In the Equation

Well, I have been off from work this week between Christmas and New Year's.  It's been interesting, and well, interesting how time marches on.  My kids have been sick, I have not felt well and I'm pretty sure it is because of the push that comes right before the holidays.  Being human, I become worn down.  And my children, though young and strong become worn down, too and also are susceptible to catching something. That was the case this week.  We won't get our days back, but at least we had a warm house in which to recuperate.

I had one event planned for this week which was a get-together with my beloved neighbors.  "Lord willing" came into play because due to the death of a friend of one of my neighbor's, our lunch needed to be canceled.  But I managed a lunch out anyway because the daughter of a good friend of mine, and the new husband of the daughter were coming to my area and I happened to have an opening!  They had eloped and were not yet given a proper celebration, so this effort on my part was to congratulate them in a personal, all to myself around the table kind of way.

I always liked this young lady.  She is smart, pretty, sweet, personable and has a depth to her, though she be young.  I was delighted to enjoy her husband, too.  She seemed to have chosen well.

It was a job interview that had taken them to my neighborhood.  During the course of the conversation over a delicious little meal, they shared that if they were to make a move, it would be financially rough because New Jersey is way more expensive than Colorado.  True.  But I found myself reminding them, that particular reality is without God in the equation.  New Jersey equals expensive, BUT New Jersey PLUS God equals do-able, if it's His will that they move here.

It was a faith lifter and builder to me as I spoke about the missing part of the equation.  Now we shall see what the Lord does in their lives... and in mine... and in yours.  Happy two thousand and twelve.

Sink your Teeth Into

My daughter has about one month home from college for Christmas.  When she was home this past summer, she informed me before she went back that her wisdom teeth had been bothering her.  Danae seems to often have one thing or another "bothering" her.  She needed to see a nose specialist when she was 15 because she thought her nose had been broken as a toddler when she took a pretty bad tumble.   Her hands turn purple and we needed to have that checked out, a "beauty" mark we had to be sure was merely cosmetic.  An ingrown toe nail.  She wore glasses as a kid...  Braces twice to correct minor imperfections and now it's looking like something needs to be done again to straighten teeth, give me strength.  But, thanks be to God of course that all of these things have been very small.  She has been such a healthy baby, little kid, young lady.  Like I said, thanks be to God.

But today she had to have those wisdom teeth surgically removed.  I can sort of relate because I did have various dental work done over the years, but wisdom teeth?  They do not exist in me, I'm told that is highly unusual.  But this post is about Danae.  So to continue in that vein,  Danae was whisked off to the doctor's office this morning.

We had received a call that "Diane" could not eat anything after midnight.  For someone with an unusual name like my daughter's, you just never know what she is going to be called.  A teacher she once had called her Dange all of the time, that was pretty funny.  Anyway, this morning Danae asked if she could have some water and I told her to go ahead.  Ut oh.  We arrive at office and we slip in under that wire, the doctor said he'd go ahead and remove the teeth with the water in her system.  Just the day prior he turned down someone who had a glass of orange juice that morning.  What is the spritual lesson in this?  Beats me.

The kid was a trooper, woke up after the surgery giggling.  This is supposedly unusual, most teens wake up wailing.  Again, thanks be to God.

I find again that I like taking care of her.  Bringing her pudding, providing the gauze-changing supplies.  It's been a while, you see, since I've had to see to her.  I love nurturing my own child.  Quite magnificent, though I am sad she had to go through this.  She should be "good to go" before Christmas, thanks be to God.  Not swollen, thanks be to God.  The fee was high, thanks be to God because Jehovah is Provider.  In home group, my friend Laurie said a special prayer about all of this.

The wisdom in this is that mostly when we are in pain the Lord manifests Himself as the Nurturer, the Care-Giver, seeing to us with tender loving care.  We're never too old for that, and it's something we can sink our teeth into.


