I am not brave.

This is how the dictionary defines the word “brave”: having or showing courage, especially when facing danger, difficulty, or pain.

This…is not me; not now, not ever. I do not have courage or even show it. I inwardly cower in the face of danger, difficulty or pain. However, I don’t show my cowardice, but rather, I hide it & very well. You cannot consider yourself to be brave, if you are scared to look weak. You cannot call yourself brave, if you think the next storm might end you. You cannot declare how very brave you are, when you know, in yourself…there is no strength to fight. I do not stand up & fight. I only keep walking. That isn’t bravery, it’s simply…movement.

So many people, over so many years, have called me brave. I just smile & keep walking… This is who I am. I am the one who keeps walking, but not in bravery. No, I move forward with determination.

This is how the dictionary defines the word “determined”: feeling or showing firmness or a fixed purpose. This is something I can, in good conscience, admit to. I am determined, yes.

Year after year, step after step, blow after blow, storm after storm, mountain after mountain…I still believe in an intention; a purpose greater than my own living. I believe in reasons. I believe in callings. I believe in looking past myself. I am not an island & I do not live for myself.

I can see the forest, not just the trees & I wonder…is this is why I am not brave? A tree is friendly, but an entire forest…that’s a lot to contend with. It gets dark, lonely & scary. I’d rather climb up a tree, than walk through a forest…any day. It takes more strength to climb to the top of a tree & it can easily be done alone. However, walking through a forest alone, takes less strength, but far more courage. So, when I come to the edge, sometimes I miss the trees completely & only see the long, dark winding path that I must take &…I feel no bravery…just determination.

I know that I must move forward, but I am not brave.

My Secret Garden

Inside myself, I live unaccompanied by interested parties. It’s alright…I listen to myself & I hear myself. I recognize myself (mostly). So, yeah…I’m one of those people who talks to themselves too. It’s never out loud though, well, almost never. It is with lucidity of mind, that I comprehend…I am perhaps the only one who listens to me or understands me...with conceivably few exceptions. In fact, so often I feel as though, I’m the only one on the planet. It isn’t because I can’t see others or appreciate them. I believe I’ve spent my entire life refining the art of understanding…of listening to others. It’s just that it has by no means really felt reciprocal, at least not often or with very many. To me, it’s disingenuous to ask a person, “How are you?”…while passing by them in the store. I know it’s just a thing you say, but I don’t say it, not unless I fully intend to stay right there until I’ve actually heard how they are.


This is one of the explanations as to why I love operas. It isn’t the entire reason, but when an aria is playing, I feel like my inside has finally escaped into the atmosphere…finally, finally…there is a creditable exhibit somewhere, other than on the inside, which tells of my devotion to passion. It’s a liberating of the profundity of my feelings! It’s as if someone ripped pages from my heart & wrote music to the lyrics. My personal thoughts & emotions somehow become, all at once, tangible. There are certain pieces of classical music, which I cannot listen to without crying. I resolve, when I hear them, I will not, but inevitably...tears. The conclusion of Nessun dorma, for example…forget it…I’m just not in control. It’s not even the significance of lyrics. Many times, I’m ignorant of the words behind the compositions. It’s just the notes themselves converging, weaving in & out of each other so precisely & swelling collectively until it becomes too much to bear.


I’ve often wondered what I would do without music. Even after hours spent pondering that, I really don’t know…it’s simply inconceivable. My heart becomes completely betrothed…it gets swept away & taken to heights that couldn’t be duplicated by any other means. My very identity gets entangled in the fibers of the music & will not separate itself until the last note has completely faded. This becomes an issue for those who are with me & don’t understand that you do not disrupt someone, just as they are finishing their last sentence. Likewise, when a song that is doing it’s very best, to illustrate the depths of my soul is wrapping up…please, I’m not going to interrupt. It matters little what else is going on around me.


One of the ways that I administer the freeing of those ever flowing thoughts, is writing. On occasion, it feels as though, there is this mighty, rushing, river inside of me, the sound of which at times, grows to be so loud, that I have no choice but to distribute it. Writing allows that flood gate to open, just enough to save me from overflowing at the most inconvenient times. No, I’m not going to elaborate, just trust me…it’s more profitable to write. Many times, this is my tool of choice to convey very sentimental things, private things, things which I find my mouth just cannot keep up with. I know how to embrace those I love with the written word & yet it's at best a failure, with far too many limits.

