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Alice and Carman stopped over last night to return a laundry basket of mine. I hugged that teddy bear of a son and his tiny wisp of a wife, and while we were still standing together asked if I could get them something to drink. "Would you like a beer?" I asked Alice, but she demurred. Still, Carman stood there clutching a coffee mug in his hands, so I asked if he'd like a beverage in there.

"You know how you like coffee mugs?" he started, and I said yes, especially big ones because of my hand tremor. "Alice and I thought we would get you this," he said as he handed it to me. Pretty mug, I thought, with teal coated on the inside, and I turned it around.


"Grandma" written in script with a little flower.

And I didn't have to ask what that meant, because I knew. So I just stood there, and tears sprang to my eyes and I just sobbed, "Oh my God, oh my God."

There were hugs, of course, but really, Oh my God. Thank you, God. A miracle is going on in our midst. This tiny seed is growing and it's too soon to tell anyone, but they had to tell their moms.

And I can leave this out here on the Internet because it's huge place and I doubt anyone will run across it. But I want to remember, and savor such a sacred moment in my life.


The eyes have it

I struggle about writing about personal things. I love when people allow themselves to be vulnerable to others, but I don't know if I should do it myself. When I can't be objective or calm, when I'm feeling emotional, like the depression I've struggled with after finding out I now have wet macular degeneration in both eyes - well, I don't know about letting all that out.

And then I think, oh yes, yes, I should. Stoicism is overrated. Silence can be a breeding ground for depression. So yes, posting here again after years, knowing most likely no one will see it anyway. So it's good practice. I'm 60 years old now and have wet macular degeneration in both eyes. Thank God, though, that there's treatment, which wasn't available at all not many years ago.

Grateful for dreaded and hated shots in the eye.


God and Eyeliner

I have Essential Tremor, which makes my hands shake, which has made it challenging as a female who wears make-up. I've learned a technique for applying mascara - I hold my right wrist with my left hand, which gives me a little more control with a shaky wand. Eyeliner had become a bit more problematic for me, even with the wrist-hand technique, and there were skips and jumps as I struggled to draw a line with my eyeliner pencil.

But then for some reason one day I closed my eyes, positioned the pencil on the outside of my right-eye and started pulling the stroke inward, feeling where my hand was on the lash line of my eyelid instead of using my sight. Maybe it quieted my mind, maybe it tricked my hand into doing some it'd done for years - however it worked, when I opened my eyes I had drawn a thin, perfect line right above my lashes.

I think I'm starting to experience God in a closed-eyes way too. The more time I spend reading about him, focusing my mind on him, trying to still my spirit and listen, the more often I wake up with an awareness and gratitude for the creator of it all. Things look different. The dark silhouette of a tree against an early morning sky is so beautiful it makes me ache and brings tears to my eyes. I wait patiently behind a cyclist in my car on a back road and then give him wide berth as I circle around him. He raises a hand in thanks and his gesture fills me with love. I extend a small kindness which is responded to with acknowledgement - we are two human beings connected by a thread of God's grace.

Just as I am using the sense of touch instead of sight to put on eyeliner in the morning, perhaps I am starting to live my days with a God sense intermingled with my human sense.

"...the person who takes shape within is formed by something you can't see and touch - the Spirit - and becomes a living spirit." ~ john 3:5, the message



The Power of Color

I had a fist-sized rock lodged firmly in the pit of my stomach. Too much work, too little time, too much anxiety. Suddenly while researching thumbnails of images for a freelance job, I ran across yellow.

A square of yellow filled with vines and leaves and butterflies. But mostly it was the yellow I saw. My spirit reacted immediately to the sunshine color. Stress was subdued, my brow unfurrowed itself, my soul softened.

I think in heaven there are colors beyond our wildest imagination, and they have more power than we know. Here on earth I can only taste a bit of the emotional impact that color has, and how it can unexpectedly make my soul respond and rejoice.


My Pastor's Email Sig Line

Seek justice. Help the oppressed. ~ Isaiah 1:17


Sweet September

Sweet September. What a golden month it is, when summer clings to many of its days, and Autumn nudges into evenings and early mornings. There's a heaviness to the leaves now, sagging under the thickness of their deep green color. Here and there the landscape is startled by a tree that has jumped the gun and is already turning glorious shades of burgundy and mustard yellow.

I'm going to miss the symphony of crickets and frogs outside my window. Is part of the purpose of their sound to soothe the souls of humans and quiet their minds? I wonder.