 

Wonderful

Speaking via electronic mail to my old friend who has moved to the State of Washington, sharing my heart, I confided in her that my prayer request would be for me, to receive a wonderful surprise from the Lord, My Father.  Her quick response to this, my request, was along the lines of that one of the names of the Lord is "Wonderful."

My dear friend, who is my next-door neighbor, who has the same first name of my Washington friend, called me to ask if I would grab dinner with her at our local diner.  Though weary from a day with 23 six year olds, I was easily convinced that it would be a wise choice to be able to order from a menu, dine with a friend, and not have to do clean up after.  The time would be wonderful.

My neighbor friend across the street often sends catchy, cute, sometimes moving e-mails to me and I always enjoy opening them because they come packed with love, I'm most always encouraged by them. The e-mails are wonderful.  It's wonderful when a friend knows a friend cares.

A real effort by a first grader can certainly be wonderful.  Answered prayer for a loved one is wonderful.

There is such variety in the use of the word "wonderful."  The expanse of meanings and contexts are perhaps galactic.   The word, itself, is wonderful.  I love that God has authored words and that wonderful is one of them.

Bentley Part Two

I'm feeling obnoxious having the moxie to talk more about a stupid dog.  And now I'm feeling guilty about calling him stupid.  I can't win.  So maybe I will write about how he is not at all stupid and maybe I'll include another subject so it's just not a post about the Ben alone.

Sometimes I wish I had a camera set up to see how he behaves when he is alone.  I've known of dogs that pull covers down on their master's beds or of dogs that chew their owner's magazines or rip apart shoes and pillows.  Ben has never touched anything that does not belong to him.  Somehow he has boundaries when it comes to property.  That's not stupid.

He has a very tiny mouth and he loves to carry about in his tiny mouth, little bouncy balls.  The trick comes in when I offer him a treat and he must make a decision.  Do I keep the ball?  Do I drop the ball so I can get the treat?  Do I take the treat in the mouth with the ball and then figure it out?  So you see his decision making abilities are exceptional.

The other thing I wanted to mention about dear sweet Bennie, and so I now shall mention - is this pooch, the size of a tote bag, takes off into the backyard to chase away deer.  If there is a small herd, say eight of them, the Ben does not care, he just charges.  His body sort of flattens like a mop and takes off after them.  They scatter.  They fear him.  This is large deer I am talking about.  What's with the courage, Ben?  Why, Ben, are you fearful of any and all dog dishes and you must eat off the floor?  He thinks a dish is a risk, but a deer is not?  Seems not to have discernment.

The last thing I want to say about my pupsqueak is that he howls at the moon like a wolf.  Just kidding.  He howls when the fire siren invades our home.  That's it.  Now I will try and commit not to write about him anymore.  Everything from this moment forward about Bentley will be kept confidential.  I think.

Tooth broke in half, I swallowed the half, had the half I was left with fixed by my very competent dentist.  Thanks, John.
Sub covered for me at school, I left her with one student jumping around the gymnasium like it was a trampoline, one boy lying down in the middle of the gymnasium as though he was a snow angel and one student not wanting to cooperate with the teacher regarding where she needed to be.  I have found a degree of satisfaction knowing someone walked in my shoes today.  Which shoes?  Why of course the ones with the steel toes.

God bless children, God bless dentists and most definitely, God bless substitute aides!

To Be Like Bentley

Up until this point, I rejected the idea of writing about my dog.  I did not think I could fully explain the relationship I have with this little guy, and I thought it could make others think I'm unbalanced when it comes to pets if my explanation became gooey.  I also thought that no matter how hard I tried, I would not be able to convey how utterly cool I think Bentley is.  But I have decided to buckle up and try to drive this blog along the smoothest roads so that my passengers will catch a clear glimpse of just why I love my fella' Bentley so very much.

