THE HOLY PLACE

Many years ago, we went to the mountains on a camping trip and sat under the canopy of the beautiful evening sky. The stars were sparkling and appeared to have a silvery shimmer. They looked like little punctuation marks. The silhouette of majestic pine trees, reaching toward the heavens, completed the picture. It was awe inspiring. My eyes followed the slender trunk of the pines from the bottom to the top. The branches were outstretched like welcoming arms and were evenly positioned. I was impressed by the pine's perfect shape. So majestic and regal. Beautiful! Banners were displayed at the base of the pine trees and one caught my eye that said, ''Stand ye in holy places.'' I thought to myself, "How perfect the setting," and that it was indeed a "Holy Place." Where else on earth can one go to feel the presence of Heavenly Father? Surely, this would be considered a holy place.

Our camp site was surrounded by beautiful groves of pine trees; and as I relished in my feelings of closeness to Heavenly Father, it dawned on me that the story of life was told in this setting. In the middle of the grove were two dead trees--elderly husband and wife, I believe. They were the grandparents and had lived a long time on earth. Their time was over and only their lifeless brown branches remained. Seedlings were growing everywhere--grandchildren. They were new to the earth--stretching and growing towards the heavens. Their boughs were colored bright kelly green, whereas the more mature trees, their parents, were dark forest green. Mom and Dad grew side by side showing them the way. ''Grow straight and tall and look to the heavens," they whispered as the wind rustled through their branches. Our lovely wooded campsite, home to us for the weekend, indeed, felt like a holy place.

THE PRECIOUS GIFT

One autumn day when the sky was golden and the air crisp, my husband was raking fallen leaves from our back lawn. I was watching him from the window when I saw him stoop down to collect a bird's nest which had fallen from the large maple tree. He gently held it in his hands and turned it over and over to examine the architecture of the nest. I saw a look of wonderment in his eyes. The nest was large and well built with twigs, straw, and mud. He looked up and saw me in the window, smiled, and then brought it to me. My heart soared and I felt abundantly blessed with his offering. It was a precious gift. I will add it to my eclectic collection of nature's wonders and will marvel at the handiwork of God. I will forever love the gift presented to me by my tender-hearted husband. It was a precious gift.

ENOUGH ROOM FOR ALL

The tree teaches a masterful lesson. Hundreds of leaves grow from the same tree whether it is an elm, a maple, or an oak. In springtime, the leaf will bud, unfurl, and then come forth. Miraculously there is enough room for all to grow. One leaf does not crowd out another leaf. If one leaf receives moisture, they all receive moisture. Only at harvest time, does the leaf need to fall in order for a new bud to appear.

The tree teaches a masterful lesson. I do not have to lose in order for you to win. You do not have to lose in order for me to win. There is enough moisture and nutrients surging through the trunk of the tree for all of us to live and flourish, to grow and blossom together. There is enough room for us all. We can all bud, unfurl, and grow to be as mighty as we desire.

SIMPLE, EXQUISITE BEAUTY

A few weeks ago, I received a phone call from my son. I could hardly hear his voice and asked why he was speaking in such a low whisper. He told me he was taking a hike by himself and had come across two beautiful doe grazing in a lovely field. He watched them quietly as they fed for a long time. He described the field, the doe, and the trees. It was simple, exquisite beauty--an awesome sight; and he wanted to share it with someone, so he called me. I could hear from the tone of his soft voice that the moment was magical.

How privileged I felt to have him want to share this tender moment with me. My heart thrilled and tears filled my eyes as he described every detail of the field, the trees, the doe, and even the slight breeze. It was breathtaking! What a shame it would have been to have missed that special moment with my son. The simplicity of the experience was precious to my soul. How grateful I am that he embraced the moment and then desired to share it with me.
(Excerpt from book, "Finding Fulfillment" by Lorae Stirling)

S & H GREEN STAMPS

What makes one man think he is better than another? Why it is prejudice coupled with ignorance. Someone once said, ''A man thought he was better than me, and he was, until he thought it.'' Makes one think, doesn't it? Prejudice and ignorance seem to march hand in hand.

A few years ago, I found myself in a very difficult situation. It was when I was working part-time at a company which hired temporary employees. Because of the nature of the business, it attracted people who were in-between jobs, or in-between no-jobs, and even people who were down-and-out. Many of the clients who came to the company were homeless or on welfare. Some were illiterate and others had only a few years of education. I recall one man was just out of prison and others were drifters. Several were here from foreign lands and spoke very little English. Many single women with children came who were desperate to earn a living. It was quite a collection of humanity.

For some reason, my heart was touched by each of their situations and, although it was challenging, I enjoyed trying to find work for them. I respected their desire to earn a living—as humble as it might be—and to become independent and self-supporting. The office staff, however, had worked there for many years and had grown weary of the difficult cases which showed up at the door. They considered many clients to be "throw-aways," "disposable," "of little worth." They were generally tolerant of the clients, face to face, that is, but were very degrading about them soon as they left. I found this to be distasteful and began to feel compassion for them. I grew more and more interested in the plight of the ''weary traveler''—so to speak, and my desire to treat them with respect hightened.

My heart felt heavy over this situation, until one Sunday, as I was sitting in church listening to a speaker, my mind was wandering when I heard the speaker say the word "redemption." REDEMPTION! REDEEMABLE! Why that is it! S & H Green Stamps—they are redeemable. We are redeemable. All people are like S & H Green Stamps. Redeemable!

Soon after that, two middle aged men, drifters, who were obviously good friends and had a great amount of respect for each other, entered the office. It became my responsibility to give them an initial interview and test. The written test was administered and one of the men failed miserably. It was humiliating for the man; and the two of them sat in silence for a few minutes when one man spoke up and said, "He might not be able to pass this test but he is very good with his hands." It was one of the most tender moments I have ever witnessed between two friends. They knew the worth of each other and they each valued their friendship. They indeed were like S & H Green Stamps. They were redeemable! Thank goodness we are all redeemable and of great worth.

LESSON FROM THE GARDEN

One hot summer day, I was very hungry and only a tomato could possibly quench my hunger pains. So, I meandered down the garden path to seek out a nice juicy red tomato. I found the perfect one that was pleasingly plump and warm from the sun. Delicious!

Dad, always busy building something, had started a wood pile just off the path. As I was walking barefoot and eating the tomato, I somehow ran my foot into an old weathered piece of wood and jammed a huge sliver into my foot. Oh, I couldn't believe it. It was so painful. How could I have been so foolish as to walk down the garden without shoes? I was really paying for it now. I ran up to the house but did not tell my mother because I had been warned many times not to go barefoot in the garden.

After a couple of days of suffering silently, I showed my infected foot to my mother. Out came the needle and the Mercurochrome. It seemed that the digging went on forever and it hurt like the dickens! Finally, the sliver was out and the Mercurochrome was dabbed onto my foot. What a relief! I have had other slivers, although that one was the most memorable, and I am always so amazed how such a small thing can hurt so much and feel so big.

There is one very valuable lesson I learned from the garden that day--always, always wear shoes when going into the garden because slivers are just waiting to hitch a ride in your foot; and once they are in, they do not magically fall out. Ouch! Actually, I learned a much greater lesson that day--there is wisdom in listening to and obeying mothers!

INTEGRITY

Many years ago, I was dutifully being the mother, wife, housekeeper, and family manager. At that time, I decided to buy a side of beef because the meat would be of a much greater quality and the cost would be much more affordable. The meat came cut, packaged, labeled and ready for the freezer. It was at that time that I rented a meat locker to store my newly purchased meat. I was so proud of my accomplishment and planning for my little family. We would have delicious, high quality meat for the next six months. I would plan out our menus for the next two weeks and then would go to the meat locker for the meat.

