Be Thou My Vision

Today I sit in a hospital beside the bed of my 89 year old Daddy.  Until a few days ago he was a fiercely independent, proud, and strong man despite his age.  He drove everywhere, lived alone, and took care of himself very competently.  But in a matter of a few minutes, he was reduced to one totally dependent and unable to care for himself.  A stroke will do that.  For now he has been robbed of even the ability to speak or swallow and those of us that love him begin a journey into uncharted territory and we have more questions than answers.  Over the past few months I had embarked on the 1000 Gifts challenge.  Name 1000 gifts.  Count the blessings.  See the graces.  Write them down.  Practice gratitude.  On a good day it’s easy.  Grace abounds.  Blessings are everywhere I look.  From the simplest to the greatest, I saw and wrote.  Once you begin to see the more you see.  The challenge comes in see...

TGIF.  How often do we hear that?  Thank God it’s Friday.  For years I’ve been hearing this expression by friends, family, co-workers, and even on the daily news.  Seems like it’s a unanimous feeling.  We all look forward to the weekend when we supposedly don’t work and when “all the fun stuff” happens.   The general consensus from almost everyone I know is that we are all looking forward to something in the future, something else, something different.  The only problem with the TGIF mentality is that it takes our focus off the days we spend in the between times.  Seems like most of us spend the majority of our time just drifting thru the “other” days and anticipating the next thing whether it be the weekend, or the holiday, or event.   Thus our so-called mundane days in-between fail to be fulfilling, fail to bless others, and fail to bring us a sense of satisfaction.  Then the ones we've looked so forward to fail to meet...

Everyone’s afraid.   Afraid about the future, the economy, pollution, the government, and the list goes on and on.   Worry seems to be the norm.   Apprehension is a way of life.   What’s going to happen? Will we make it?   What if?   Fear plagues and grips.   The world seems unstable to say the least.   Bad news is abundant.   Nothing seems safe any more.   The stock market, jobs, retirement all teeter unsteadily.   World unrest, wars, and natural disasters shake us to the core.   I’ll admit it’s hard not to worry about the chaos all around us.   But the fear that clutches me originates from something much worse.   It’s due to something much deeper, fundamental, and eternally significant.   I’m afraid of what we have become as individuals, as communities, and as a country.   The threat that I feel and see and hear is one not from without but from within.   God’s Word says, “as a man ...

I love mandevilla plants.   Every summer I buy one and enjoy the beautiful pink, tropical looking blooms throughout the season.   I always use the same big, square, terra cotta pot with a wonderful trellis for it to climb.   This year’s model sits at the corner of our brick walk here at the house in Long Island.   It has been especially beautiful and has bloomed prolifically all summer.   Recently I walked by to find that in spite of the perfect trellis provided for it, the mandevilla had sent tendrils out in search of something to climb and had attached themselves to the nearby hydrangea.   Typically I redirect the rogue shoots onto the trellis as I pass by, but had neglected to do so for a few days.   For some reason the new growth has to be coaxed and directed to climb the very thing intended for them.   New shoots stubbornly reach out as if in search of something better than what I have provided for them.   It takes consta...

It seemed innocent enough.   I simply clicked on a link that a friend had posted on Facebook.   The link was about homeschooling.   Specifically, why one would be “crazy” enough to choose that option for their children?   For many reasons, the subject always interests me, but because I have a sister with nine children that she homeschools, I find it even more intriguing.   I find the whole “lots of kids, stay at home mom, homeschooling culture” fascinating.   I am in awe of these Godly parents who dedicate their lives to raising Godly children.   Yes, it fascinates me, but there is another effect that it has on me.   As I scrolled thru this site with beautiful pictures of sweet children reading under trees, working in gardens, and homes decidedly dedicated to the home school effort.   I wept.   It was totally unexpected.   I was overcome with emotion.   Now why would a sixty-year-old woman, long past chil...

“Fireballs and leather, ah, smells just like Big Al Pop’s truck”.  This was the comment made by our granddaughter, Savannah, when she smelled the combined candle scents of leather and cinnamon.  Anybody that knows Big Al knows there are some constants in his life that define him.  On the physical level he is known, among other things, for his big white, Ford F350, King Ranch truck and the jar of red, hot fireballs that are always present in it.  The fireball supply is freely given to any passengers and then replenished from Cracker Barrel whenever we make a trip to Tennessee.  Sometimes sweet friends or family that have been the recipients of them will bring him a new supply.  His truck really does smell of “fireballs and leather”.  The scent is welcoming, familiar, and speaks of Big Al.  Smells, aromas, fragrances, whatever you call them, are so powerful.  They evoke memories, whether good or bad.  Most often they are welcome, rea...

I used to work at a hospital in my hometown that was well know for its beautiful flowers growing all around it.  They were a bright spot for the patients and employees that came and went each day.  I was among those admirers as I arrived and departed for work.  Every morning I would look for any new blooms.  At that time the gardens were attended by a lovely, English woman who quietly attended to them each day.  As a hobby gardener, who is constantly battling the invading weeks in my garden, I was curious to know how this gardener kept these gardens so free of weeds.  There just had to be a special remedy as yet unknown to me.  I had to know! One day on my way in to work, I decided to just ask.  “How in the world do you keep the gardens so free of weeds?”, I inquired of the gardener.  Her answer totally surprised me.  In her wonderful British accent, she replied, “Oh dear, you just pluck them.”  Just pluck them!  Was she kidd...