He could be described as piglet-like, with collie-type fur, a foxy look to his face though his eyes are large.  He has stand up ears, which, when wet, can be identified as chihuahua ears.  About the cutest pup ever, and because he is a small breed, he is eternally a pup because his weight will not exceed 14 pounds.  I did not say he is tea-cup, and he probably does not look like I had to actually purchase him, because he appears to be a mixed breed even though I have his papers to prove he is pure.  I could have chosen a typical, very tiny chihuahua pup from the litter, but I thought long hair would be nice and this chunker sliding into a corner was the one for me.  My children were there, this purchase was to be their Christmas gift, and I was delighted that they also had their hearts stolen by the pooch which I so badly wanted to take home.

This post may be a bad idea.  Perhaps a chapter book would have worked a little better.  Anyway, I will try and be blog-brief.

Bentley's zest for life is enviable.  He spends the night in my son's bedroom and first thing when I get up in the morning, I open Sky's door and Bentley behaves as though he has not seen me for a year.  Come to think of it, if I run to the grocery store and come home, he behaves that way, too.  His watermelon-shaped body with little "leglets" tears around, with his tail wagging forcefully and fully, while he makes little squeaky sounds of glee, letting me know his love for me is alive and well.  His day can begin because I am in it and it's all gravy from here on in!

He does the usual things a dog does like becoming thrilled when it's time to go for a walk, or in the car, and I am amazed how these little activities never become old for him.  He experiences the mundane as special and exciting.  He's grateful for his meals and affection means the world to him.  He nuzzles in my neck and rests on my torso to the tune of anytime.  I'm here, he's with me.

There is a downside to the Benster and it's not small, it is in fact, rather significant.  It is a secret to all who meet up with him outside of my family and perhaps three other chosen human beings, that Bennie is an excellent companion and friend.  That is because the only side they see of him is vicious and wild.  It makes no sense to anybody that I even keep this dog 'cept that I must be a sucker for good looks.   I must chuckle about this, and I have learned to just chalk it up to that he is my protector and he doesn't really care about his reputation.  I guess that's a little admirable, right?  The poor man in the gas station who has to take the money through a tiny opening in my window so Bennie does not jump through and attack him.  Minor inconvenience.  Not really, but the side of him that matters, well that side is the side worth keeping and unfortunately it means putting up with his insane behavior.

Did I mention I did try and take him to obedience school to teach him to be nice to others?  No joke, he was a drop-out.  I didn't have the nerve to ask for a refund, but the teacher mumbled something about how my dog was a spoiled brat.  That's inside info and please do not let that influence you to decide not to like my dog.

Bentley Balto Clifford Bambi Barker (his full name) is my dog, and I and my children shall never reject him because of his imperfections.  Truth be told, to me, he has none.    

Seeing is Believing

I live in a suburban neighborhood which has wildlife becoming increasingly abundant.  Deer, turkey, even coyote and bears.  It's a beautiful thing to me, but I fear for these gorgeous creatures because of their need for food and safety.  Roads and deer somehow do not mix.  It is sad to me and find myself praying when I see one of God's creatures in a place where safety is not a guarantee.

My sister lives on the top of a mountain in Connecticut.  She owns more acreage than I and wildlife is a part of her family's experience at home, as well.  They invite the critters by putting leftover food out when they can.  The sun goes down and it's only a matter of time that something will show up to partake - an opossum, or raccoon, or skunk...  Thanksgiving night we hit the jackpot upon seeing two of the most beautiful gray fox having followed their noses to Bonnie's backyard.

It was interesting, though, because the foxes did not immediately dig in.  They circled and scattered and closed in repeatedly.  "Who cooked this turkey?" was more than likely something their instinct was wondering.  I grew weary watching even these magnificently handsome animals, and left the sliding glass doors to find a comfy place by the fire.

Next morning, not even one wishbone remained in that yard.  Who had taken it?  Did the foxes finally reconcile the fact that this meat, which they did not have to hunt and kill, was still edible?  Did it become their sustenance for the next 24 hours?

I love that God feeds his creation, and I don't have to see it to believe it.

