you can apologize, but then you have to say to yourself, “This is not about me, John must be having a bad day, a bad week, or a bad year. We don’t have to wait around kicking the same rock repeatedly and hurting our feet. And this way of processing people is not a free card to allow them to continue it hurting us. Its a card for us to step back and say…..I’ve said or done the right thing. If I assume that he or she is doing the best they can….its liberating to US and our heart and mind to give acceptance for the way things are and move forward.
We need to set boundaries. We need to try and treat people well, be the best we can be, and if we miss the mark, apologize. We do better when we know better.
As humans, we can get so torqued up over every little thing. Social media can almost destroy a person if you don’t maintain boundaries and integrity. Often, we don’t know what the other person’s whole story is, what they may be dealing with today, or what past wounds they still carry, what they have been told, or what has been instilled in them. What tragic events have occurred in their past that may trigger anger and hostility in a situation today?
Give people the freedom they need. Just assume they are doing the best they can with life, and walk on. Don’t hang on the mean email or text, or the way they yell or snap at you. If they are truly good, wholesome people, they will come back and make it right… it’s not MOVE THE ROCK…..stop kicking it and hoping your foot will be able to budge it. You will merely end up with a bloody foot. Do your best today, and let GOD have the rest.
Life is too short. AND ABOVE ALL ELSE REMEMBER THIS;
WHEN SOMEONE TREATS YOU BADLY, WORKING HARD TO MAKE YOU FEEL SMALL AND insignificant, IT REALLY says more about THEM THAN IT does about you.
They see in someone else something they are lacking or something they wish they had, and they feel the need to criticize and destroy. Their fault-finding is a lack of examining their own lives, and holding themselves to a higher Authority. When people believe in the Lord Jesus, they usually strive to become better people every day. Unbelievers, who are Godless, do not hold themselves to any accountability except their own. Then the world becomes an Adult playground with no supervision. No one expects teachers to keep manners and courtesy in check.
whispersofmylife.com 
