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Everybody’s trying to be heard. They’re making a point, even if nothing’s being said.

Like the way my cat stalks elegantly into the kitchen, gliding over to his bowl and waiting, back foot out, tail up, as if he’s still in motion. He’s conveying, I’m moving toward this bowl, and as you can see, for some inexplicable reason, it’s not filled to overflowing. It’s only half full. Is there… some…reason for this, hooman?

When I fold laundry, I have to remember that in KitKat’s language, a folded towel reminds him of his early days when he was still getting used to being in a house for the first time. I’d fold an old towel, put it onto the floor, then the couch, then the bed, so he’d realize he could sit anywhere he liked. He was welcome here.

So one time I was folding towels near where KitKat was resting on the bed. I put one down, ready to fold the next one. He immediately got up and came over to the towel, carefully putting one foot on it, looking at me as if to say, Is this okay? Cuz I’m going to sit on this towel you put here for me. Gingerly, the next foot went on, and he looked at me, then the next, until he was sitting in a circle, purring. So nice of you to fold this fresh, clean towel for me! It’s soft and comfy. Even warm! Guess I’ll take an eighteen-hour nap now!

He looked so comfortable there that I just patted his head and went on with the laundry. In his language, he’d heard me say, Sit here, beloved feline friend. It really was a nice gesture. I wish I’d thought of it!

Sometimes I find myself getting frustrated when I pray and it seems no answer is forthcoming. But I look around and realize we’ve got a roof over our heads, food on the table, and a peaceful place to call home.

Just like a slow-blink from my KitKat. Seems to me that God sends his love without even saying a word.

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Well, I woke up this morning feeling tight. My son and I have been dealing with a problem, and it’s the same problem we’ve had for years. It left me with the feeling that we’ve been running in place. Getting nowhere. But something happened as I stewed. I scrolled through posts from my spiritual support team, and it felt as if a weight was lifted.

Lori’s prayer-poems take my breath away, and then I find I’m breathing easier. SueBE can really tell a story from the heart, and then I find it’s got me thinking. We’ve gotten through some things, like this poignant remembrance of Lori’s first Christmas without her father. And SueBE’s inspiring post about the loss of her friend, and how it reminded her of losing her mother.

We’ve lived through some things individually and collectively. We got through, and got each other through.

We’re all still here, writing this blog that started as a reaction to the ending of a writing gig that was wonderful/awful. Well, a lot like life – it wasn’t what we thought it would be, but we got each other out of it.

The best way I can do anything positive for my son is to be content myself. To do the things that make me happy. To create a warm, welcoming home. So when I get up, I look up. When I get dressed, I remember I’m blessed.

If I could, I’d like to solve all my son’s problems. I’ll settle for not causing him problems with my constant reminders to him that this problem needs solving.

I’d like life to be laid out in front of him, and all the right choices to be glaringly obvious. I’ll settle for: I’ve raised him the best I know how/I trust he’s got the know-how to find his own way.

I’d like to be wise, but I’ll settle for blessed.

Just as I’m grateful for faraway friends who are close to my heart. Just like God’s grace. I didn’t earn it, but in quiet moments of repose, it restores my soul and keeps me going.

My son is eighteen-years-old, and, as you can imagine, I’m keeping him covered in prayer. At the same time, I’m trying to keep my distance.

After all, he knows how to navigate the world, and he’s got a good head on his shoulders. I have to remember that I’ve raised him to the best of my ability, and now the rest is up to him.

Still, occasionally, if my prayers were read aloud, they would sound frantic. Because sometimes, that’s just how I feel.

He’s going to college. He’s got a steady girlfriend. He’s driving on New Jersey’s busy highways.

The other day, I prayed anxiously. I’d been thinking of all the things I hoped for him in his life, and felt tight. At the end of the prayer, I spoke to myself, just as if in conversation with a friend, trying to understand why I felt so unsettled.

I hope he does well.
I trust God knows what he’s doing.
I believe it all works out in the end.

Breathing in and out a few times slowly, I went into my sunroom and sat in the spot on the couch bathed in soft light rays. Just as my cat might do, basking and being. Just being.