All was going well and I was so proud of myself as a little homemaker. After a couple of months, however, I noticed that there did not seem to be the same amount of packaged meat as there was the time before; and also, I was getting home and there would be liver and other inferior meat that I had no idea belonged to me. I was a little confused but thought all was well and that I just didn't know what I had purchased. Soon the meat was gone and I decided not to go that route again—you know, such an inconvenience to have to go back in those dark freezers to pull out meat.

A few years later, I learned that the owner of the meat locker was actually stealing the meat from unsuspecting renters for his own use. The light bulb went on. So that is what happened to my delicious, high quality meat. He was replacing it with inferior meat--taking two of mine and leaving one of his. Needless to say, I felt totally violated and disgusted with him. It was not surprising to learn that he went out of business. Life has such a way of paying us back for what we do to others. As I think about the owner of the meat locker, I am still appalled by his lack of honesty. However, I only lost meat, but he lost his integrity!


Integrity, to me, is the state of living, thinking, acting on a higher moral level. It is to have a ''high heart.'' Only the finest of qualities may be associated with integrity. Honesty, truth, sincerity, kindness, righteousness. I believe integrity to be the pinnacle of all human characteristics and one that should be honored and constantly pursued.

I REMEMBER WELL

I remember, yes, oh, so well
those faces that once looked down at me.
And now through the passage of time,
I look down at you--
and I felt as I did when a child.

Yes, I remember...
you.
Your soft sweet voice, your encouraging words--
when I was a child.

And I remember...
you.
Your tender heart and your gentle ways--
when I was a child.

To those old faces I spoke--
because I remember well.

But you.
I remember you too--very well,
your stern disapproving looks,
your harsh, unpleasant tones.
To you, I did not speak--
because I remember well.

I was afraid that old age had not mellowed
your stern disapproving looks,
your harsh, unpleasant tones.
I was afraid of you--
as when a child
for I remember well.
(5-16-79)

GRATITUDE SEEDS

Gratitude drops its blessed seeds;
The roots break through the earth.

The saplings stretch toward the sun;
Gratitude begins its birth.

The branches unfurl their budding leaves;
Cherished blessings are tenderly grown.

Now the sapling becomes a spreading oak;
Where gratitude seeds are sown.

MOTHER-CHILD

I wonder--
at what point in life did this metamorphosis begin?
Or, have you not noticed, Mother,
that you and I are changing places.
You as my frightened mother-child.
Me as your concerned daughter-mom.

I felt a sadness in my heart tonight, Mother
when I saw you as you must have once been--
a frightened child.
And I realized at that moment more than ever before
that the reality of growing old is really growing young--
childlike again.

"Now, Mother," said I,
"I know you are going to laugh when I tell you this.
But if you should become frightened tonight,
why don't you pray for comfort and courage to stay alone?"

We both laughed and then turned away with tears in our eyes
in the awkward, embarrassing way.
"See, Mother, I knew you would laugh!"
"Well,--I'll try just about anything...."

I wonder--
is this the way that it was meant to be;
first you to care for me through my childhood
and now I to care for you again through yours?

(First time my mother stayed by herself after the death of my father. April 22, 1979)

SMOOTH AND POLISHED

It was not by accident, but by design
that this little rock became smooth and polished.
Thousands of years
of rushing water
and torrents of winds
have made it so.
You, too, can become
smooth and polished--
day by day, week by week.
With just a little effort and a little time
you will be there--
smooth and polished.

GENTLE VIBRATIONS

I read once where we should seek out the good vibrations of friends. This thought caused me to wonder about vibrations coming from each other. Do we actually give off vibrations? Is there actually an energy that we each enamate? I have come to know that it is true. We can actually feel the good and the bad vibrations of others. We are naturally drawn to people whose vibrations are in harmony with ours. I believe this is why we are attracted to or pulled toward some people and not others.

We are much the same as the tuning fork which, when struck, causes sound waves to travel through the air until the waves reach the second tuning fork. The vibrations of the first fork then cause vibrations of the same frequency of the second fork. Interestingly, we desire to be with people of our same frequency so that we can vibrate in harmony together. This actually makes sense.

One evening, as my husband and I were out for our nightly walk, we came upon a family of crickets chirping. It was a lovely summer's sound and reminded both of us of our childhood. As we listened, we noticed that the chirping of the crickets were not only in unison, but in perfect harmony. If one cricket got slightly out of sync, it quickly fell into syncopation or rhythm with the others. Remarkably, they all stopped at once and then started up on perfect pitch, as if one had a baton and was leading the cricket orchestra.

I have a friend who always refers to me as her "kindred spirit." The first time she said it, I thought it was heart warming to hear those words; but in my conversations with her, I realized she knew things about me that other people had never picked up on. I was amazed that somehow she just knew things about me. I now realize that it was because she had similar interests and picked up on my vibrations. We have shared many wonderful conversations on our shared interest where I have learned so much from her. It has been a very rewarding friendship.

Is it possible to get into sync with people whose vibrations are not the same as ours? I believe that the answer is yes. I believe that it comes from learning to respect and appreciate differences. Some of my most favorite people in the whole wide world are completely opposite of me but I have grown to love our differences and find them to be wonderful. We have learned to feel the unique and gentle vibrations of each other. It can be extremely rewarding.

We once stayed in a motel which had big white rockers on the entrance porch. A group of us sat out one night and watched the rain fall and chatted about things both great and small. I noticed that it did not take long for our rockers to fall into sync with each other. Even when one person started rocking faster, the others followed. When one got out of sync, the others naturally slowed down and waited until we were in harmony with one another.

Ah, gentle vibrations--I have been drawn to the gentle vibrations of so many wonderful people and feel blessed to call them "friend."

THE WEDDING GOWN

My mother was a wonderful seamstress; and for my sister’s wedding, she lovingly made her wedding dress. Mother took pains-taking care of every seam and every stitch on the gown. She had worked on it day and night in order to get it finished in time. Eight little hand-covered buttons were sewn down the lower arm to the wrist. The dress was very elegant—something that Audrey Hepburn would surely wear.
One day, my sister was trying on the nearly-finished gown to make sure everything fit perfectly. And while Mother took a tuck here and a tuck there, I stood back and admired how lovely my sister looked in the satin dress. Without knowing it, I had pricked my finger on a pin and then touched the dress on the sleeve by the buttons. Oh, goodness, a drop of blood fell onto the sleeve. I was in shock. I thought I had ruined the entire wedding dress. For a few seconds, I did not know what to do, and my stomach started to churn, but I finally decided that it was best to tell my mother what had happened. She quickly dabbed at the satin cloth and got the entire stain out. I was relieved. Both my mother and sister went on about their business of altering the dress. I was afraid that I was in trouble, but they never said a word. I almost started to cry not because of what I had done but how my mother and sister had reacted to it. It is amazing how powerful kindness can be. My mother knew the value of remaining calm in difficult circumstances. I have always appreciated her hallmark quality of kindness. She was always a wonderful example to me.

LEAF PEEPING

One glorious fall day, my husband and I decided to go “leaf peeping” along the Alpine Loop. It was an absolutely gorgeous day and we were enjoying ourselves so much. We took a side road and ended up by a reservoir where could see an outhouse up ahead. So my husband decided to pull over.

Quite a crowd had gathered outside the outhouse and interestingly enough, they were all dressed in their nicest clothes. My husband jumped out of the car but I stayed in when a man turned to me and laughing hysterically, started giving me hand signals. He was plugging his nose and pointing downward, he acted as though he was jangling something in his hand. What was this all about?

I then noticed a handsome young man in a partial tuxedo. He had his jacket off, his sleeves were rolled up, and he was walking around almost in a panic. I soon discovered that this was a wedding party and after the ceremony, the entire group decided to take a drive to “leaf peep” along the golden roads of the Alpine Loop. It seems that the groom decided to use the outhouse and neglected to take his keys out of his pocket. Yes, you can see what’s coming, can’t you? The keys slipped from his pocket and landed in the pit below. The men held the young groom upside down over the hole of the pit while he tried to reach, in vain, for the sinking keys.