Who I truly am, the one who lives passionately & with abandon, doesn't want just everyone traipsing around through that innermost sanctum. It's a place that resembles, "The Secret Garden." It needs to be respected & appreciated for the uniqueness of each thought, as though they were flowers. It makes me cautious to bring other people there, because it causes some to look away with disdain & lack of understanding. That garden can be untamed at times & not grow according to the standard of most, who would enter with the desire to haphazardly prune away, with little regard to what is being plucked & destroyed. Experience has taught me to shrink back, wear the key to the gate around my neck & never speak of the location.


There’s this scene in, “You’ve Got Mail,” where Joe Fox (=Tom Hanks) has just started to share something from his heart & his fiancée interrupts him with something crass, like…”Oh no! I’m out of Tic-Tacs!” What was he going to say? Well, he went on to say it, but I really never consider that part…because I’m wiping away tears & thinking things like, “Pearls before swine” & other such judgments. Someone who cares more for a *mint*, than her soon to be husband’s heart-felt thoughts, just needs serious help…if not already beyond it. Sadly, I’ve been there with him, though. There’s a variety of person who seems to always ask, “What do you think?”…but, they haven’t a sincere bone in their body. You barely get out, “Well, I thin….k,” before they’ve gone on to give yet another opinion, to which they will be overjoyed, to see you shaking your head in agreement to. These oblivious creatures are so consumed with their own matchless ideas, so set on forging ahead, in almost an “all-knowing” way…that you’re basically reduced to a smiling piece of wall paper. I guess, “yes men” fits too, but…I’m a woman, so…
Yeah…pass the Tic-Tacs.


So, when a genuine article kind of person comes along, & in point of fact, desires to hear from that cavern of depth, the well of emotion & feelings…hmm. My muscles (the ones used to haul the bucket up by pulley) just haven’t been exercised enough to quite get that bucket all the way to the top. It seems like I can only get so far & then I have to let the bucket fall back down. I know given time, I can build up the strength to reach down & retrieve those thoughts at will. However, training is required for such a skill. What’s excellent though, is that muscles have a memory & once that aspiration is reached, it’s always there to fall back on.


And one more thing – desire - without it, failure is imminent. So, since I spend a lot of time talking to myself & listening to myself, I’m fully at liberty to say, “I have the desire. I have the desire to bring the inner world of thoughts, dreams, ambitions, feelings, ideas, hopes, aspirations, imaginings & the overpowering depth of love up & out until it collides with the outside of me.”

When she who writes, comes together with the one who smiles…I’m hoping a melody will result that brings with it, an ability to create happiness for those who choose to listen.

Once upon a time... Part 1~BC

I am an American!

I'm sure God has something to do with this, I'm just not sure how yet.

His is the hand I hold throughout this difficult walk on planet earth, and through all the pain I have within and must endure, I know he bore it all. He is mine, and I am his.

Besides, the hamburgers aren't all that bad either.

Maybe that's why I fell in love with America when I first came here.

Find your city's heart and true calling and your prayers can become very effective.

I think Wal-Mart is the household name for me.

But, I realize, urban planning might not lie heavily on your heart, so I'll gracefully drop the subject here.

I would have liked to read aloud from the Declaration of Independence, explaining the various points made from a philosophical and constitutional angle, and then we'd all gather together for a moment of solemn prayer and thanksgiving for the flag and the nation.

You should know that I'm entertainment challenged.

Most of what I do, I do alone.

I'm fairly convinced that she is out there somewhere - in fact, I do not worry about it; on some bend in the road along which I walk, she'll be there, and it'll all happen quite effortlessly.

Still: It's a long walk.

But, "I saved the world today" is a convenient way of describing it to ordinary people.

It has comforted me many times; to lift up my voice in worship even though my heart is broken and in pain, and to feel inside that God is silent and listening intently.

I never jest about Winn-Dixie.

Did you know that I wrote letters to the US forces in Iraq?

I mean, bring up the Second Amendment and people stare at you like you're dangerously crazy.

Wherever I go through life, and whatever I do, I've always made it my goal to seek Daddy before doing anything.

I believe I'll die when I'm about 76 years old, and I'm 34 now.

God and I are kind of a package deal.

Well, I could tell you about my revelation of why Dr. Hari Seldon initially failed to develop his psycho history discipline in the fictional story of the First Galactic Empire - because he didn't take into account the effect of fractal geometry on society.

