On a Cold, Friday Morning

My coffee has cooled so that now it is lukewarm, and to sit still any longer in this back room where there is no direct heat will only make me get colder. So, I’ll try to make this short. My internal clock thinks I only need 4 hours of sleep during the night. During the day, however, it thinks I need several hours. Even cutting WAY back on my caffeine intake, doesn’t seem to make a difference. So, I’m going on 4 hours of sleep, I’ll wind down when it’s least convenient and there isn’t anything I can do about it. If I drink more than 2 cups of caffeine in the morning, I’ll be up all night. If I drink no caffeine in the morning, I’ll be asleep when I need to be getting things done. Is there a solution? Maybe not, but I have found a way to get through it; reading God’s word. Sometimes I read my braille copy of the King James and sometimes I listen to an audio copy. The old testament is good to listen to, because the reader reads faster than I can so I get more of an understanding. However, when I want to actually study it, I have to actually read it for myself. I’ve read all of the book of Ruth, 1 and 2 Samuel and started on the first book of Kings. As for the braille reading, I’ve been in Romans here lately. Have I gained great wisdom? Not yet. :) But, I have gained some insight. One thing is certain, spending time in God’s word is never a waste of time. You ever tried to make something work and no matter how hard you try, it doesn’t work out? If not, then you’re either too young to know any better or you don’t want to admit it. We’ve all been there. We pray, we go forth with faith, we step out in to the unknown, we give it all we got...and it falls apart. Was God in it? In my case, He has been. Was it His will for it to fall apart? Yep, sure was. We’re taught by popular Christian ministers that God wants us to succeed. We are taught that if it’s His will for this or that to happen, it won’t fail. So, what do I do with something that is His will for it to fail? Well, nothing for it but to admit I was hasty, ask Him to forgive me for the wrong I’ve done and go make things right. It’s not been easy. Talk about humbling myself. But, there’s peace and freedom in humbling yourself before an almighty God, and there’s peace and freedom in realizing He will allow us to walk right in to that pit, just to show us what we’re made of. Am I a failure? No. Did I make a mistake? Yes. But, if God had not allowed me to make that mistake, I would have never known what He has known all along; it isn’t for me. So, it’s been more than 3 months since I’ve been on here, and in that time countless spammers have been trying to post comments to this blog. Annoying! A word to you spammers, “Go away and leave me alone!” As for writing, well, I’ve been doing quite of bit of that. Got about 47 thousand words on a new story. Well, it’s a story I started about this time last year, but it’s still new, and wow, it feels good to be writing again. I kind of feel like i have awakened from a long sleep. Reckon that’s what depression can do to a person. Sure don’t want to go back there, but I suppose depression is difficult to avoid after the death of a loved one. My mamaw will be gone 2 years come Feb. 20, and it wasn’t until just a few weeks ago that I realized how her death affected me. Nearly 2 years in a dee depression where I didn’t care about much of anything. Not that I don’t miss her; I do...very much. But, I’m on the backside of that hard time, and like I said, I feel like I’ve just woke up. It didn’t happen overnight, but in a way it feels like it. I was reading over some letters i wrote to her , ones I just wrote because I had no other way of expressing my pent up emotions, and I realized that while I remembered how I felt right after she died, I no longer felt the same way. I’m not sure why I’m saying this now, but maybe it will help someone out there. There is hope, so hold on, beloved. As long as Jesus lives, there is hope! And, speaking of our Lord, I came across something I think is interesting. Those who are blind and can not see what is happening on TV can now listen to the movie, “The Passion of the Christ.” It is described by a man, and the subtitles are read by a woman. I downloaded a copy and listened to it twice, and I realized that in Aramaic, the language I am told is spoken in the movie, Jesus’ name is Yeshua. In fact, those who are Messianic Jews do not say Jesus but Yeshua, instead. I’m not sure why that grabbed my attention. I believe the Lord knows we are talking to Him, whether we say Jesus or Yeshua, but if, while on earth Jesus spoke Aramaic and that was how His name was pronounced, then why are we American Christians so sure we have it right? Umm, maybe I’d better not go that direction. lol Happy Friday, y’all. Stay as warm as you can and spend time contemplating the love of our heavenly Father.