My husband came out of the out house as quickly as possible and we sped away frightened that they might ask for volunteers. To this day, I laugh hysterically to the point of crying when I think of that lovely day on the Alpine Loop. Just a side note, we never did see the bride. I am sure she was also fearful of being asked to volunteer and was in hiding. What a way to start a marriage!

BISQUICK BISCUITS

Did I ever tell you about my experience with making Bisquick biscuits for the State Fair? For a couple of years, my sister and I were in a 4-H club called The Busy Fingers. Our leaders were a mother and daughter team and they devoted an afternoon every week to teach us the basics of homemaking. It was a fun and yet a difficult experience for me because sometimes, being the young girl that I was, I just "didn't get it!" The goal of our leaders was to enter our Bisquick biscuits in the State Fair. Week after week, we would practice making perfect Bisquick biscuits--actually, I don't remember making anything but Bisquick biscuits! The older leader was an old no-nonsense woman who had little patience for the likes of me. One time I was measuring the flour and had emptied everything from the sieve into the bowl except the remaining flour in the rim. So, I turned the sieve over and dumped the remaining flour in. By the time she got through with me, I was determined to never, never, never dump unsifted flour into a bowl gain—not for the rest of my life! Anyway, that is beside the point. The State Fair finally came and we baked up a storm of Bisquick biscuits. I just knew that mine would take 1st place for sure and at the least 2nd place. Well would it surprise you to find out that my biscuits took 3rd place. Boy, that was a disappointment. I guess I could have become discouraged for the rest of my life and determined to never make Bisquick biscuits again. Actually, I'm not sure if I have ever made them again. They are not all that good. Anyway, my point is that I could have become discouraged and decided to never to cook or bake again. That would have been foolish on my part. I actually learned a lot from those biscuits. I learned to measure, mix and fold flour, to crack eggs, and to bake biscuits to just the right golden-brown. Accomplishments do not mean that we have to come in 1st or 2nd—they just mean that we have to learn from them.

ENOUGH SAID

Several years ago, my young family had gathered around the table for what was to be our usual evening meal. It was not long before my husband and I embarked upon what I call a ''peas and carrots'' discussion. You know, I was convinced that the answer was ''peas,'' and the more I insisted upon it, the more determined he was the answer was ''carrots.'' We were getting nowhere fast. Neither of us was going to be convinced to the contrary.

The dinner scene was becoming uncomfortable. Our children sat in dead silence as we each defended our personal position on the subject. He shifted back and forth in his seat and my stomach churned. The air was thick with ''vegetable soup'' flying around!

Our children watched and listened intently. Then our very sensible five-year old daughter could endure it no longer. Finally, she rose from her chair and stood by my side. Quietly, she whispered into my ear, ''Mother, this is getting sickening. And, can I have another drink of lemonade?'' Enough said!

That particular dinner was quite an eye-opener. I have marveled to myself at the great insight an innocent child can have. I realized the importance of eliminating ''peas and carrots'' discussions—especially in front of the children. They are fruitless and only cause greater misunderstandings.

In Alma 32:23 we read:

…little children do have words given unto them many times which confound the wise and the learned.

And so we have learned from an innocent child to have greater understanding and acceptance of another person's opinion. I hope that someday when I grow-up, I will be just like my five-year old!
Written in 1985

THE LOOM

We each sit at a loom and become the weaver of our life. Daily, we work the spinning wheel and interlace our life's tapestry with all shades of rich colors, textures, and threads. The design is interwoven with people who, by touching our life, have mingled their threads with ours. Various colors add to the interest and beauty of the tapestry and, miraculously, a single golden thread is woven throughout. As we run our fingers across the tapestry, it feels as though life was spun together perfectly making for a lovely pattern. It is beautiful—a sight to behold. But as one turns the tapestry over, many loose threads dangle—some have become tangled, twisted, and even knotted. Some threads have had to be cut off and others stitched up, and some have had to be replaced in order to become stronger and more resilient. Colors have dimmed and appear not to be as vibrant and beautiful as before. One can only conclude that many days have been filled with joy and satisfaction, and many days have not. Yet, daily we sit at the loom and diligently weave our masterpiece. Gratefully, at day’s end, we may see threads blended intricately together creating a beautifully woven tapestry—for a single golden thread of Deity was woven throughout.

HAVING IT YOUR WAY

My father was really a very wise man. On many occasions in my life, Dad gave me the opportunity to make decisions that would affect the entire family. I remember one time when my parents were buying a new car and Dad asked me what color I thought they should chose. Mind you, we did not buy new cars often and the color chosen would last for years. I thought about it for a minute and decided on gray as the perfect color. I secretly knew that gray was my dad’s favorite color and that gray is the color he would have chosen. Gray it was.

Another time, my dad had receive a small inheritance from an old uncle and it was decided by my parents to buy a stereo console--an extravagance for our family. Dad took my sister and me to help chose which console would be perfect for our home. I knew exactly which one Mother and Dad had in mind, and so I choose that one.

Every year at Christmas time, Mother and Dad would take us to pick out the family Christmas tree. Wouldn’t you know it, I always selected the one that I thought Dad felt was the most beautiful. This may not have always been the case for it seems that Dad would have to get out his saw and drill and rearrange the branches to make it more perfect.

The point is, I learned early in my life how fulfilling it is to leave selfish wishes behind and to make people’s desires more important than mine. I guess Dad knew that this was a lesson I needed to learn and he had a very clever way of doing it. I’m not saying that you should always put the desires of others above your own, but there are times when it is just not that important to have it your way.

STRAWBERRY SEEDS

I was taught a powerful lesson one morning as I rose from my sleep. One side of my mouth felt swollen and inflamed. It was so tender and hurtful that I was not able to eat my breakfast, and I concluded that because of the soreness of my mouth that I was in for some extensive dental work. While I was brushing my teeth that morning, I noticed a seed from a strawberry, which I had eaten the day before, was caught up under my gum. Amazingly, as soon as the seed was removed, my mouth began to heal.

Imagine, something so tiny having such a big effect on how I felt. It was fresh strawberry season and I, along with my family, had eaten a bowl of strawberries for dinner the night before. They were delicious, tasting almost like sugar, but the tiny seed, which seemed too small to matter, became a detriment to my mouth. Oh my, how wonderful it felt to have it removed from my gum.

I couldn’t help but think how small things in life can have such a big effect on us. I thought of those moments when I have been irritated with someone while driving or impatient with a sales clerk. I thought of the times when I did not take the opportunity to be kinder to someone or help them to feel better about themselves. They are just small things but they add up and are like having a mouth full of tiny strawberry seeds lodged in the gum line—they can hurt and become inflamed and actually be harmful to your soul. Now each time I eat a strawberry, I am reminded how small things can make such a difference not only in my life but in the life of others.

MRS. ROGER'S NEIGHBORHOOD

Where would Mr. Roger's Neighborhood be found? If you looked on the map, I believe you would find it on Pioneer Avenue in Historic Sandy. I was raised on Pioneer Avenue. It was a charming little street that had a dead end at the top. Not much traffic, except for those who lived there, and the school and grocery store were through the block. It was a great place to be raised. Not much going on. I guess you could say that grasshoppers and night crawlers were the biggest distraction in our little neighborhood. Crickets, June bugs, caterpillars, and butterflies--these were all a part of the comings and goings in our neck of the woods.

I recently attended a conference where Mr. Roger's Neighborhood was the main theme. I guess his neighborhood is the ultimate of all neighborhoods. It was one where everyone cared about each other, looked out for each other, and served each other. It was one where living next door really counts. It gave one special privileges and often paved the way for love and nurturing that sometimes is not felt at home. One man said, ''If you only understood how important you are to those around you, to the little people, you would take extra care to cherish and nurture them.”

