Ordinary Life

Hindsight, you speak as clearly as you see. It was all too much, these words hurled at me.  I have collected each kindling line and here, set them aflame.  There is music in the crackling, the burning and  lifting away I hum along, louder now:  "... it is well..."  LAST YEAR WITH LARRY (by Larry, with his phone )  You are a psycho. Everyone knows it You are just someone I use to know You are not a VERY stable person. Your family is a cult. You will lie and cheat to get your way.  You attack anyone that disagrees with you You are on the bi-polar kick today I see. You really need some help I’m not saying that to be mean. You really need to get checked out I just simply no longer loved you Less of you is more for me You are just crazy Get in the real world Nope. I’m not going down your crazy rabbit hole. You were the problem in this marriage. I now believe that 1000%. You are not mentally stable and have major issues.  I pray for our kids you get hel...

:: p l a c e h o l d e r :: 

It's been a year since his gifts returned but I could not... gifts for being their father, returned in protest because I was their mother.  ::Laswell ~ It's been a year::

One of my internet friends has been tackling the phrase ' worship experience ' lately along with probing the idea that worship is something we "feel" or an environment we can create on Sunday mornings. As a person with a more reserved personality, this topic resonates with me and while I never feel that I have the answers , I am learning to join the conversation . My churched background has afforded many opportunities to feel pressure from the platform or my gathering of friends to 'perform' worship in a way that is more visible and animated than my comfort level. I have prayed beside people offering their prayers in tongues unknown. I have been told that my faith was only genuine if I was willing to pick up a snake. (There were no snakes present in the Kroger where this conversation occurred, thankfully - but it was a real conversation) I have scoffed at fog machines and cameramen running across the stage to get the next shot. I have scoffed at three piece su...

  Wasn't there always warm welcome,  plenty to go around?  With heads bowed in gratitude,  Here love once was found. 

There's a table, You've prepared for me  in the presence, of my enemies... 2011 Don’t hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you’ve got it in you, get along with everybody. Don’t insist on getting even; that’s not for you to do. “I’ll do the judging,” says God. “I’ll take care of it.” ~ Rom12 As I walk through this season of mourning, I stop along the way sometimes, wondering if these promise are still true for me, despite my own humanity. I believe that my heart was in the right place, but I am told, too, that hearts are wicked and deceptive above all else.  I hope that I have been obedient.  I hope that the desire for peace and love is not a seed wasted.  Motives are harder to be sure of when denied a share of the harvest.  Still, I will trust. It's all I can do. 

Though we are bricks of hardened clay, with corners rather sharp, the mortar of mercy and grace smoothed between our divisions, transforms us: a temple not built with human hands . Encourage and build each other up . 

...but the little boy grew up and up,  too big for the front porch swing. 'No more talk of Jesus, son He never gave me anything ...'

Chapter 1: BiLo  Sometimes her list would require six, but usually, scrawled in blue Bic ink beside 'bananas' was a (7) in parentheses; a week’s supply of potassium until the next shopping day rolled around. I try to remember now who did her shopping before it became our job. Likely an array of her extended network of family and friends, for though she didn't drive, Aunt Nellie June was well-known, and well-liked. She needn't go out, we came to her. And truly, it was our pleasure to help; to just be in her orbit.  So it was, back when we were not just kinfolk but also neighbors, I would take the list she had made after consulting the weekly circular, along with her envelope of carefully counted money, to the Bi-Lo on the corner, and do her weekly shopping.  Her list was quite specific, calculated for maximum savings and minimal waste. Seventy years in one primary location had worn a groove in her routine. Amongst a rotation of seasonal produce and various household prod...

In their homes, and more intimately, their kitchens, I was always warmly welcomed. Warm, probably because there was always something delicious being cooked. Even at a young age, I was offered a helping role, a listening ear and the priceless gift of examples to follow. There are days in those kitchens I wish I could visit again, recipes I wish I had watched more closely, and soft, fleshy old women I wish that I could still glean advice from. This series of short essays and stories is an overdue payment of homage on the investments they made in me, a bank note of gratitude for those who are still, thankfully, with me.