As a Believer in Jesus Christ

As a believer in Jesus Christ, I have much and many things other people are not aware of in their day to day experiences.

To other people who share similar beliefs as mine, what I write will make perfect sense.

To those who have not experienced what I have, through relationships, reading texts from antiquity, and times of extreme external threats to my life, what I write will seem to them, stupid, fraught with faulty thinking, and detrimental reliance on what does not exist. All that is typed, dear reader as preparation to help you understand my perspectives.

In Scripture’s Psalms, there are references to ‘hedges of protection’ and ‘shields of favor’. in the book of Isaiah, there are references to ‘beauty for ashes’ and ‘joy for mourning’. In so many other places are hundreds of promises, and confidences in an all powerful, omniscient God of Love who, for mere humans to know and understand, is a mind-boggling effort. I do understand that. And I understand the contrast, the seeming impossibilities of existence, the who and what I believe.

There have been many times I’ve questioned and wondered and asked, ‘this horror is so horrible, where is God?’ and ‘if God is so awesome and wonderful why do They (the Trinity) allow Xyz horrors on this earth?’ and many, many similarly worded questions.

The symbol of our questions is an open backward mark ?. For me, it is a reference to looking backward questioningly. It speaks to me what I did not understand at the time of various traumas, aches, and anguish. Backward gazing, hindsight is its other word, is thorough, comforting and assuring.

 

 

 

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Gifts of the Money Kind

There was a time in my life when my mama, dearly departed now, and I talked about the wisdom of giving money.

At the time of our conversation, a frequently aired television commercial touted the ‘one size fits all’ benefits of a gift certificate to their store. Mother. thinking the only natural progression of that thought made money the more perfect ‘one size fits all’ in that money could go anywhere the beloved or barely liked gift recipient wanted. Too. cash is the only monetary way to shop and remain an unknown entity or otherwise nameless person.

In the retail world, national and international stores have vast numbers of ways to document shopping styles and interests, if they have the information found on a personal check. They have even more information if the would be customer uses a credit card.  That was before cell phones, computerized side arms, so to speak.

Now, the big retailers have ‘readers’ in many places all over the stores. These readers track the customers shopping styles, the places stopped, the items touched and at all times identity and the various shopping history of the cell phone.

Mother and I did not imagine these times and department store styles to manipulate and track the customer. Our talk focused on the heart, the joy of the gift and its suitability to most any situation.

She remembered when looking for a dollar bill she found a twenty-dollar bill and spoke of the joy and excitement of suddenly having nineteen dollars more than she expected to have. Another time she found a five dollar bill! To her, it was a thrilling discovery of many possibilities.

“Who”, she wondered aloud to me. “Wouldn’t be thrilled to open a gift and find the money?” Neither of us could imagine an answer.

 

 

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Upside Down Tacos

Upside down tacos was our meal of choice for the evening. So named because the messiness of trying to eat a half moon shaped taco and enjoy all it offers is challenging.

Instead, we assemble the different ingredients around each one’s plate and with tortilla chips we enjoy bite after bite without dropping pieces onto the table and the floor or having bits of lettuce hanging from our chins.

It is a fun meal project.  Our kitchen is quite small, with four people at one time in there it becomes a special kind of dance. Sometimes the plate will be held high over the head by one person while another person may bend and dip to make a little more room. Too,  there is a fair amount of swing and slide stepping as we each and all move to our own drummer.

Because the refrigerator is at the closed end of the kitchen, getting ice for our drinks can be its own kind of comedy. But I dare not place a video for all to see.

The silly chatter, the lighthearted humour as we each make the tight fit a pleasant gathering, is a treasured joy. Reaching over, mind reading and eye rolling are common but important occurrences that add to the suppertime at our house. Over the table, we have a five by seven-inch copy of the Desiderata which flavours our consciousness as we go from our meal.

 

 

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The Can’t Chanters Quandary

To begin, the Quandary is:  how does a person who says “I can. I can. I can.” relate to a person who says

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Whether the subject is plans to do something or questions about the general conduct of courtesy and respect, that statement, ‘I can’t’ immediately limits and denies the possibility of anything that might require that particular human’s participation.

A difference of attitudinal opinion, a denial of opportunity and, or options.

Smack dab in the middle of this quandary is what to do or how to relate to the person who claims defeat to the face of one who hopes?

More and more often are these perplexing conundrums of relationships.