Another gentlemen who spoke said that he had been searching for that one big thing in his life to make him feel like he was really doing something good. He discovered that for him that big thing was to serve the little people around him.

I feel so blessed to have been raised in my own little version of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.

THICK GLASSES

Sometimes when I put my reading glasses on, things look out of sort and slightly blurry. My head starts to swim and I feel like my equilibrium is slightly off. I see things in a distorted manner and I think, ''What is the matter with my eyes. Why can't I see clearly?'' It never fails, I take my glasses off and realize that my right lens has fallen out. It is amazing to me that the missing lens would make such a difference in the way I see things.

Our nation is at war. Decisions have been made by old men who wear thick glasses to send our young men and women off to foreign lands to place their lives on the line in behalf of our nation and innocent people. The leaders in foreign lands wear thick glasses also.

The lens of our world seems to be distorted right now and I wonder how clearly we are seeing things. How is it possible for two nations to look through the same lens and yet see things so differently. I believe Attorney General John Ashcroft put it in a profound, succinct and most clear way when he said, ''Islam is a religion in which God requires you to send your son to die for him.'' ''Christianity is a faith in which God sent his Son to die for you.''

We are daily bombarded with news broadcasts about the last incident that happened just 15 minutes ago. I become captivated by the current maneuvers of our soldiers and then I see the men with olive skin, black eyes, and black beards. The thought goes through my mind, ''This man who is an enemy is some mother's son. I am sure she loves him as much as I love my sons. She has hopes and dreams about his future. She wants him to grow into an honorable, righteous man. How could our sons from separate worlds-- and yet loved the same by their mother's--view the world so differently?

As this war has unfolded, I have seen grown men with looks of despair weep as they run for safety with babes in arm and veiled wives close behind. The children seem to be confused and are ever watchful of their parents. As I look at them, I see that they are not so different after all. They are just a family who wants what we all want—food, shelter, protection, freedom. Perhaps we do see the world through the same glasses. Ghandi was once quoted as saying, ''When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time they seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it…always.''

This morning I witnessed, through our media, the statue of Saddam Hussein being toppled. Many Iraqi men clubbed the base of the statue trying to chip away at it. I am sure it was their way of ridding themselves of Saddam's evil presence. Some even climbed on top and threw a rope around the neck in an desperate attempt to bring it down. But it was not until the American soldiers came with their heavy equipment did the statue topple. The Iraqi men raised their voices in jubilation. One man said that for the first time is his 40 years he will finally be free. The streets are now filled with hundreds of men and children parading through the streets with banners waving, and shirts flying. Imagine, for the first time in years, the feelings of cautious freedom. Jubilation is a good word to describe the scenes I see.

Recently, we saw where the thick glasses of hatred and vengeance were taken off. One young U.S. soldier was taken captive and as hard as she fought not to be taken by the enemy, the Iraqi soldiers captured her, broke both legs, her arm and ribs. She was listed as missing but was actually in a hospital where a young Iraqi lawyer went to visit his wife who was also in the hospital. He saw the young American soldier and went to her bed and whispered, "'I will help you.'' He traveled back and forth six miles on foot several times in order to contact proper authorities. Did he place his own life on the line for hers? Yes. How thick were the lens of his glasses?

I believe we have it within ourselves as brothers and sisters living here upon this earth to take our thick glasses off. I believe we can see each other through the eyes of love and acceptance. It is a decision away. It is a choice we can all make. I know it is possible.

ACCUMULATON AND POSSESSIONS, AT WHAT PRICE?

At what price do we accumulate possessions? I worked for a fellow who from outward appearances had it all. He was constantly buying things for his wife and children—new carpeting, appliances, sofas, grand piano, and more. I was somewhat awestruck with what I thought was his wonderful financial abilities. After a while, I became aware that he was struggling with his business but little did I know that his finances were hanging by a string, not a rope, but a string. He was on the brink of financial disaster. Yet, the trucks arrived daily with new accumulation for his home and family. It was not until my paycheck started bouncing and the harassing phone calls from creditors started coming in for him that I realized the true depth of his indebtedness.

He was becoming a nervous wreck and soon began coming to work with alcohol on his breath. I finally quit working there—couldn't take it any longer. I saw him years later coming out of a bar in the middle of the day. I think I know the terrible results of his need, or his wife's need, to accumulate stuff. He paid a terrible price for his indebtedness in order to have temporary, non-fulfilling possessions--for unfortunately, what he obtained and possessed was never enough to satisfy. The price was just too great.

CERAMIC DUCK

The excitement of expectation, the joy of anticipation, is such a deliciously wonderful way to live. There are certain things I expect from my life, my family, my work, my play. I learned a long time ago that each of us has our own expectations from life. What is good for one person is not necessarily good for the other. I am very grateful that we do not all have to be the same. That would make life to mundane and boring. I am grateful that our level of expectations are different—some are simple and others are complicated. It is all about what we want in of life.

One day a neighbor came to my home. She was on some sort of campaign against ceramic ducks. It seems that every home she went in to had a ceramic duck on its counter top. She insisted on knowing whether or not I had one. I was startled at her inquiry. I did not understand why this had become an issue with her but I was satisfied in my mind that my reputation was on the line with her. I was obviously on shaky ground so I refused to tell her whether or not I had a duck.

Well, the truth is, I loved my ceramic duck. It was white and had a blue poka dot ribbon around its neck. It was darling. I made it myself in a ceramic class. It made my kitchen look homey and welcoming.

As I have thought about that experience in my life, I have found it to be mildly amusing but have realized that our life styles are very personal. What works for one person does not work for the other. My ceramic duck made me feel good about myself and my home, but it obviously did the opposite for her. I was so sad the day the ceramic duck was knocked off the counter top and broke into pieces. Well, I'll just fill up that spot with something else that I have been anticipating!

SHELF BUILDING DAY

Today is a beautiful wintry day. A light blanket of snow fell last night and has enveloped the earth. I went walking just to clear the cob webs.

As the webs cleared, a beautiful idea marched forth. "Build some shelves today." On the first shelf, I will place large Kerr jars with new rings and lids so that they will seal properly. Into these jars I will place all hurt feelings and unkind words which have been spoken towards me. The jars will contain the memory of anything which has caused me hurt by others. After placing all the wrongs in the jars, I will seal the jars tightly so that no hurt feelings can escape the rest of the day. These jars I will label, "Forgive Others."

The second shelf will hold jars with mistakes I have made. They include hurtful words and thoughts about others or anything that might cause another to anguish at my hands. The lids are placed on the jars loosely just in case I need to put more in. How important it is to recognize our wrongs and then rectify them. These jars I will label, "Forgive Ourselves."

The third shelf will be filled with squeaky clean Kerr jars. They sparkle and shine. A brilliant light flows from each jar. There are no lids or rings found on this shelf for the contents desire to flow freely. I will fill these jars with good thoughts, good words, and all sweet and tender feelings--anything that is lovely and good natured. These jars, I will label "Christlike Feelings."

I will close the doors on the first and second shelves today. The third shelf, I will let fill my soul.

THE SEA, THE SEA, SHE BECKONS TO ME

It has always been my dream to watch the sunrise over the horizon of the ocean; so one perfectly lovely summer morning, I arose early to watch. The sky was already waking from a sleepy night for a hint of light was peeking through my window. Hurry, hurry, time is passing and the sunrise will not wait! It had been my desire to go to the sea to think, to feel, and to write.