Crayon Presentation

Coming off of Thanksgiving meal 2012, I feel my waistband a bit more as I am situated on my little kitchen chair in my blue jeans.  I'm told that even the most modest plate with turkey and all of the trimmings completely blows all weight watcher points for the year.  Maybe I didn't get that quite accurately, but you get the idea.  Not that I'm on weight watchers currently.  My diet begins tomorrow, but it's a customized version for my busy life style.  I'm counting on complete success.

Bidding a temporary farewell to the first grade students on Wednesday seems like a long time ago.  The day was a day of pumping out all kinds of work at their level, including a paper cup turkey decoration which could be used as their table centerpiece.  There was a place on each "feather" to list an item or idea for which the student  is thankful.  My favorite, of course, was seeing "God" or "Jesus" and actually those Persons were pretty popular.  Don't know if each student thought singularly or if the words made their way around the classroom, and they were snagged by the kids who didn't know what else to write.

In the first grade, crayons are the coloring utensil of choice.  They do indeed break and then there is the peeling factor, but generally speaking, those things have stood the test of time.  Enter me and my ideas.  Noticing the students struggling with getting their crayons back into their respective boxes, torn cardboard, bottoms falling out, my mind bleeped over to how incredibly versatile sandwich baggies are.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if the crayons could be in this see-through plastic showroom of sorts on each student's desk.  The box is dark inside and finding the correct color can sometimes be frustrating.  The baggie idea would solve this.  So I began handing the baggies out and the students thought Christmas had arrived!

Yes, the idea was one of both form and function.  The teacher thinks me a genius and barring the thought of a boy or girl poking through the bag, this will now be the foolproof tradition in this teacher's classroom. Not as splendid as the Thanksgiving holiday, not even close, but enjoyable nonetheless.

What's in Your PocketBook?

I arrive in the classroom before any of the students get there.  I tuck my pocketbook away in a cubby and it leaves with me for lunch and comes back with me for the rest of the day.  I always have a pencil in my hand which enables me to jot something down for a student, or to hand the pencil off to the student who has once again broken his pencil's point.  When I was in the fifth grade, my joke, "having a pencil without a point is pointless" was understood and the students would chuckle.  Can't use that joke on first graders.  This reminds me of how I have to customize my humor to the age of the children I am with.  "Sorry, Charlie.  Wait, your name is not Charlie" worked well in second grade, the pointless pencil joke worked well in fifth grade.  I'm getting off topic but perhaps I can tie this all together soon.  Or perhaps not.

Oh yeah.  When I was in the fifth grade, allowing the students to use my colored pens would not only brighten their papers, but also their day.  Fortunately, the teacher I worked with would agree with all my ideas and think it lovely that the students would happily participate based on the interesting writing tool of mine they would use.  These kids were great, they'd use the pen and hand it back to me at the end of class.  I always thought that quite something for public school students.

So, I have a silvery case which is supposed to be for cosmetics which I use for a pencil/pen case in my purse.  I used the same one last year in the fifth grade, too.   The girls would love to pick through it to find their favorite color pen.  I have not handed out pens to first-graders for obvious reasons.  But this last indoors lunch recess we shared, I set some of the pens out, and the delight of the approximate five six year olds who were writing in their little "recess" books (my idea, pretty cool, right?) was delightful to witness.   Why, Mrs. Diehm was letting them use things that came out of her pocketbook!  One student's attention turned to my pocketbook and she seemed surprised that I had one.  She peeked into it and noticed that my wallet was shiny like the case the pens came out of.  She must have seen my keys in the purse and she looked up at me and asked, "Do you have a car?"

One tender, innocent inquiry which made my heart smile and muse at the simplicity and honesty of a child's question and how truly sweet this little girl is.  She was looking into a place not everyone can look, her "teacher's" purse.  It whet her appetite for information, to dig deeper about the owner, a person who is warm and helpful to her.  May it be so when we go into the Word of God.  May what we see in there cause us to look into the face of the One who cares so deeply for us, with a pure desire to get to speak to Him, and to come to know Him better.