A leaf on a branch is like a branch on a tree, which is like a tree in a forest - the same dimensionality applies, in a quite mathematical way.

Now, I find myself in the position where "if God isn't fully in charge here, I am so totally screwed".

But as for me, I'd rather crash and burn with God than to walk the same path as everyone else.

Ah... sadly enough, my party turned into a disaster.

The immediate thought that struck me was that you went with a bunch of good-looking guys, where I went with mostly distinguished seniors and old generals.

I just love the feeling of having a big, secret hideout where I can plot my evil genius plans.

I laugh my maniac scientist laughter to myself; and then my colleagues look at me in puzzlement, and I go back to work.

In my view, you make heroes out of teams, not individuals ... like the army, or NASA, where you have thousands of people all working synergistically towards the same goal.

See, now I made myself nostalgic.

Blown intellectual covers aside, this has been a very enjoyable conversation.

When I get silly, I watch "Muppets From Space".

No, I didn't fall into the mud - I slipped. Big difference.

I had thought to wait until tomorrow with writing my reply, but the question you asked about uniforms got me thinking a little bit too hard.

I would think that a Marine Corps sergeant in full honors would rank higher on the "swoon scale" than a blue McDonalds shirt and cap.

Your questions, however, have caused me to venture into an area previously overlooked by me, and it is of a peculiar natural interest in understanding the sometimes exceedingly complex behaviors of human beings, that I now shall turn my attention to women in uniform.

Alternatively, they could play "Somebody's Getting Married" from The Muppets Take Manhattan. Either way.

A cozy hamburger in a quiet, evening-empty McD perhaps? But, maybe there's different kinds of being romantic.

If I could choose between a pretty, young lady walking through flowery fields reading poetry, or a team of pathologists carving away at dead corpses, I guess I'd rather choose the first.

I guess I'm not entirely over her yet.

Even though in the natural sense things may look difficult, we serve an awesome God who answers prayer and gives good gifts to his children.

I've noticed that he works in times and seasons.

So, unless incredibly exciting things happen overnight, or Jesus comes back, I might just keep writing for a while?

The world would be a happier place if there weren't any people in it.

Now on to coffee, potato chips, and some more TV episodes.

Why can't I throw a tantrum and kick and scream and say nasty things to other people?

Mingle parties are scary. I'd rather go to war, to be honest.

I think we just passed each other.

I'm also very positively surprised to hear that you prayed for me the way you did.

No, my idea of a fun time is sitting around a campfire in the evening and talking about life, love, God, the universe and everything in it.

I'm pretty sure that's what God meant when he said "let there be hamburgers".

I now have a copy of "Wuthering Heights" in the mail, to arrive in a few days. I hope it's good.

I admit, in retrospect, and after reading your reply, that I might seem a tad confused about my national identity.

On that note, I had a terrible urge to watch baseball today.

You really shouldn't write so much about your favorite books.

I really like cats!

Yes, I'm easily distracted.

When my neighbor plays music at 11:30pm, I reach for my shotgun.

Okay, I think I'll stop there, just in case this day is going to be really busy for you. Don't want to upset your plans too much.

However, I finally went to the store and bought some "cat candy" to give to the local cats.

But one day, perhaps, in the future.

I wonder what God's plan with the whole thing is?

Sometimes I wish we would care less about the politics and strife and opinions and everything

down here on earth, and just watch the stars for a while.

Beef, mushrooms, gravy and egg makes for a wonderful pizza.

Don't feel like you need to write long letters or anything.

You've Got Mail is a wonderful movie.

For the last month or so, I've begun my day, as soon as I'm awake, by reaching out and grabbing my cell phone.

I don't know for how long we'll keep writing, but for the moment, it's become one of those little pleasures of mine.

I don't suppose you only like Andrea Bocelli?

PS. I think you were right about "Wuthering Heights" though.

Well, you're certainly making it difficult to talk about pizza.

Sometimes, I wonder if this really is a fairy-tale or something.

God is real. Heaven is real. And one day we'll be standing at the throne of God and give Him all the glory.

One day the Holy Spirit will take us home, to our Father and King, and we'll walk in His rose garden and sing our songs among his white poplars.

It feels like I'm in a country not my own, living among a people who aren't my people, whose ways are different, and I don't know what to do.