Not wanting to miss a single ray of light from the rising sun, I walked briskly along the boardwalk. It was dusted with a layer of fine sand and stuck to the bottom of my feet. Tall grass swayed gently in the breeze and the meandering wooden fence sloped gently along the contour of the sand mounds which boarded the entrance of paradise. In the distance was the lovely view of the seascape and I could hear the thunder of the rolling waves. Oh my! I felt almost breathless as I considered the possibilities of inspiration, wonderment, and fulfillment which awaited me. There it was before me, a splendid array of color which was reflected on the surface of the ocean. It was simply beautiful and spectacular at the same time. To my surprise, a handful of people had also gathered to watch the sunrise. They were a distance down the beach and so I felt alone.

The sand looked warm and inviting, so off came my shoes so that I could feel it between my toes. I dug my feet into the sand and as the waves came toward me and then rolled back, the sand dissolved beneath my feet causing me to feel slightly dizzy. I felt like I was being pulled into the ocean. What fun! This beautiful picture of peace, tranquility, and serenity lasted for a long time. It felt surreal for I was truly living what I had dreamed of doing for so many years.

After a while, sea shells were deposited with each wave as it rolled in . They were, "Gifts From the Sea," just as Anne Morrow had promised. How could I resist? I simply had to have my gifts and so began gathering my own collection of shells.

I felt that I must tell my paper what my heart was feeling for I had anxiously waited for the moment when I could go to the sea to think, to feel, and to write. And so with paper and pen in hand, I began:

I have gone to the sea. I have collected my shells. "Her Majesty, the Deep," has flirted and tried to draw me in. She reaches with her foamy fingers and beckoned me into her belly. I wink back and am drawn further into the mesmerizing, flirtatious, beckoning of her majestic waves.

She teases me with her gifts as each wave lays on the shore the gifts which only she can bear. I quickly grab at them for her teasing ways will try to snatch them away from me. I have collected my treasures and my jar is full. I have selected the ones which please my eye and the others, I toss back.

My paper is moist, my pen skips a line, and the breeze causes the paper to flip. I have found much joy today and my dream to go to the sea has been fulfilled. The sea comes bearing gifts and I joyfully receive. But the sea, the sea, The taunting sea. She snatches the one, But leaves me three.

The breeze is gentle. The salty-sea air is cool. It is filled with moisture and I can feel the heaviness of it on my skin. Oh, the sea, the sea, she beckons to me.
(Unedited notes from my book "Finding Fulfillment" lpstirling)

CRUSHING BLOW

When I was in high school, I received a crushing blow. I was in an English class and had been asked to write a paper on an interesting character in my life. I knew exactly who it would be about and went to work immediately on the paper. It was one of the finest pieces that I have ever written. But much to my chagrin, when the paper came back I had received a C+. I could not believe my eyes. What was she thinking? Who did she think she was, the teacher or something? Surely, this was one of the greats in the world of literature. After all I was only following the examples of Steinbeck and Hemingway.

Although I was completely crushed by her evaluation of my writing abilities, I kept that paper tucked away; and a few years ago, I came across it in my box of stuff. I reluctantly read it not wanting to have to admit to myself that it was actually as mediocre as she had declared by her C+. Much to my delight, I found the paper to be well written, thoughtful, and worthy of reading aloud to my class of giggly teenage peers. I thought to myself, "This is clearly an A paper."

I came to realize, later in life, that my paper was just one in a stack of dozens sitting on her desk. Why on earth would I allow her to tell me that my writing abilities are only worth a C+? I am grateful that I did not become discouraged by the grade she gave me. On the contrary, I have continued to write and to express myself as only Steinbeck and Hemingway would have expected of me.

PROFOUND SENTENCE

The most profound sentence I have ever seen was short and to the point. One night as I was enjoying the heavenly skies, I noticed the silvery, crescent shaped moon. Next to it was a bright and beautiful star. They were side by side. Somehow my mind turned that visual into a sentence, which read: Moon-Period. I thought to myself that there was not much more to say. It was bold. It was simple, to the point, and most profound--"Moon-Period." The End.

THE CLOTHESLINE

I didn't know that God has a clothesline until one morning when I was out for my daily walk. I was innocently walking along humming a tune when I noticed the big round beaming sun, which had just risen in the east, and was about a good four inches above the mountains. "Hum," I thought, "she is beautiful today." I continued my stroll, when much to my delight, I looked to the west and saw the moon. It, too, was large and round and glowing, and to my amazement, was about four inches above the mountains. "Wow," I thought, "he couldn't be more spectacular." So I continued my walk when I happened to look up and saw a jet stream across the entire canopy of the sky. Wonder of all wonders, it connected the sun and the moon together. "Wow," I mumbled, "that looks like a clothesline." And then, unbelieveably, I noticed five birds in a row suspended in air just below the jet stream. I could not believe my eyes. Those poor birds were obviously drenched and had to be hung out to dry. That's when I first discovered that God has a clothesline.

KEEPING JOURNALS

We are admonished by so many people to write in our journals daily, to crystallize our thoughts so that we may learn who we are, what we think, feel, and what we dream about. A journal helps us to remember experiences, to glean new ideas, to laugh, cry, think, ponder, wonder, question, and to examine our inner thoughts.

I started keeping a "daily journal" years ago. However, there was so much going on in my busy life that it almost became impossible for me to record everything, and I felt somewhat over-whelmed. I then realized that I had focused on many negative things and re-reading them brought me sadness. That was certainly not the intention of my daily journaling.

I then started my "gut-wrenching journal" where I purged my negative thoughts and got all that nasty poison out of my system. I actually found this to be helpful for as soon as I was through madly writing, I would rip it up and throw it away. Bye Bye bad thoughts!

I next started my "happy journal" where I wrote about experiences which brought me a great measure of happiness. I enjoyed this for a time, but felt a little unfulfilled with that approach.

After that I started my "gratitude journal" which is a delight to read but did not paint the whole picture.

I finally started writing a "purpose" journal and I found true gratification.

So, now I have my "daily journal," my "gut-wrenching journal," my "gratitude journal, " and my "purpose journal." I have since added a "thought journal." I feel so inspired!

Yes it is true, I have been a bit fickle with my journal writing. Yet, I continue to enjoy writing my experiences, feelings, and inner thoughts. Sometimes my thoughts are funny, sometimes they are sad. Sometimes they are profound, and sometimes they are glad. It has taken me many years to sort out which thing should go into which journal. I am afraid that some day, when I am old and senile, I will probably get mixed up and rip up my "happy journal" and save my "gut-wrenching journal."

Oh, this world of journaling has become so complicated for me. I may have to start another journal "How to keep track of my 'daily journal,' my 'gut-wrenching journal,' my 'gratitude journal,' my 'purpose journal,' and my 'thought journal!'" Is there enough room on the shelf? Woe is me!

GOODNIGHT

Each night before I go to bed,
I say goodnight to the moon and the stars.
I wonder, "Who created you?"
"I know, I know!"
Some how I feel comforted knowing
there is Someone greater,
much, much greater,
who is watching over this old world.
I say "Goodnight, my friend, the moon.
Goodnight, my friends, the stars.
Goodnight Father, my Peace!"

AN ORDERLY LIFE

I have just a sliver of memory when I was toddler. I distinctly remember that the plastered walls of my bedroom, which I shared with my twin and probably older siblings, were painted dusty rose--my father's favorite color because it reminded him of his flowers. My crib was against the corner wall and a regular sized bed was next to it. A chest of drawers with bobbled legs was placed by the entry door and was stuffed with clothes, treasures, odds and ends, an all sorts of things.

It must have been in the morning, for the bed was not made and the room felt cluttered with clothes and toys on the floor. I remember standing in the crib in my pajamas. My hair was tangled as though I had been tossing and turning all night--straggly as I remember it. I had woken up and my mother came into the room to get me out of the crib. I told my mother that a "too too train went through my bed last night." She thought that was so cute. I do too. It was cute. I was cute!