There was a subtle shift in my soul and I exhaled, speaking out loud the words I had just said, only this time, I changed the punctuation slightly. When I put the emphasis back on Providence instead of on the problem, a wave of of peace washed over me.

I hope. He does well.
I trust. God knows what he’s doing.
I believe. It all works out in the end.

“What if you woke up and the only things that remained were the things you gave thanks for yesterday?” This is something I read on Twitter recently, by a site called Amazing Grace.

Staying in a state of grace is putting God back in charge. You know. Where he was all along. It’s okay to let go of things you really can’t control anyway. Just a gentle reminder from someone who’s been there.

When you are right you cannot be too radical; when you are wrong, you cannot be too conservative.
Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

earyikg21d4-maja-petricIn the news lately, we’ve been hearing about people committing awful acts of terror, and this term seems to come up more often than not: “self-radicalized.”

It might be more accurate to call it “metastasized.” Something incompatible to life taking root at the cellular level.

I’ve noticed that this word isn’t applied to everyone equally.

We don’t call these two grandmas in a shoot-out at Wal-Mart “radicalized.”

In most cases, the term is used when speaking of Muslims involved in violent acts, but I think it could be applied to people of any race, gender or religion who feel disenfranchised.

That being said, I still believe that most of the world’s population is comprised of peaceful, law-abiding people. Of course, there are some exceptions, but there are still many reasons to be hopeful about life.

God’s grace is still the oxygen of the universe.

Here’s what buoys my spirits.

To know that there are people like this four-year-old who read a thousand books and was made Librarian for a Day at the Library of Congress is like a vitamin for the soul.

To know that this elderly lady in distress dialed a wrong number and it turned out to be a police detective who stayed on the line to help her is evidence of Providence at work.

To know that these stray dogs in Turkey were given shelter at a mall by kind-hearted locals during a snowstorm warmed my heart.

To know that young and old can connect, as this 82 year old man found out when a 4 year old said, “hi, old person, can I have a hug?” brought a tear to my eye.

What if we took back ownership of the word, “radicalized,” and used it in the spirit spoken of by Dr. King?

We might self-radicalize toward full-scale compassion. Mobilize in the direction of brazen kindness. Maybe if we open our hearts and reach out our arms, we’d find we could embrace the whole world.

  • Someone saying, “I’m speechless!”
  • The Lone Ranger had a sidekick.
  • “Stay out of trouble,” I said to my teen-age son. “And have fun!”
  • A faith that claims to welcome all, simultaneously excluding some.

So I’m no longer driving, and have discovered Uber. I’ve met many drivers – some say very little, and some are quite talkative. Last week, my Uber driver chatted amiably with me, inquiring about my Freelance Writing projects and suddenly asked, “Are you a Christian?” I said that I was. “Well, we should talk.” He handed me his card, and it listed his title as, “Church Planting Catalyst.” He suggested that I might be interested in writing about their movement.

I mentioned to him that I don’t belong to a church, and it occurred to me that my writing to encourage people to go to church would be an intrinsic oxymoron. He told me that it wasn’t an issue and asked me to think about it and take a look at their website.

The site talks about the important role that believers play in establishing new churches in communities. It spoke of welcoming all believers, but as I read on, I noted an intrinsic oxymoron, and that is, women have no role in the organization. At all. It seems to be geared toward men exclusively, only referring to “ministry wife” as an option for women.

It would be another intrinsic oxymoron for me, a woman, to take on a writing project that would exclude women from making meaningful contributions.

Outreach to me is what SueBE’s Presbyterian faith does, as she wrote about in an earlier post – standing up for social justice. It’s what Lori’s Catholic Church does to minister to those in need. In my town, it seems that Catholic Charities helps more families than the government’s social services.  

Even the word “outreach” is all-encompassing, so I’m puzzled as to why any faith would decide to bypass some of God’s children. So, while I’m always in the market for new writing gigs, I think I’ll take an Uber to another destination. Somewhere that everyone is welcome to ride.