There was also a mountain goat in the poem, in the first draft, but it felt weird having it alongside the Holy City, so it got cut out.

Sometimes, when I close myself in, I turn off all the lights, and lie flat on my bed in the dark bedroom with a pair of headphones, and turn on some music.

Hey, here's an odd question.

Strange, I didn't get that much done today as I had hoped.

Okay... Now I'm going to go out on a limb.

As it is, my limited framework of experience yields all green across the board, no warning bells go off, and the sun is shining, except for a little, tiny thought in the back of my brain that says "I wonder if....".

Wouldn't it be great if I could send you all of my unused hours?

Talk to you later!

Loving Leaves Me Happy

Leaves are magnificent.



They are striking, they smell fantastic & they even feel great in your hands. Leaves go through several stages in their life & during all of these; they manage to hold on to their fascinating allure. Who doesn’t love to crunch a decomposing brown leaf in their fingers?


The few pictures I took & scattered about here, are only some that I enjoy on a daily basis & in actuality, they are not all leaves. Actually, one is a pine cone, simply because…I like those too. I have to assume everyone does.
At this point, I would like to offer an opportunity. If you feel that I am not normal, you are almost certainly correct. Feel free to exit to the right…no pushing please, single file.


Alright! For those courageous souls who are still with me…let’s begin with some leaf morphology, shall we?
Really, I couldn’t care any less about the whole photosynthesis thing, although I am well versed in the process. However, the appearance, texture & aroma of leaves, that is what floats my boat! (Please remember, you may exit at any time…to the right.)


The basic leaf parts are: Blade~the expanded portion, Petiole~the stalk which connects the blade and stem & Stipules~arms at the beginning of the stem. Mesmerizing, I know!!
Leaves can have a single blade & be classified as simple. They are considered compound, if they have more then one leaf on a stipule; these are called leaflets (I love that word…btw). Palmate leaves look kind of like the fingers of a hand, pinnate leaves look like a feather & trifoliolate leaves look like a clover (clover is awesome). If a compound leaf is divided twice, it is considered to be “twice-compound.” Nice, huh?

If you are still reading, then you must agree with me or you simply have no life.


Leaves can be attached directly to the stem, which is called, sessile or by a petiole, and therefore called, petiolate. The latter is my personal favorite, but that’s not really important.

The way a leaf is arranged is equally neat. They can grow opposite at each node, alternately along the stem or a bunch from one node. The last one I mentioned is called, “whorled”…more thrilling details!!


The shapes are totally attractive, each in their own special way too. There’s linear, meaning narrow, elliptic is oval shaped, ovate starts out wide & then narrows & my personal love is cordate, meaning heart-shaped…awww!


The edges must be discussed, of course. There is smooth or entire, serrate, being finely toothed & lobed, which has a deeper indentation.


One of the very endearing things about leaves are the veins. Veins that start at the base & remain parallel until the top of the leaf are nice. There are palmate, which look like the fingers of a hand & also start at the base before spreading out. The really beautiful leaves have this kind of network system of veins with all these different connections & are labeled, pinnate.


Since there are more then 25 classes of leaf surfaces…gonna skip that…blah. That’s where the beauty of *feeling* the leaf comes in. Each one has its own unique texture & beauty.



I'm very boring & I know it.



I love leaves :)

And pine cones & incidentally...sticks too, but I wasn't planning to mention that.

My Favorite World, A Hundred Ways

*Smell*

~Freshly cut grass
~My baby after her bath
~Clean laundry
~Carnations
~Unlit cigars
~My pillow
~My children’s hair
~Tea
~Coffee percolating
~Onions frying
~Garlic cooking
~Vanilla
~Bread baking
~New diapers
~Apples baking

~Fish chowder cooking
~New box of crayons
~Plastic pool toys
~Cabbage Patch dolls
~Pumpkin pie baking

*Touch*

~Flower petals
~Holding hands
~Books
~Blankets
~My children’s hair
~My baby’s cheeks
~Computer keys
~Hot shower
~Leaves

~Cooking utensils

~Tea bags

~Tissues

~My bathrobe

~Kisses

~My pillow

~Keys

~Cell phone

~Warm tea cup

~Bath towel

~Hugs

*See*

~Blue sky
~Clouds
~Stars
~Moon
~My children
~My family
~My friends
~My loved ones
~Paintings
~Outdoor photography
~Flowers
~Houses
~People
~Other people’s photos
~Cars
~Smiles
~My sleeping baby
~Blogs
~Books
~Art supplies