Although I was just a toddler, I remember vividly how I felt. I didn't like the room that particular morning. It was displeasing to me. It felt unkempt. I have never liked that feeling. I like order in my life, in my thoughts, in my actions, and in my home. I think I was an orderly person in the pre-existence. It seems to be a predominant characteristic of mine. I love cleanliness, order, and a certain routine. My soul wells up with feelings of anxiety if my life is not in order. Thank heavens for files, folders, and organizing boxes. It just makes life so much easier for me. I can think, feel, and function more clearly if I have order in my life.

I am grateful for my memory, although just a sliver, for it helps me to understand myself better. I was born this way. After all if a "too too train" is going to run through my bedroom at night, I had better have the room in straight and in order. Wouldn't want the passengers to see my room out of sorts!

ONE DROP AT A TIME

One day many years ago, as I was irrigating, a gentle flow of water filled the ditch and meandered throughout the garden. It was an easy, smooth flow and was quite manageable. The water crept along the dirt and soaked deep into the dried, parched ground. This beautiful little scene lasted only a short time for someone opened the valve at the head gate allowing a massive wall of water to come shooting down the ditch. I was amazed. What had been a gentle flow of water just minutes before was now an angry rush of water. Quickly, the ditch bank over-flowed and became completely washed out. I placed wooden checks throughout the yard in order to manage the gushing flow. Our yard was saved. Unfortunately, the garden of the neighbor was completely flooded and mud was everywhere. What a mess.

Water is very powerful. Even the slightest drip from a leaky faucet can, over time, wear down a porcelain sink. I have seen it happen. I have actually seen rocks which were worn and hollowed from the constant flow of water. Caves have been carved out from water and worn down by the wind. It is all so amazing.

Just as the water and the winds have carved and smoothed the rocks, I, too, desire to be smoothed and polished. My jagged edges need a constant buffing in order for me to become the refined woman I desire to be. It does not happen all at once. It takes a great deal of time.

I have learned that we are smoothed and polished by design. It is our purpose in being here on earth. Over the years, I have had my own collection of rocks, or burdens, which have needed polishing. Thankfully, I have seen refining take place for I am not as quick to judge. I remain silent more often. I feel more pain and suffering in my weaknesses. I see more good in others. I express my love openly more often. I genuinely respect and admire others who at another time may have caused me jealously. I feel compassion and rejoice in the accomplishments of others and feel sorrow for their failures. Yes, I believe that time has smoothed and polished me somewhat.

Sometimes a jut or jagged edge sticks out but I know that through the natural process of rippling, flowing waters that they too will be smoothed and refined. "A river comes from a stream. A stream comes from a creek. A creek comes from a drop of water. (anon.)" That is how the polishing takes place--just one drop at a time--and then a river flows. What are the little drops of water that turn into a creek, and then a stream, and then into a river to polish and smooth our souls? The answer is found in Alma 7:23-24: ...be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need both spiritual and temporal; giving thanks unto God for whatsoever things ye do receive. See that ye have faith, and charity, and then ye will always abound in good works. (Taken from my personal notes of "Finding Fulfillment.")

EVENING IN PARIS

When I was in junior high, I took library science as one of my elective classes. Miss Pinigree was the librarian and I got to know her only as an immature junior high student could get to know an adult. Miss Pinigree was a rather unattractive, unpleasant, and difficult person to be around--or so I felt. I thought she was bossy and I caught on quickly that her sharp tongue could cut deeply and her flashing eyes could pierce clear through you. Her short temper seemed to be near the surface and caused the students to step lightly in the library. She was a short, squatty woman, built like a box. Her dark brown hair was streaked with gray and tight finger waves surrounded her face. She had a rather gaudy yet flamboyant style of dress and often wore garbs that were enhanced with sparkles, bangles, and bobbles. Gold bracelets, necklaces, and dangling earrings were draped over her body. I had never seen so much jewelery on one person at one time. To top that off, her cheap perfume made my stomach churn as she passed by. I believe it was "Evening in Paris." I felt very uncomfortable in her presence and did not like being in the library with her. It was like living on the edge of terror from one moment to the next.

One day, however, she confided in me that she would be "receiving a gentleman caller" that evening. She was so happy and I could sense in her that she thought he might be the "special one." But I knew within my heart that the relationship was not going anywhere. I concluded that there was a reason why she was a old spinster--it was her unpleasant personality. Sure enough, she never mentioned him again. I wondered at the time if the anticipated "evening in Paris" was like an "evening from purgatory" for the "gentleman caller."

I don't think she lasted too long at the school. She didn't seem to fit in. She was different from other people in the area. Her difference should have made her interesting to be with and a joy to be around but it did not.

When I think about Miss Pinigree, I wonder if I had met her as an adult if my experience would have been different with her--I am sure it would have. Really, was she all that bad? I am sure she was not. After all these years, I wonder if she ever found a "gentleman caller" who decided to stay. She was most likely just a lonely lady who wanted someone to care for her and to love her. I have concluded that we often misunderstand others when we are immature and do not have the ability to see the picture clearly. I can only say, "Miss Pinigree, I hope you finally had a wonderful "evening in Paris" with a "gentleman caller" who saw you not as an old spinster but recognized the loveliness within you.

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

Many years ago, I was watching an old-time movie. The actors were very colorful and rich in character. In addition to being a black and white movie, the language used was very dated. One fellow said to the other, "You insufferable odeous lout!" Why, I had never heard those words before. They were very descriptive and brought a smile to my face. Because I did not exactly know what that meant, I immediately took out my dictionary and discovered that insufferable means intolerable or unbearable. Odious means loathing, disgusting, or offensive. Lout means clumsy, stupid fellow or boor. So, to translate the phrase, it could be said, "You intolerable, disgusting, boor!"

We have lost so many of the quaint words and phrases from yesteryear but have gained new ones like "totally rad." Words that were so innocent years ago, like "gay," which meant to be happy or blissful, have now taken on other meanings. I remember when the word "awesome" meant "inspiring wonderment." It now means, "cool." "Cool" use to mean "temperature slightly warmer than cold." It now means "totally rad." "Totally rad or radical" use to mean "complete, extreme change." It comes full circle and now means, "cool!" It is all so confusing. Words have been overused and misused so often that they do not quite have the same meaning. Sometimes, I get mixed up and say "thongs" meaning beach shoes but the whole world thinks it mean "skimpy underwear." "Britches," on the otherhand, is another word we seldom use any more. It use to mean, "pants," both inner and outer! I'm not sure what it means now. I personally like to use the old phrase, "okie, dokie" because it is crystal clear, to the point, and very difficult to get mixed up. All in all, words, with their old or new meanings, give me a "hankering" to use them more often and in a "muiltiplicity" of ways. Words--use them often, "okie dokie?"

GRATITUDE FELT

Recently, while on a flight back east, a young female soldier sat across the isle from me. She was very dignified and lovely. I noticed immediately how she carried herself. One of the stewards approached her and asked her if there was anything special that she needed and he, the steward, then told her that it was a privilege to have her on board. Later, the captain, announced that two fallen soldiers were being transported to Arlington National Cemetery and that the soldier was escorting the fallen soldiers. I reached over and gently touched her arm. She turned and smiled at me. There was not much to say but I know she felt the enormous amount of gratitude that we all felt toward her and especially the two fallen soldiers. Sometimes the words of gratitude need not be spoken, only felt.

SUNFLOWERS

The view from my rocker on the back porch in early morn is a delight. I see the blue, blue sky with wispy clouds. I see the dew on the grass. I see bees buzzing about the garden. But it is the sunflowers bending over my fence and nodding their big yellow heads that really catch my eye. It will soon be fall and their heads will become heavy and droopy and the seeds will burst forth as the butterflies, birds, and bugs enjoy their nectar and seeds.

They are a curious flower for they enjoy having their faces baked by the sun as they follow it throughout the day. In the early morn, they face due east. They are waiting for the sun to come over the mountain and shine on their yellow faces. As the sun moves across the sky, the flower's face will follow. At midday, the flower is due south. They continue to follow the sun to the west until sunset. As the evening shadows fall, the sunflowers turn their faces back to the east. I believe they are waiting for the sun to rise again the next day.