What is it about Coffee?

It seems to me you could talk about coffee and all of the kinds and all of the ways and all of the prices that go along with coffee consumption until you are blue in the face.  Not that trying to convince someone that coffee is indeed a satisfying hot beverage should be your goal. Not that one is missing out on what life is all about if clasping a warm-on-the-verge-of-hot cinnamon nut mocha is not part of their daily experience.  You could talk forever about coffee I think, over coffee.

Memories of favorite cups of it in different places at different times of day, literally over the years, with different folks or all by myself, coffee has held a popular spot in my life.  I actually had a bachelorette party before the sun came up on my wedding day at Dunkin Donuts with a handful of my girlfriends.  I had tired rings under my eyes in my wedding photographs because of getting up so early, but I think it was worth it.

The cup and how it feels in my hand matters, the season does not matter, the freshness matters, but to someone else the cup may not matter, the season may matter and maybe someone would not care if it had been sitting in a pot for three hours before they were able to sip it.  Oh and what is pretty important is how the rim of the cup feels on my lips.  And I don't like styrofoam.  If I order a medium sized cup in Dunkin, I also ask for a small cup to pour it in because the small-sized cup is cardboard as opposed to the medium sized cup being styro.

My initials match Dunkin Donuts, my daughter, whose initials match Dunkin Donuts worked there for three plus years and her coffee-stained clothes did not upset me.  I used to love to stop there while she was working because she could put together the best-tasting cup in Bergen County, I kid you not.  Lately, however, since she is away at college, I have been enjoying coffee comfort at home, all by myself.  The thought of having my first cup in the morning works better than an alarm clock to get me up and at 'm.

This is all quite personal and yet I share the info openly because I love coffee.  May seem superficial to some (and I would bet those "some" are not coffee-lovers.  You have to be one to understand.)  "Our" population is LARGE which is not arguable. A certain high-priced "brightdollars" chain has stores splashed around like drops from a gigantic spilled coffee pot!!  I just hold on to the fact that they are good for the economy and try not to judge how much they actually get per cup...

So, after all is said and drank, to coffee-lovers everywhere, count your blessings when you indulge, knowing the Source of All Comfort does not exist in that cup of coffee, tho He has given us all things richly to enjoy.  But I think the real proverb here can be said like this - peace is having a cup of coffee, and knowing Who to thank.

Uninspired

Carole King was one of my favorite singers back in the 70's.  Her Tapestry album was blissful to me.  Each song on that thing was so gorgeous, so moving, so meaningful to my teenage psyche.  My dream, really, was to have the ability to sit at a piano, play it, and make melodic tones with my voice as I leaned into the microphone.  I wanted to be a Carole King.

For the record, at this point, the depth and richness of contemporary Christian music has filled my life with joy.  Now my dream is to be Amy Grant.  Just kidding.  Sort of.  At any rate, allow me to make a point using a blast from the past, bear with me as I talk about one of Carole's songs in particular.  Hey, at least I'm not talking about The Monkeys...

For some reason when I began this post, the title I gave to it popped in my head.  The word "uninspired" was in Carole King's song Natural Woman.  What in the world did she mean by "natural woman?"  Recalling the lyrics of the song, I believe there was a specific connotation, that being a natural woman is somehow linked to having a feeling of freedom and power within, because some guy digs you.

Thank God for Christendom which supersedes all that the world would make "normal" or "natural."  Thank God inspiration, being inspired, is a supernatural phenomena, God-given.  No reason to ever be uninspired.

Star Student

"Show and Tell" is always a favorite of children.  They get to "show off" what is theirs and broadcast all that is beautiful and good about what they have.  It sets them apart from the rest, because it symbolizes their personal wealth on a child's level and paints their personal experience which elevates who they are.  They stand taller than the rest and it is their time to shine.  Questions are asked of them concerning their visual, and my how informed they are!