Home

The last few lines of Loretta Lynn's song, "Coal Miner's Daughter" have been haunting me, lately. "Not much left but the floor, Nothin' lives here anymore, 'Cept the memories of a coal miner's daughter." So, I woke up around one this morning, and here's what I wrote. Call it a poem, call it whatever you like. Just don't throw anything at me. Ok? lol Home with Mamaw was making that last turn and seeing the afternoon sun reflecting off the trees at the bottom of the hill Home with Mamaw was walking up the front steps and going right in Home with Mamaw was cornbread in the microwave and Pintos on the stove Home with Mamaw was “Coffee’s on!” and visitors after church Home with Mamaw was the scents of fresh cut wood and earth in the summer Home with Mamaw was the bite of a fresh snow and woodsmoke in the winter Home with Mamaw was seeing the moon on a clear night Home with Mamaw was impassable roads covered in ice Home with Mamaw was an old dolly piled with laughing kids Home with Mamaw was a slightly flattened ball after a game of Andy Over Home with Mamaw was well water, biscuits and sweetened rhubarb Home with Mamaw was warming yourself by a wood-burning stove before school Home with Mamaw was sled riding down the hill on Christmas Day Home with Mamaw was too many bee stings out in the yard Home with Mamaw was “Can’t make it through the day without a song about the Lord.” Home with Mom was plenty to eat Home with Mom was noise...always noise Home with Mom was ball games all weekend long Home with Mom was “Get out of the way! Let me sweep up this hair!” Home with Mom was toys everywhere I step Home with Mom was sisters sleep together Home with Mom was “Are you ready to go?” Home with Mom was “Cleanliness is next to godliness.” Home with Mom was her way or the highway Home with Mom was church when we could make it Home with Mom was hearing her sing “Thank You Lord for Your Blessings on Me.” Home with Mom was baby sisters to hold Home with Mom was left over biscuits in a baggie to take on the bus back to the blind school Home with Mom was home made breakfast to go on long bus trips to school on cold mornings Home with Mom was hot chocolate or tea to keep me warm before catching the bus on those cold mornings Home today is TV’s blaring so loud I can’t hear myself think Home today is the happy sound of children laughing Home today is Saturdays beside my man, not needing to say a word Home today is laundry that seems never done Home today is dishes that never stay clean Home today is quiet enough at night to write Home today is reading the Bible at the kitchen table Home today is learning to bake sinfully sweet treats Home today is long talks with my man after listening ears are asleep Home today is joying alongside my children when they learn something new Home today is playing in the yard, Home today is ticking baseboard heaters in the winter Home today is a noisy air conditioner in the summer Home today is neighbors way too close Home today is too small for visitors after church

The Unnamed Poem

I think about you a lot these days, The things you said and all your ways. The sound of your voice in laughter and song, Just hearing it I felt nothing was wrong. You’re just a memory, alive and well, In my stories I often tell, Of the things you taught me and funny things you said. Yes alive and well, but only in my head. At my table you sat, seems like yesterday. We drank coffee and talked away. I made you a bagel. I won’t forget. That I would get burned was your worrying fret. Good times have come, wish I could tell you about. Hard times have come and brought lots of doubt. And others have left us since you died. You would have sorrowed; you would have cried. But, death has no respect for souls, It rips through lives leaving holes, That will probably never be mended again; There will always be this emptiness within. “Death is swallowed up in victory,” we’re told. We’ll meet again on a street of pure gold. But, were is the comfort for the here adn now? Once again on my knees I must bow.

