A reblog

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I Want to Return

I want to return to that place—

the comfort and ignorance of childhood,

the rooftops, the trees, haylofts, and attics,

the fast river and railroad tracks that led nowhere and everywhere,

green fields and barbed wire fences, and salt licks for sampling.

Free days.

I remember the scent of my father, the oil and hay, stale manure, and Old Spice.

In church, I explored weathered hands with blackened nails,

sucking Lifesavers while adults thought about Jesus.

I remember mum in floral house dresses with sensible shoes,

baking cookies, tender crusted pies, and fried bologna we thought was a treat,

berry picking and chauffeuring to Jeffrey’s Lake for a muddy swim with leeches.

Free days, happy days—at least for a child.

I want to return to that place before the angry shouts of opposition parties,

the heated debates about border, fentanyl, and sex trafficking,

the hot tears and anger with mass shootings and invasion robberies.

To the place with unlocked doors and no coded security systems,

to the place where every neighbor was a friend and helper and

not suspected of being on some sex offender’s registry.

Free days, ignorant days.

But there is no going back, I guess;

there is no unknowing and unseeing what the world has become,

and we would desperately protect our own,

hold off the darkness as long as possible; but

somehow it seems we have dragged our little ones along to this troubled place.

But I would return if I could.

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Something to think about . . .

I read a book about Canada where the author talked about a rustic resort on Baffin Island where hunters and fishermen come to “play” in the frozen north. Apparently, adequate plumbing is problematic in such a cold climate, so buckets of frozen excrement for years were put in a huge dump site, knowing that they would never thaw to cause a problem.

I hope global warming is not true!

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Poets in a Blender

I think my barbaric yawp can sound

not only on Walden’s Pond,

in a metro, or

beside a red wheelbarrow, but can also sound by a mended wall,

near a road less travelled, and even in front of Herbert’s altar.

Nameless here and evermore, one of Emily’s grand nobodies.

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Beating the Freeze

With the storm cyclone freeze polar something or other we are experiencing, we have been keeping heaters in the bathrooms aimed at the toilets in order to keep the pipes in the wall from freezing. It’s working, but what is even more fabulous is having to do a bathroom run in the middle of the night and having a toasty heater making it a very warming experience.

If the man insists on turning off the heat in the night, this is a habit I want to keep!

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Cooking with Gym Socks

Every time I make my vegan chili, I add cumin; and every time I wonder how a spice that smells like dirty gym socks ever became an acceptable food item.

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Oral Surgery 2

The surgeon’s PR department needs to work on their timing. A patient should never receive a Review form the day after surgery! I can’t think of any dental treatment where I would give a positive response the day after. Maybe they figure if you are still on pain killers, you might give a good response. NOT.

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Oral Surgery

Oral surgery is not fun, just in case you wondered. It has thrown me off my challenge to have a post every day, but hopefully will soon be back on track.

Be thankful I did not include a picture!

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Footprints . . . I Hate That Poem

“When you see only one set of footprints, it was then I carried you.”

I hate that poem.

I get the point of it, but when I am struggling to maintain equilibrium and need to know my faith is not misplaced, I don’t need hiddenness but presence.

There is some comfort, I suppose, in looking back and sensing that You were there all along, but there is also a feeling of betrayal—that when I needed You most, I wanted not just to be imperceptibly carried, but I needed to feel the real You, to feel my hand in Yours—solid, there!

I want to look back and see two sets of prints, me beside You, not alone, hand in hand.

Some might think Psalm 88 should not be in the Bible. It lacks the triumphant hallelujahs of other psalms with its “my soul is full of troubles,” I am counted among those who go down to the pit,” “like those whom You remember no more.” And then there is the “Why do you hide Your face from me?” The psalmist definitely was not feeling carried in these moments, more like abandoned. And yet . . .

He cries out to the Lord. Day and night.

He prays, he complains, he queries, he storms because his need is great and he recognizes the only place where strength and safety are to be found is in Yahweh.

So, yes, this psalm needs to be in the Bible because it is the real place where we often live. We cry out in desperation. There is pain in the waiting, in the silences, but faith faces life as it is, not just how we would prefer it or how we expected it to be. We cry out to the God who is there even when we can’t feel Him. If faithfulness means anything at all, we press on when the darkness overwhelms, knowing He is not far off. Really.

But I still hate that poem.

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What Will People Say?

I taught English for many years, and one assignment I would give my twelfth-grade students close to graduation was to write a list of the things they would want people to say about them at their funerals. Upon completion, and grading of course, they were supposed to put it in their Bibles or some other important place so that perhaps in a few years they could pull it out, read it, and ask themselves whether they were living the kind of life that would warrant the praise they hoped to receive on that day.

Now, did they save it? Some did . . . maybe. Others . . . maybe it didn’t even make it home. But it is a good exercise, written or mental. How do I want people to eulogize me? Will they say they loved to have known me and that I was a blessing in their lives? Did I make a difference? Or will they struggle to think of something concrete, something truly positive about the person they thought they knew?

My dad’s funeral was a coronation. He was not only a brilliant and loving man, a hard worker and thoughtful Christian, loved and appreciated by his family, but he had the admiration also of neighbors and extended family. He garnered praise from the whole community because the man they saw, his actions and words, was consistent and representative of a gentle, godly life.

My desire is to leave an imprint on people’s lives that shows I at least tried to live an honorable life, a life that pleased Christ. I fall so short of that goal, but I pray that my words and deeds be not as filthy rags to present before the King, but a legacy of blessings that please Him.

So what do you want others to say about you on that day?

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