*Hear*

~Most music
~Some special voices
~Wind through the trees
~Deep breathing of my sleeping children
~Traffic
~Live music
~Shower running
~Tea kettle whistling
~Coffee percolating
~Cards shuffling
~Walking
~Basketball
~Waterfall
~Running
~Typing
~My baby’s sighs
~Some laughter
~Some birds
~Kitten’s purr
~Sewing machine

*Taste*

~Chocolate
~Cake
~Pizza
~Doughnuts
~Garlic
~Chicken
~Salmon
~Mexican food
~Italian food
~Chinese food
~Fast food
~Coke
~Tea
~Coffee
~Haddock
~Salad
~Nuts
~Eggs
~Fortune cookies
~Cheese


So, just the first 20 things that came to mind, in each category of the 5 senses.
These do not scratch the surface, of course.

However, it certainly is amusing for me to read them over & realize how peculiar I am. I am hard to understand, or so I have been told…maybe, maybe not.

Perhaps understanding yourself is the key to understanding others. I seem to understand others very well. That’s mostly a good thing, I think. Being realistic about oneself is a freeing attribute. People who have refined themselves until they accept who they are…these are extremely rare. People who seek to refine others, until they themselves can understand them…these are everywhere. Change, if it is artificial, is not a good thing. Be yourself. You are the only one who can ever accomplish that. Once you know & appreciate who you are, you can give of yourself, to those whom you choose…freely & without fear.

I just might be inspired to list 100 things I do not like! Later, though.

Lost

Falling noise of a glass
Candle flicker in the rain
Silence bears the solid mark
Lost and stay for distain

Entrance t'was so freely granted
Treasure shared not just given
Stolen to toss in the deep
All is as it was driven

Memories pass the way alone
Gone down the pathway dark
Once where affection grew
Still ever bear the mark

Passage Way

I will forever and a day see further than then the prerogative of the throng;

For there is a current of ideas that carry me away & so I drift far from the river of tapered thoughts.

The hallways of my mind allow me passage into various avenues where one might seldom venture.

Countless fortunate opportunities lend themselves to my imaginings & become my dearest companions.

Once granted the venue to explore, an innovative avenue is always in obvious abundance.

Going to the earnest depths with passionate discoveries, I implore with the mundane to liberate the hold it has taken.

Seeking independence from the tediousness talks of nothingness, I take flight on the wings of delectable dreams.

And so I leave behind this realm into one of incomparable fascinations…..

Adieu.

Along The Path

Along the path of dewy grass

Neath reflections of the starry glass

Hence came he presently to greet

His aim of love to entreat

Elating eyes & heart may share

Such earnest script laid me bare

Opposite his silver speech I heighten

My benevolent replies to him enlighten

Various whispers bid me give creed

This singular occasion may eagerness succeed

Bestowing weight to such ardent embrace

Regard eyes lingering on my grace

Most urgently seeking with valor sincere

Lend credence to devotion notably dear

Captured lastly by cadence of heart

Times friends befall lovers nary depart

My Every Breath

You are the air I breathe

where my soul takes rest

there is none like You

none more lovely or blessed

perfect Father I adore You

will never cease to love

each day brings more longing

my heart with You above

with desire to draw nearer

may it grow ever strong

let me hear Your heartbeat

You are where I belong

Across The Blue

A message of libretto



Cast into the blue



Heart in a bottle



All to reach you

We Collide

You & I collide

making sense out of madness

producing light in the darkness.

We raise the standard

redefining reality of all prior sensibility

our love creating life in midst of drought.

Yielded

Stepping outside of myself one day
Ceasing my wanderings & my play

The rousing of wind drew me
Motioning that my spirit might see

Feeling music waft through the trees
Willed me stay on bended knees

Captivating harmony weaves & grows
Hearing that familiar sound I know

My heart’s melody answered the call
Stirring me to counter with all

Full to the depths of love
He whispered my name from above

Entire affection the only true choice
Needing & giving songs a voice

Spirit sounds start soft & low
Lyrics swell strong so sweetly grow

Seeing into the space of eternity
Knowing Him is no small possibility

Yielding all desire to roam
My heart at last found home

On that day myself I lost
Midst finding all at His cost

Low Smilage

A few weeks ago, I was out & about shopping. While waiting in line, at the register, I noticed a little boy. He was just standing there, waiting too. He turned around to look at me & I responded with a smile. He was at that age, where some little ones, don’t easily smile at strangers. Anyway, after about 5 seconds…he smiled back. It’s amazing how such a simple gesture can reach way down into your heart & affect you. He was cute, but when he smiled, he sparkled. I’m sure he had no idea, at such a tender age, that his smile was a gift to me. I wanted to say, “Hello,” but figured that I’d better not push it. Anyway, it just made me happy.