Scanning the headlines this week, I found myself leaping to conclusions and making assumptions. Before I knew it, I was psycho-analyzing public figures I don’t even know.

Governor Paul LePage of Maine found himself in hot water last week when he left a profane, threatening voicemail for a Democratic lawmaker. He’s ignited a lot of controversies lately, most of which are exacerbated by his brash style. I came to the conclusion that LePage was still fighting battles from his hardscrabble childhood. Okay. Figured him out. Next subject.

Flipped over to the Entertainment Section and read that actress Blake Lively had a baby shower that singer Taylor Swift attended. Hmm. That Taylor Swift has been collecting famous friends for years now. Probably a direct result of Kanye West ruining her VMA award moment.  Must be trying to prove that people really do like her. Okay. Figured her out. Next subject.

Of course, it did occur to me that these are people I’ve never met, and never will meet. The only “facts” I’ve got at my disposal are those found on the internet. I have no degree in psychology, so everything I’m assuming is just my own best guess.

One of my favorite sitcoms is The Odd Couple with actors Tony Randall and Jack Klugman. In one episode, Randall’s character, Felix Unger, says, “Never assume. When you assume, you make and ass out of u and me.”

We all make assumptions about each other, but we don’t know the whole story. It’s a good idea not to take our own meanderings too seriously. Lest we forget, people are making assumptions about us, too.

So even as I find myself putting on a judge’s robe that I never earned and banging a gavel in my own mind, I’ll also send up a quick prayer. “Bless them,” I’ll ask. “And forgive my little lapses.” I’m more grateful than ever that God’s grace is such a big umbrella!

Clean and Clear PostAlways Do Your Best. Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret.
Don Miguel Ruiz
The Four Agreements

So I was in the kitchen washing dishes yesterday, when, for reasons unknown to me now, I started to think of a time years ago when I made mistakes as a mother, and it left me feeling sad.

How could I do that? I asked myself. Before long, I was in tears, still scrubbing away at plates.

At just that moment, I noticed some marks on the wall where the trash bins used to be kept. There were little flecks of debris that I’d never noticed, as this wall was behind a door we always kept open.

The garbage can was gone from that spot. All that was left was the residue.

Just as the things I was beating myself up about were well in the past, and all that was left was the regret.

It isn’t here anymore, I said to myself, wiping down the wall. It’s been removed.

Odd as it may seem, I felt that God was speaking to me through the grungy grime!

The things we can’t forgive ourselves for are echoes from a bygone era. If we’ve truly changed our ways and have brought it to God in prayer, the only thing left to do is release it. Not forgiving yourself is like saying God doesn’t know best. If he’s forgiven you, there’s nothing left to forgive. It doesn’t exist anymore.

When I was done with the dishes, I realized that I felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted. As I cleaned in the kitchen, my conscience had cleared. I did my best at the time, I reminded myself, and I’ve learned to do better over the years.

Well. Laundry is next on my to-do list. I wonder what life-lesson I’ll learn from fluffing and folding?

Over the weekend, I took a deep breath and suddenly was in so much pain, I doubled over. The doctor on call said it was something called “pleurisy” and told me to go to the ER.

My son drove me to the hospital, and, on the way, I mulled over what this mystery condition was all about. Could it be the plural version of leprosy?!? Something that sounds like a fancy French dish can’t be a big deal!

Two stern-faced nurses, one male and one female, started to disrobe me and put electrodes on my chest for the EKG. At least buy me dinner first! I thought.

They put an oxygen tube over my nose, started an IV line, drew blood and wheeled me in for a chest x-ray.

Finally, one of the nurses smiled. “Love your cat socks,” she said. Another one laughed and said, “How great!” and pointed to her jacket, which had a pawprint design on it.

Another nurse, Marielle, asked what I did for a living, and it almost occurred to me to say I’m a professional patient of late, but told her about my writing gigs.

Her parents only spoke Tonga at home, she told me, but she really tries to speak English like a native. Her “friends” corrected her all the time, and she said that she sometimes  confused “was” and “were.”