Show and Tell has evolved over the years.  I remember it being sort of random.  Well, now it has become a brand new ball game.  Let me tell you how the contemporary dynamics play out.

Each week a surprise naming takes place of who the following week's Star Student is to be.  They take a poster home with them which they are to decorate and on which they indicate all kinds of important facts about themselves.  This poster is displayed in the classroom for one full week, and each of the five days, the Star Student brings in a cherished belonging to talk to the class about.  It doesn't end there.

On the Friday, the last day the student is named the "star," each student creates a page for the star student which pictures he or she, and on the backside has a personal message to the student proclaiming how wonderful he or she is and how exciting it has been to see the "shows and tells" all week long.  I, the helper, bind the book and proudly the student leaves, knowing he has arrived, that his week has been a success, that his star will shine forever and always.  The book seals it.

Yes it is chuckle-able, but it signifies how we, too, experience self-worth.  We need to be noticed, I need to be noticed, I need to have something to show.  Even when shy, or insecure, I am given a spring in my step if someone is compelled to ask something about me, voice a compliment.

I know that our Heavenly Father sees and hears as we show and tell.  The Lord asks us things to allow us to value what we have been given.  And, what do I have that has NOT been given to me?   The Helper hands us the Book, which seals how precious His thoughts are toward us.  Toward me.  Toward you.

Stars are made for shining.

A Red Sweatshirt, An Orange Sweatshirt

Two little boys, very different indeed.  One pushes, one stands still.  One shoves, one complains.  One bothers, one wonders why.

Mr. Red Sweatshirt is smaller.  Mr. Orange Sweatshirt is faster.  "Please be kind to each other," the helper says.

Days go by.  The grumbling continues between the two.  "I'm six."  "Yeah, so what!  I'm seven..."

Isn't that how it can be with adults, too?  Probably it does not transpire outwardly the same exactly, but inwardly the scenario may be just the same.

Suddenly, Mr. Red Sweatshirt prances up to the helper to inform her quite proudly that he and Mr. Orange Sweatshirt are now friends.  Running together on the playground, it is a lovely sight to behold, and how happy the two have become.  What changed?

Their personal choice.  Their personal perspective.  The unspoken reasoning manifesting - to get along with a classmate is far better than to not.  That transparency, that ease of acceptance and forgiveness is the part of being a child I greatly miss.

Why does "Lord willing" matter?

A normal week at work, days basically speeding by, and here we are at Friday.  If you have a job that is extremely stressful, wherein you are over your head, I suppose you could term this day "Fried Day."  Completely fried, needing to chill.  Thankfully my day ended watching the twins from the first grade walk up the hill around the corner from the school with their dad.

Twin girls.  Wearing rain slickers with multiple pastel hearts.  The "aahhh" which flowed down my heart tranquil-ized my tiredness from the classroom duties.  How unusually blessed I was to play "build a snowman" (my adaptation of "hangman") with these girls during a rainy lunch period inside.  How honored I was to be able to rave about their neatly written spelling tests and creative renditions of artwork, to have bolstered their opinion of self...  Now there they were, going home to their weekend, and I to mine.

The plans were to drive north to the great state of Connecticut.  I was to meet up with my big sister and there spend some time at the annual Apple Festival in her town.  Finally, "something" to do on the weekend.  Well, not so fast...  think I will need to eat my words having told at least two co-workers my destination.  The wind will be whipping far too much, and the ground much too muddy, and well, the Lord is not willing.  He was willing that I hear about it, plan it and anticipate it, but that's as close as I'll get to the field day of choice for me.

I do thank Him, and will blog again next week, Lord willing.