This leads me to a growing concern that I’ve had. People don’t say, “Hello,” or smile at strangers much on the street any more. I know this, because I walk a good 2 hours every day & have experienced it first hand. A few here & there will respond when you smile, nod or greet them, but so seldom, now it seems.
It’s like these stores & business that have double doors, but only ever have one of them unlocked. Why?? Are they conserving on the use of that one door. Will they trade off next week & lock the other one & have you walk through the one that was locked last week? Seriously…. it drives me crazy. It's absurd, I realize that. That is actually the point.
Why are people holding back from greeting one another? Must our hellos, smiles or head nods be conserved & kept all to ourselves? Are we going to run out? Maybe it’s just me, but there’s all this talk of renewable energy. I’m fairly confident that if we smile at the first person we pass on the street….we will still have plenty left for even the last person we see at the end of the day. In fact, I bet the more we use those gifts, the more we will have to give in the future. It's just a guess, really, but I think smiles produce after their own kind. If there is one thing that is free & renewable today, its love & respect for our fellow man. Not only that, but what we share will be returned….that should be how it works anyway.

The Heavenly Father desires that we be like little children. There are so many adult attitudes that should be decidedly more childish. There is a purity of heart in a child. It is unadulterated, unpolluted & undefiled by the jaded adult experiences. As adults, we cannot keep from having these experiences, but the key is how we process them & allow them to mold us & contribute to our attitudes & perspectives.

Can I mention Peter Pan here? I just really like him....what a splendid perspective. There is this person I know that reminds me of him. While being an intellectually mature adult & even having gone through plenty of difficulties, he manages to have retained a delightfully childlike quality. A person like that is all too rare, I think. Why can’t we turn around in the line at the store & simply smile at the person behind us, without them thinking we are strange. Why can’t we at least nod our heads as we pass one another on the sidewalk? I think we can & we should choose to acknowledge others as often as possible. Children are a gift, not because they are young. They bring to the world what it would desperately miss without them….an ability to give freely to others, out of a sincere heart. This needn't end with childhood.
Being like little children….sometimes only takes a smile.

To Be A Tree

When I was a child, I lived on a friend’s farm for a little while. Out in the side yard was the perfect climbing tree. It’s very feasible that I climbed it every day. I did so when I was happy & when I was not. Occasionally, I would climb up & give it a quick hug & then scamper right back down, before I had to go work in the garden or milk the cow or pick the eggs. This striking piece of nature was also the setting in which I often chose to do my homework or to read many a grand book. Yes, you heard me right. Also, many times, I would take just my thoughts up into that dear old tree & spend many hours sorting them all out…or trying to. I think it’s likely that I had too many thoughts at my age then. Anyway….I had this sense that the tree could handle me & my burdens…that it could somehow just sit with me & understand. I don’t know. I mean, I’m not as crazy as Pocahontas….I didn’t seek my spiritual wisdom from the tree!

So, trees. I’ve always had a sort of fondness for them. When you think of all that they add to our lives…wow. Just try to visualize life without them. Some of these are destined to grow up & become magnificent things like sea faring vessels & some…well….just toilet tissue (sorry…tmi). At any rate, they are valuable in countless ways & they so very beautifully adorn our planet. Even though they are cut down for mostly reasonable uses, it is still kind of miserable to see nothing but the stumps sitting there after. And I guess I feel a twinge of regret when, I come across one of those trucks, hauling them from one state to the next. They all just lay there heaped up on one another….& where they once twisted their branches to the sun, now just lay there….lifeless.

Let me assign these trees some individuality for a little while, let me bring them to life, if you will, & see what they might think, of the plans we chose for them.

A tree stands by the river bank, roots profoundly seeded into the rich, moist soil. It spends its days worshiping the sun, feeling the breeze waft through its handsomely colored leaves. Every day, it basks in the sounds of the rippling water, the singing of the birds that nest there & the nighttime cadence of the cricket’s call. Perhaps this one, even has a small amusing girl who gives it a hug every now & then.