I was impressed with her because she worked in the ICU of another hospital in our town on weekdays, and at this hospital’s ER on the weekends. She’s already achieved so much, but what makes her feel less accomplished is her grasp of the language.

The nurses focused on my cute cat socks, even though all the while I was thinking, I look and feel like forty miles of bad road. They didn’t see what I saw.

Marielle focused on her perceived language issues, even though all the while I was thinking, she’s young to have accomplished so much in her career. She didn’t see what I saw.

When I got home that night, I prayed for all the nurses who had taken care of me, and that we could all see each other through God’s eyes, healing each other with kindness.

20160206_142034-1It’s a lazy Sunday, and I didn’t go anywhere at all today. Kept my pajamas on. Kept my hair in its Bedhead-Blowout configuration. Even kept my “sleep socks” on – the ones so soft and plush that they don’t even fit into shoes. I can only wear them when “lounging.”

Walked into the kitchen because I felt like a sweet snack + a warm cuppa, and – for no reason at all – said to myself, “I am so blessed.” Opened the refrigerator and had to look past all the food to find the specific treat I wanted, and – for no reason at all – said to myself, “I am so blessed.”

Walked into the sunroom, saw the light streaming through the bamboo blinds onto the comfy couch, gazed upon the upside-down, snoozing cat, and – for no reason at all – said to myself, “I am so blessed.”

Walked into the living room, felt the cool air coming from the ducts, looked out at the sweltering summer day, and – for no reason at all – said to myself, “I am so blessed.”

Maybe I did go somewhere, after all – to the place where my heart resides. Luckily, the commute is only a stone’s throw. I just puttered around, watching old movies, knitting, noshing, and feeling blessed.

Had time to gaze at my navel, and didn’t even give myself a hard time about my muffin top!

Had time to wax philosophical, and didn’t even chide myself that the floor needs waxing!

I thought about nothing and everything, like the idea of kin. The people who just get you in life. For me, it’s writing people. Praying people. Knitting people. Kitten people. Kind-hearted folks with a sense of humor and a sense of purpose.

There was nothing happening at all at my house today, but – for some reason – there was nowhere on Earth I would rather have been. I accomplished nothing at all, except a trail of snack wrappers on the counter, a low-level of energy and a high level of contentment.

No, I didn’t go out at all today, and I didn’t miss a thing. Yep, I stayed in today.

Stayed in grace today.

Stayed in faith today.

Stayed in a positive place today.

It’s true what they say, don’t you think? There really is no place like home.

This Land is Your Lang

Vim and vigor.

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

These are words that don’t fully exist without their partner terms.

On this Independence Day, I’m reminded that “America” and “freedom” go together – even though it might sometimes seem like an elusive ideal.

It’s a lot like God’s grace. It’s not a selective thing, only available to beautiful people, or those “in the know.” It’s open source, as they say in the computer world. Free to all, for anyone to use at will.

But in recent times, it might seem that some Americans believe that freedom doesn’t apply to everyone.

A man from the United Arab Emirates was mistaken for an ISIS member while visiting Ohio last week. Footage from the police body cam was unsettling. In response to this incident, the Emirati government issued an advisory to its citizens not to wear traditional garb while traveling.

They can’t dress the way they dress at home? That’s like telling me I can’t wear a cardigan and cat socks! I’ll be drummed out of the Lil Ole Lady Knitting Club!! 🙂

If freedom doesn’t apply to what people can wear, what does it apply to?

I’ve always admired people willing to wear their faith and heritage on their persons. Muslim women who wear hijabs, Jewish men who wear yarmulkes, Catholic priests and nuns. In a world that is often hostile to religion, they dare to proclaim that they believe in something! It’s outrageous.

Now, I haven’t held a seance, so I’m not speaking directly for the founding fathers, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of what they would say if they were here today.

“Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” applies to everyone. No exceptions.

We all came to this country for the same reason: to be ourselves. Being an American means we can think, speak, and dress the way we see fit.

And if I want to wear a Fedora and fuzzy slippers to the diner for the Early Bird? Well, why not? It’s still a free country.

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