My thoughts turn to my grandmother's sun hat which reminded me of a sunflower. It had a large brim which shaded her face and shoulders. She wore it as she picked raspberries from her garden. The crown of the hat always seemed to face the sun, just as a sunflower, as she embraced its shade. What joy the view from my rocker brings me from the early morn to the last bit of light at night. And at sunrise the next day, just as the sunflower, I am ready to enjoy the warmth of the sun once again on my face.

THE WRITTEN WORD

With pen in hand
I script the notes
of daily salutations.
I record the memories of the day
of family and relations.
It keeps in tack the happenings
which should always be remembered.
For without the precious pen in hand,
I'd forget the words rendered.

IS HE NOT MY BROTHER?

Sometime ago, while attending our daughter's graduation, my husband and I arrived early for the first day's celebration and found seats which were near the front and perfect for our vision. The time was drawing near for the graduation to begin and the seats next to me were still empty when I noticed a small group of people walking and chattering down our isle. As I looked up to see them, I was surprised to see a homeless man sitting down next to me. He looked over at me and smiled and said, "Hello." Although my initial reaction was one of concern, amazingly, I noticed his warm brown eyes and I sensed that he was a kind and gentle person. He was with other people who also seemed to be kind and gentle but obviously had their own challenges. They had been befriended by a graduate with his work as a counselor, and because of his great love for them, he had invited them to attend the graduation. They embraced him and you could see the joy in their faces in his presence. But what was I to do? The thought crossed my mind that in a way I was being tested to see what kind of person I really am. Was I to get up and find a new seat? Was I to let him know of my displeasure with his smell? Was I to ask him to move? How could I possibly take having him sit next to me for two whole hours with his terrible odor?

So I sat there and I questioned to myself, "Is he not my brother, my neighbor, and perhaps at some other time, my friend?" A remarkable thing began to happen. I started to observe this small band of friends and I delighted in their interaction with each other. They were filled with happiness and joy. They spoke lovingly and respectfully towards each other. They were happy to be together. Who was I to look at them and see only what displeased me for are we not all children of God? So, I decided that I must sit next to him no matter what. It was an interesting experience to say the least.

As the graduation progressed, and at a most reverent part of the ceremony when the audience was hushed and you could have heard a pin drop, they decided to snack on a box of wheat thins and a container of sour cream. The rustling of the box, the dipping of the sour cream, and the chewing of the crackers irritated others who turned around to stare at them. By this time, I had become completely fascinated by the inner workings of this little band of friends. I delighted in their desire to share crackers and sour cream with each other and the fact that they were completely oblivious to the displeasure of others around them. I observed their innocence and their genuine love for each other, and I again thought to myself, "Is he not my brother, my friend, and my neighbor--if only for two hours?" And so I sat there and observed and enjoyed their sociality wishing that I had my own box of crackers and sour cream dip and some friends to share it with. After the graduation was over and refreshments served, they joyfully embraced the man who had invited them. They rejoiced in his accomplishment and in his friendship. The graduate already knew about them what I was taught--to appreciate and know that we are all children of God and that He delights in each of us no matter what our circumstances.

THE MASTERPIECE

Not everything I think or say is a masterpiece.
Yet, it is a miracle to think or to say anything at all.
Not everything I do or feel is a masterpiece.
Yet, to do or to feel is amazing unto it self.
Not everything I believe is a masterpiece.
Yet to have faith and belief is profound.
Not everything I write is a masterpiece.
Yet, writing inspires the substance of my soul.
Not everything I share is a masterpiece.
Yet, the marvel of sharing is a gift to behold.
Not everything about me is a masterpiece.
Yet, God adores me and tells me that I am.

A SLICE OF AMERICANA

Have you ever noticed how perfect are each of Norman Rockwell's paintings? They are snapshots of life--just a moment in time--which are both simple and yet profound.

The young girl who is sitting outside the princpal's office has been in a fight at recess--probably with a boy--and is, of course, in trouble. But she is so pleased with herself--rumpled clothes and all, dirty face and all, for naturally she won. The big grin on her face tells it all. Ah, victory at any price. Don't we all love to win?

The teenage girl who is sitting in front of an oval mirror in her petticoat looking dispargingly at herself. She has a magazine with a movie star on the front cover. As she compares herself to the movie star, she wonders, "Will I ever have the beauty of a movie star? It all seems so hopeless." Haven't we all wondered if we will ever have the looks of a "movie star?"

A young handsome scout carries the shivering-cold child in a blanket across the river. He has saved this innocent child from terrible peril. His back is straight. His uniform is perfectly pressed. His face has the look of determination. The sight leads one to believe that he is a hero in his own right. It sends chills up your spine. Why, it's the stuff that heroes are made of. Don't we all have dreams of doing something noble?

Noman had a way of capturing an honest moment--a snaphot of life--that we can all relate to. No wonder he is known as the "artist of America." Actually, his artwork is so life like that his pictures look like old photographs.

Our old Kodak camera took wonderful pictures--in black and white, of course, and most always perfect. It was just a simple black box with a lens, shutter, and a roll of film. Nothing much to it. Flip open the back, pull on the roll of film and stretch it over the black frame, then twist, twist, twist, and snap into place. Steady now. Everyone smile. Click, and there you have it. A perfect picture of a perfect moment.

One photograph taken by the old Kodak camera, which stands out in my mind and looks very much like one of Rockwell's famous paintings, is of my family as we had gathered around the dining table for a feast of feast. Everything about it is wonderful and pleasing to the eye. A beautiful meal is presented with the turkey as the centerpiece. A humble prayer is offered. Feelings of gratitude fill the dining room as the family joins together. The old Kodak could not have taken a more beautiful picture and Rockwell could not have painted a more perfect picture--a true slice of Americana. Yet, it is just a snapshot of life--a moment in time--both simple and profound.

ELEVENTY BILLION DOLLARS

Have you ever dramed about being rich--I mean filthy, obscenely, and disgustingly rich? I would imagine most of us have had those dreams. In our moments of grandiose day dreaming, perhaps we have sanctimoniously thought, "Some day when I have eleventy billion dollars, I will help everyone in the whole wide world. No one will ever go hungry again, and we will all fly to Hawaii for a fun vacation. I will pay off everyone's bills, and we will all live in mansions with maids, butlers, and big screen TV's in every room. We will sit by the pool and drink lemonade all day long and nobody will bug us. That's what I will do when I have eleventy billions dollars! Yes, when I have eleventy billion dollars, I will make sure everyone has a new red car, and we will all go to the movies and then fly to Paris for lunch. In the meantime, however, I will buy lunch for a friend and gas for a stranger's car. I will buy a few groceries for a family in need and slip someone $20 for diapers.
Then when that day finally comes and I have eleventy billion dollars, I know what I will do. I will make cookies with my grandchildren. I will chat with my children on the phone. I will go for a stroll with my husband and listen to him sing. And most importantly, I will day dream about what I will do with the rest of my money. Why, I feel rich already!

THE KITE

Some times I’d like to be a kite—
and soar up in the sky.
I’d reach my arms way, way up—
and stretch my fingers high.
I’d whirl and twirl and spin about—
and tumble round and round;
and lift my shoulders one by one—
then nose-dive to the ground.
I’d dance and prance and swirl around—
and make-believe that I can fly.
But most of all I’d just like to glide—
and touch the blue, blue sky.
I’d pretend I had a long, long tail—
while sailing through the air;
then I’d catch my tail upon a star—
and dangle gently there.
What fun it’d be to be tossed about—
and watch the clouds float by,
while wondering about the moonbeams—
and the silvery, dusty sky.
I’d stand up on my tippie toes—
and float aimlessly in bliss;
among the billowy, marshmallow clouds—
in the blustery, windy mist.
I’d feel the gentle, blowy breeze—
whirl throughout my hair;
tousled, tangled, and knotted up—
while enjoying the rushing air.
What fun it’d be to be a kite—
to sway and laugh in mirth;
while being tossed to and fro—
before coming back to earth.