Now imagine with me, that one day, it gets unexpectedly cut down. Someone, anyone, whoever, decided it was time that they had a couch to sit on. Well then, a tree is requisite, isn’t it? So, that was the conclusion of all the life that this tree ever knew. No more birds, sunlight, no more little girl, no more….life.

This leads me to a very unusual, but fascinating question: What does it feel like to be a piece of furniture? This is a query that I cannot deny exploring…seriously, who could?
A couch is chosen for its looks & its practicality. It must function as it was purchased to do & it must look good doing so. It must bring you comfort on every occasion you desire it & never protest. It may wait for you…for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or even years. However, when you call on it, it must be standing by. A couch has no capacity for the voicing of opinions. It does what it was selected to do. It does not get to make a decision as to where in the home it is placed or even what kind of home it resides in. You can eat your food or drink, watch your movies, take your naps, play your games & even snuggle under a blanket after a hard day…on this couch. Never, ever, do you ask this couch what it wants, thinks, dreams or feels….what it really always wanted out of its one life. Why would you? It’s just a couch, after all…right? It is there to make sure your life is what it should be….to be there when you need it. It serves your purposes, nothing more. Quite frankly, it could be replaced with any other couch & who would really know the difference.

However, one day, very long ago…it was a tree & it still remembers that time. It knows that there are trees who were not chosen to be cut down for a mere functional couch. There are trees out there like the one at the farm, who, to this very day, still reside in a lovely yard…a yard that has held many Independence Day parties, birthdays & barbeques. That tree has heard the family play their guitars & sing for countless nights. And in that tree, there is a swing, that has seen three generations of children. Sun & snow have touched its branches. Autumn has blown away its leaves & spring has returned them…year after brilliant year, as it lives out its days in the light of all that is valuable in the world. Most importantly, though, it had the unmatchable privilege of knowing love. It received the priceless hugs of a little girl who had so much love to give, that it even spilled out onto an old tree.

Imagine it…sentenced to being just a couch, when you know full well what your life could have been as a tree….being appreciated for all you have to offer this world…& being free to be who you were truly meant to be.

The Little Match Girl

Life here on earth, has a way of making me feel like The Little Match Girl. The original story from The Brothers Grimm, Star Money, has given me an identity of sorts. Tossed out to fend for myself, giving away the little bit I have left, waiting for the cold to overcome me. I’m alone, really. All I genuinely have is my Father. Just like her, if I lose all, I still have everything. So, here goes nothing.

I know the feeling of giving all, until all is gone. It’s happened several times throughout my life. The day I submitted my life to God, for instance, was a day that I lost myself. He gave to me in return, though, everything I never had and would never have had, without Him. That was one time of giving, that I’ll never live (or die), to regret. You might think this proves that I know how to make decidedly wise choices, but you would be wrong.....because another example of one of those days I gave up everything was my wedding day.

Many regrets follow that pronouncement, some of which I will live with always, during my life here. It is a deep pit to fall into; a loveless marriage. An intended bond of togetherness then becomes a life of bondage. While that isn’t to say that nothing good came out of it, it never should have been. You see, dishonesty has a way of strangling the life out of love. It takes precedent over the giving of yourself, to the very one that you should love, honor, cherish & so on. There is no ability to achieve real intimacy or love, when truth, respect & admiration are missing. It’s just not possible. How do you erect a skyscraper on an insubstantial foundation? Can you make a garden grow with a soil depleted of essential nutrients? You can’t, not really. One can try, even valiantly, for let’s say…15 years, but in the end, the structure will fall & the flowers will never bloom. How sad, it all sounds. How true, it all is. It’s my life, my one life, my only life & the choices that line its yellow brick road. I’m sorry for some of those choices, really I am. In fact, some days, I wish Superman would show up & fly around the world & reverse its spin…just for me. Unfortunately, most days though, I live in reality & realize that all Superman is actually super at, is looking good in tights. Credit where credit is due, I say.