Difference between hazel and basil

There are days in the first grade classroom that are just so wonderful that I don't even think it necessary to collect a paycheck.  Then there are days when I know beyond a reasonable doubt that my job does not pay nearly enough.  You see, I am the "helper."  I cannot set the tone of the classroom nor can I decide the order of events, but I do get to alter an attitude, put a smile on a face, make a little lightbulb go on and what is my favorite - the  privilege of listening to one of those priceless comments a first-grader can make.  Well maybe a hug is better, but for the purpose of this blog, I'm going to say it's my favorite to have access to the thoughts of a six year old.

Adorable with glasses, at least one missing tooth, brown, on-the-bushy-side hair, this little tike was filling in the blanks to describe himself.  He came to "eye color."  He looked at me with his beautiful hazel eyes and said, "I know what color my eyes are.  They are basil."  Hazel, basil, I knew what he meant and he was getting to know himself quite well.  The mistake did not matter, I knew his intent and that he had done his best.  Thank the Lord that when I say basil when it is really hazel I mean, the Lord smiles and is so glad to know me.

Okay.  Back to the classroom.  There is another particular darling, who has minor issues.  Well, you wonder, who does NOT have minor issues??  Anyway, this cutie-pie guy has a little bit of a hard time sitting still, thus the need for me, the "helper."  Thankfully the Holy Ghost grants wisdom, and the idea popped into my head to assign a sticker chart to him.  Each time I instruct him to "wait," "listen," etc., if he carries out the being-still-kind-of-procedure without incident, he receives a sticker.  When his sticker card is filled, he will receive a reward for his efforts.  Often when he is in the holding mode, his hands will be folded atop his desk.  Now you must know where I am going with this...

Waiting, being still before the Lord is not easy, especially when it is soulish imprisonment, the sensation of those chains on one's ankles, and it also can be difficult when it is just plain patience we need, wondering what the next step is to be.  But the reward will come.  Imagine the sticker sheet, listen to the voice of the Helper...  Know His torrential love...

Pain of Never Having

Initially when I was told, or so I sound like more of an inquiring mind, when I learned that I, even I could have my very own personal blog, I thought I would require the use of my son's expertise in this, the technical arena of life.  But to my delight, I have successfully manuevered through the process to create my own blog.  Welcome to Mars!  Or at least so it seems.

I have traversed around this planet called earth for many a year and have succeeded to survive, tending to myself and appearing as though I am indeed an independent daughter of this world, up-to-snuff, fashionable, politically aware, nutritionally literate.  But have not until this moment resided without stumbling in the blogosphere of life.  I'm quite comfortable, actually, I can breathe, I'm sitting upright as I write.  Pinching myself, I have arrived.


Not wanting to seem arrogant that my following will be mega-sized, I still nonetheless had better be certain I have a message to convey so that the mere "wow, this is new" does not wear thin when it's discovered there is no reason at all to follow me on this new journey of blogging.  If I have no where to lead, why bother following?  So, all cuteness aside, let's get to the meat.  

There are so many things in this life that I have wanted.  Did I say needed?  No, I did not.  I said "wanted."  I never even had a mini-van.  I've written a poem about this unattainment (which when reading is entertainment) and perhaps somewhere in the future I'll include it in my blog, but for now the point I wish to make is that I never had the experience of driving my children, each with a friend in their own row in a vehicle.  Many would take the luxury of a mini-van for granted and might even have occasion to complain about their mini-van.  Not I.  I never even had one.

Don't walk to get your kleenex just yet, because I'm about to turn the stage just a bit so you can see what is behind this.  What I want to point out is that not even God gets everything He wants.  He has crafted each individual, formed them in their mother's womb Scripture says, and not all of them love Him back or even care to thank Him or know Him.  So I never had a mini-van and you maybe never had a sedan, but the real tragedy in this life is that God has not had all of His miracles look for Him.  They may ride in their chosen or assigned sedans or mini-vans, but if they are void of acknowledging their Heavenly Father, they have deprived the Almighty Maker of the Universe of what He has wanted most - relationship with the sons and daughters of mankind.

Till next time, and I think the next topic will be Torrential Love.  But we'll see.