LESSONS LEARNED

“Gotta get them tree stumps out, and the rocks h’ve gotta go too. Plant’n season’s almost come and gone and we’ve still gotta harrow the hard ground.” “Gramps, can’t we just leave the old stumps and the rocks around them? They won’t be in the way. Besides, it’s too much work for just an old vegetable garden.” “No, Son, that’ll never do. There’s lessons to be learned in a garden. Plow’n fields much like livin’ life. You can spend your time skirting ‘round your troubles, Son, just like them tree stumps and rocks—you’ve just gotta get rid of things in the way. Go get the shovels—we’ll work on it together.” So Gramps and I spent the day getting out the stumps and stones. It was hard work lifting those rocks, and the roots of the old trees went clear to China. But somehow I just knew that Gramps was right—gotta get rid of things in the way.
“Gotta make them furrows straight, Son.” “But, Gramps, can’t we just hurry and get the job done? Like you said, ‘Plant’n season’s almost come and gone’—and we’re still work’n the fields.” “No, Son, that’ll never do. There’s lessons to be learned in a garden. Them rows h’ve gotta be straight so’s the water can run free. Son, you’ve gotta be straight too, so’s your life can be free. Now go get the plow—we’ll work on it together.” So Gramps and I spent the day making sure the furrows in the field were straight. It was hard work but somehow I just knew that Gramps was right—gotta live life straight and narrow in order to be free.
“Son, gotta plant them seeds and irrigate the fields today.” “But Gramps, I’m too tired from all this work. Can’t it wait ‘till tomorrow? “No, Son, gotta plant today. Gettin’ late in the season and there’s lessons to be learned in the garden. Plant’n seeds today will bring the harvest in the fall. Go get them seeds and we’ll plant ‘em together.” So Gramps and I spent the rest of the day planting seeds. It was hard work and my back hurt real bad but, by this time, I knew a lesson was coming. So I pulled the check from the ditch and watched the water flow evenly along the straight furrows. “Son, life’s so much like a garden. You’ll only reap what ya sow. If ya want somethin’ in the end, ya gotta plant somethin’ in the beginning.” I knew Gramps was right. There’s lessons to be learned in a garden!

WINTER'S GRACE

Among the pile of December’s tinsel is found a Currier and Ives card. The scene of an old farm house, with smoke billowing from the fireplace, is dusted with a blanket of snow. Old majestic elms frame the barn and frozen pond, and flocks of geese fly overhead. Long drippy icicles, hanging from the barn’s roof, reminds us that even Mother Nature likes to adorn herself with crystal earrings during Winter’s Grace. Everything looks and feels pristine. It is so lovely and reminds us in some small way of winters from yesteryear when life seemed so simple—Oh, Winter’s Grace—how lovely! But this is not yesteryear, it is this year. The homes across the road also have a blanket of snow and smoke also billows from their fireplaces. We are reminded that although Winter’s Grace is upon us that the warmth of cherished friends and wonderful neighbors brings peace and comfort to our little neck of the woods, our neighborhood. It may be cold outside but it is warm here in our own picture of Currier and Ives.

THE MESSAGE

In an old family scrapbook, yellowed with age, is a collection of faded Valentine cards. Each card reveals the secret, heart-felt message, “You are special,” “I Love You,” or even “Be Mine.” The words are simple but declare a sweet message of one person’s feelings toward the other.
Among this tattered collection is a heart-shaped card adorned with garlands of violets and pansies intertwined with bits of ribbon and lace. Two girls, donned with brimmed-hats and mufflers, center the card and each is holding a bouquet of flowers. The card’s inscription, written in well-practiced penmanship, reads simply, “To Liz, From Quincy.”
One can only envision the smitten suitor, clad in boyish knickers and cap, carefully selecting the perfect Valentine card for his soon-to-be sweetheart. The challenge is to deliver the Valentine message without appearing to be too bold. So Quincy cleverly attaches a string to the card before placing it on the front porch, knocks on the door, and then runs to hide behind the bush. Liz, desiring to know which beau is her secret admirer, stoops to retrieve the treasured Valentine only to find it slipping from her fingers as Quincy tugs at the string. The playful teasing ends as Liz reluctantly shuts the door but not before first glancing at the card’s inscription, which reads simply, “To Liz, From Quincy.” Much to Quincy’s delight and Liz’s pleasure, the Valentine message is delivered, “Be Mine.” Oh, yes, the message is perfectly clear, “I am thinking of you. You are special to me. Please be mine!”

THE AWAKENING

“Wake up sleepy head,” whispers Spring. “The awakening is near. It’s time to come forth.” The slumbering earth tosses about and with blinking eyes squints at the bright sun. She huskily whispers back, “Oh, dear, is it time already?’ The old girl, snoring lazily and still drowsy from a long winter’s nap, has awakened. She stretches and yawns and throws back the last blanket of snow only to reveal tender green shoots of life. Her season of slumber is over, and through the warmth of the sun comes the promise of the awakening, the new beginning—Spring. Daffodils, hyacinths, crocuses, and tulips have been stirring under the thawing ground and are now peeking through. Their curled leaves gracefully unfold and their delicate blossoms splatter a vibrant array of color on earth’s pallet. The once lifeless bulbs have aroused and have come forth. “Wake up sleepy head,” whispers Spring again—this time with a gentle nudge. The old girl, still a bit tired and wanting to drift off into the land of nod, awakens, yawns, and hesitantly whispers, “It’s spring. It’s spring. Awake all you sleepy heads. It’s time to come forth for it’s really spring!”

"C" MEANS CAT

What has happened to the educational system in the United States? Clearly, it has gone down the hatch. Just this morning as I was immersed in my daily constitutional, I noticed something that made me shake my head in disbelief. As I rounded the corner of the walking trail, I noticed a flock of birds eating from the "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" container clearly marked CAT. There are numerous containers along the trail strategically placed so that the momma cat and her kittens will be able to survive the wilds. (The "cat woman" must have noticed that there is a shortage of mice and grasshoppers in the vast open fields and, therefore, must put dry cat food out there for them!) As the birds were making short of the cat food, I wanted to shout out, "Can't you tell the difference between a "B" and a "C"? It doesn't say, "ba, ba, ba, ba-erd," it says, "ka ka ka, cat." I am sure the birds would have felt rather embarrassed had they realized their foolish mistake. Imagine a bird eating cat food. I wonder what the cats will eat when all the mice, grasshoppers, and dry cat food are gone.
Meow! Squawk, Squawk! Me-ooow!

THE LOOM

We each sit at a loom and become the weaver of our life. Daily, we work the spinning wheel and interlace our life's tapestry with all shades of rich colors, textures, and threads. The design is interwoven with people who, by touching our life, have mingled their threads with ours. Various colors add to the interest and beauty of the tapestry and, miraculously, a single golden thread is woven throughout. As we run our fingers across the tapestry, it feels as though life was spun together perfectly making for a lovely pattern. It is beautiful—a sight to behold.
But as one turns the tapestry over, many loose threads dangle—some have become tangled, twisted, and even knotted. Some threads have had to be cut off and others stitched up, and some have had to be replaced in order to become stronger and more resilient. Colors have dimmed and appear not to be as vibrant and beautiful as before. One can only conclude that many days have been filled with joy and satisfaction, and many days have not. Yet, daily we sit at the loom and diligently weave our masterpiece. Gratefully, at day’s end, we may see threads blended intricately together creating a beautifully woven tapestry—for a single golden thread of Deity was woven throughout.