Rainy Day

The rain has been coming down since around 2 this morning, if not a little before that. All I know is I opened my back door to catch a cool breeze at 2, and it was pouring. It's slowed down, now, but everything is dripping, dripping, dripping. The birds are singing, too. They tweet away as if they had no care in the world. Maybe, they don't. :) After all, the Bible says they neither sew nor reap, and yet our heavenly Father feeds them. Mmm, my coffee is a welcome warmth this morning. It's slowly waking me up. But, I can tell that it's going to be a lazy day, especially if it keeps raining like the weather man says. Lazy day or not, feeling a cool breeze through my open back door, listening to the falling rain and the chatter of children are great ways to enjoy this day that the Lord has made. Rainy days always make me think of my Mamaw. I keep wondering why I don't smell cornbread baking in the oven and Pinto beans boiling on the stove. If it wasn't beans, it was homemade beef stew. Either way, we'd have cornbread and a healthy dose of family togetherness. Sometimes, I think that kind of togetherness died with my mamaw. But, then again, maybe it's still here and we've just not found it, quite yet. Mercy me, but the flies thought my open door meant they could come on in and be welcome. That's the risk you take, I reckon. :) I need a screen door out the back way. I probably let in a few ants, as well, but I got something that'll kill 'em dead, so I'm not worried 'bout 'em. I've made a couple of big decisions here lately, besides my diet, and I'll blog about them another time. I'm trying to keep my posts on one topic at a time. ;) But, just to give you a sneak peek, the decisions I've made concern dogs and going places. Save it to say, I've been too lazy too long, and I'm determined to get my rear in gear. lol Until next time, though, thank y'all for reading. It means a lot.

A Writing Wednesday: Memories

They say to write what you know. Write what you feel. So, here are some thoughts from yesterday.

I stepped outside to walk to the Post Office this afternoon, and like a fog, the scents of damp earth and wood smoke surrounded me. Added to the sixty-four degree temperature, it made me think of spring, not the last day of January. It also made me remember springtime at my grandparents’ house.

Memories are funny things. Sometimes, they bring feelings of sadness, especially when you’re remembering a loved-one who has passed away. Other times, memories bring joy. Just like people, memories are different. Yesterday’s memory makes me a little sad and a little happy, too.

Springtime at Mamaw’s. Faint wood smoke lingering in the air from the chilly morning a few hours before, damp earth just waiting for something to be planted in it, the smells of homemade beef stew or Pinto beans cooking on the gas range in the kitchen, the sound of split logs hitting the walls of the wood house as my papaw prepared for the next winter, I remember like it was yesterday.

Knowing I was home, I’d hurry from the car and up the front steps. I’d grab the handle of the screen door and walk right in, knowing I was welcome. The screen door would bang shut behind me, as I made my way toward the kitchen where homey smells of cooking food and Mamaw waited. I’d open the microwave, and sure enough, left over biscuits or cornbread would be arranged on a plate inside. Once, when there was only one biscuit left, my cousin and I fought over it, eventually tearing it in half so we both could get some.

Pulling out a chair, I would sit at the table and sigh. Usually, no one was interested in hearing about a twelve-year-old’s daily account of what her friends and latest crush had or had not said at school, but not Mamaw. She’d listen and give her advice, all the while making me feel like I was the most specialist girl in the whole wide world. And to her, I was, along with my sisters and my cousins. You’d have thought we kids hung the moon or turned in to God’s perfect angels over night. I miss being loved like that.

Sometimes, Mamaw and I would sing together. She was the one who taught me to hear the alto part in a song, and to this day, I can still hear her singing alto when I sing “Amazing Grace”.

Every time I catch a whiff of wood smoke, fresh snow or damp earth, I think about being at my grandparents’ house. I’m there, hearing dogs bark close by, remembering how the sun goes down behind the mountain around six P.M. in the summertime. More than anything, I want to go back home. I want my kids to play in the yard I played in. I want them to peel boiled eggs, just like we did one Easter, and leave their colored egg shells in the yard for me to find, just like Mamaw found our mess. I want to sit on the porch in the morning with a cup of coffee and listen to the song of birds and the occasional whoosh of a passing car. But, time is elusive, and I can never go home again.

These memories are unique to me. No one else can have the exact same memory as I have. But, like an album of pictures, I can pull the memories out and cherish them time and time again. Probably the best thing about my memories is I can share them. Sharing them keeps them alive, and in my memories, Mamaw lives.