“Hmmmmm. Hmmmmmmm. Hmmmmm.” Is my response

Another challenging situation of human conduct that brings to zero understanding and zero respect is when someone says, with a bit of  la-la-non-chalance,

“Oh, I call Such And So, we chat and do, but that is not for you.  Oh, I text Such And So but that is not for you.  Oh, I meet with Such and So for lunch, or brunch or supper, but that is not for you.  Oh, I have Such and So over for this or that but that is not for you. I participate in a relationship with Such And So but that is not for you, La-la-la-la. I love you, la-la-la-la.”

 

 

 

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Liberty

The many joys of Liberty are countless and as diverse as the people who enjoy it.

This morning’s events were common and regular, almost a ‘Same Old, Same Old’ kind of thing, but not.

The church I attended could have been anywhere at any time in an immense number of faiths, or not at all. Liberty.

My attire could have been any, from scanty to elegant. Mine was simple: hose and heels, long, flowing skirt, simple blouse. Liberty.

We sang Patriotic songs in our close gathering in the Fellowship Hall as our Sanctuary is enjoying a fifty-year makeover. Liberty.

Our Pastor spoke from Scriptures of the Holy Bible.  Liberty.

Later in the day I read and studied and read some more the information on Amazon’s Createspace.  Liberty.

My present project is a book about our Adventures in Garage Sales, and later another collection of stories, and then several more adventures in Writerly pursuits. Liberty.

Looking around me, watching TV or driving around town, or a quick run to the store for supper supplies, all I see is Liberty.

 

 

 

 

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Perspectives

It is a curious thing in my observations,  how different people may see the very same thing, yet, there will be a slightly different opinion from almost every viewer.

If there are a hundred stores at the mall, each one seems to manage their success from a clientele that differs slightly from the other ninety-nine.

My personal conduct goal is to go positive to any negative.  Not in a showy, conversational comparative situation, that might be construed as confrontational or contrary. When someone says it is a horrid day, I respect that for their experience it is a horrid day.

But for mine, it is probably not a horrid day.  I might even find a way to consider it an excellent or beautiful day.

Excuse me please, but I like being happy, positive, upbeat, shrugging my shoulders in response to the presence of would be burdens.

Many years ago we had an example from Mr H’s cousin or aunt, or twice removed relation; (the specific relation title escapes me) who lost her home in a truly devastating storm.  After the monster weather system had moved up and away, she was seen by the neighbours dancing a jig in the middle of her front yard. “Thank you Jesus!” she said over and over and over again.

Her home was a loss, sort of, perspectively speaking. However, she had kept excellent insurance on it, with a modest deductible. Destroyed with her home was an awful (to her way of thinking) floor plan, interior colours she had grown to detest, and its placement on the lot wrong for the light and the driveway was too narrow.

The loss of her home was a gain; an opportunity to improve, go with new and better.

It is all about the perspective, the silver lining to the clouds, the help in the midst of hassles.

 

 

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DNA Wow- O -Wow

The quest to understand this hair led me to the testing of DNA. Genealogically I knew my ancestry, but the hair issue was/is perplexing.

Issue defined as a problem, after problem, after problem; Problem defined as one hassle after another in my hair care unless I allow it to be weighted down with all kinds of product for many days at a time.  Then it looks a lot like slicked down nasty mess.

Left alone; clean with no products, it becomes a frizzy mass like a huge halo that feels as if I will take flight at any moment.  If I were brave enough to attempt wide toothed combing it would be efforts in futility not unlike combing carpet.

Too, the heat from such dense, kinky, frizzy curls can be hot. Hot all the time hot.  Sweat-producing heat which makes the hair curlier even though at six plus decades of age, I am still surprised when this happens.

Spit in a cup, more or less, send off in a postage paid packet, wait.

Ta-da. Results. Mostly I’m Caucasian from the very most Caucasian clans on the planet. My family connections are prominently Nordic, Scottish, Welsh and a smattering of German.

Really, I’m surprised I see a reflection in the mirror.  I am not invisible.

No explanation for the kinky-curly, the tendency of hair matted like a felt hat.

Eeeek. So much for my understanding the hair issue, the problem however one wishes to define it.

But it does explain the teeth.  All my life I’ve wanted pretty American teeth. Considering I have documented double lineage to the ship Anna in 1692, by all rights I should have pretty American teeth.

But NO! These pearls for chewing have cost in the vicinity of many thousands of dollars. Yearly, recently even, a few hundred dollars.  Dingy they are, prone to cavities, no matter how much flossing or Water Picking I do, or holding horrid mouthwash in my mouth for a full minute; THREE TIMES A DAY.

Why? They are Scottish teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

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