Life always comes at you fast. Even though I’ve demanded, a few times, to be let off this rollercoaster, it never stops….not until its run the full course. The dog may bark, but the train rolls on. Okay, no more metaphors, for now anyway. The obvious point I’m trying to make, is that…I failed….& miserably so. In my mind, I failed at the start though, not really along the way. Day one...wedding day. When the revelation started to sink in, I should have turned around & ran. I didn't, though, I stayed & stayed & stayed. Perhaps this seems as if I’m saying I was perfect during those 15 years. Maybe what I gave wasn’t enough, but I know I gave all that I had to give & much more. No, I wasn’t perfect. I was invested though, enough so, that I stayed with it for almost half of my life. Hoping for change year after passing year, makes the heart terribly sick. It also makes you think some unhealthy thoughts about yourself, your worth & your value. It causes questions too. Is this all that I deserve? Am I that difficult to love? Is this as good as it gets? How will I live the rest of my life this way? How many lies have been told? Must I actually pay...forever? It could be, that these questions & many more will never be answered...

I’m a true blue fan of Lucy Maude Montgomery. Mostly, I love her Anne of Green Gable series. It wasn’t until later in life, after plenty of hardship, that Anne (the female protagonist) finally felt as though she belonged somewhere. Her heart found a place to be appreciated & cared for. Anyway, in one of the final books, Anne tells her adopted aunt, "When I left Queen's my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. I don't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the best does. It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla." Anne of Green Gables

And so, with silent tears, here I stand, facing a fascinating bend of my own, believing the same. I have to choose to have hope. I have to, need to, believe….that life doesn’t stretch out in front of me in the same way that I’ve lived thus far. I dream of the day, when my presence, will bring a smile to the face of a man that is devoted to me. One day I want to make every kiss seem like the first, melt his heart with my tenderness & rest securely in his embrace.

While someone like Superman is fictional, I know, there just might be a real man, one that can make up for all the years I’ve lost….a person who has the desire & ability to really share himself, all of himself, with me. Only God Himself knows just how much I will give in return. Heaven help him, really. For, it is an avalanche of trust, respect, devotion, admiration & the most sincere love that awaits…..for the first guy who looks good in tights! Oh, come on. Lighten up. Yeah, it might be just the ramblings of a hopeless romantic, or the imaginings of a 19th century fairytale….I hope not, though….with all that is within me, I hope not. And hope….is something.

Taking long walks at night is something I enjoy; even more then that, it’s something I need. It serves to put the day’s events in perspective, & even categorize them, if you will. These folders of my mind deserve attention & must be maintained. Some things that transpired or were said, should be put into the round file, plainly. There are other comments or actions though, that require or deserve further contemplation. I can take the time to reminisce over the nicer moments & give to God the weight of the heavier matters. It is during this twilight of my day that causes the Little Match Girl to appear again. She comes out timidly at first, wondering if she should intrude. After about half an hour or so, though, she shows her couragous side & boldly peeks into the lives of others. Whilst filing & organizing my own life, I stumble upon those around me, who are also living in my world. Well, in a sense, they are outside of my “world,” but nevertheless, they move & exist around me. After the sun begins to set, I close my curtains. It would seem that this particular notion, never has entered into the minds of some. So, I feel like her then, pressing her cold little nose to the glass & looking in on the lives of others. Seeing their seemingly successful attempts at life, makes me wonder. Is it really warmer on the inside? How do they do it? I walk around & try to sell my matches just to get by & think, is this what I do until I die? Do these fellow earthlings, with the open curtains, sell matches too? Have they found another source with which to do more then just survive? Mere survival....you know, wake up, do your thing, go to bed, kind of thing. IS THIS AS GOOD AS IT GETS!? (…I inwardly yell) Yes, I know….Helen Hunt, & what’s his face. Not really. Although, if a man told me, that I make him want to be a better man, well…..that sure would be a hard compliment for me to resist.

In all this rubbish I’ve written about is God, my most precious Father, everlasting best friend & mighty Savior. Trust me truly when I say, that He has not been discounted here. He, is why I continue to draw breath, here on this strange planet. And when I leave it, He waits for me & there is no greater expectation or anything I desire more. If it were not for my Father, I’d have tossed in the towel long ago. The Scripture states that, “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.” So, He is my Hope & Healer (of all my diseases)….even of my hope-sick heart. He makes life worth the living & death a sweet victory. And so, my faith continues to rest securely in the knowing, the blessed assurance, that He will someday, someday, someday, turn my ashes into beauty….and bring to me a man, who my heart sees as breath takingly beautiful & in his eyes I will see my true reflection.