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The first line of the first post from each month of 2009. Done divinely by David. We’ll see how mine goes.
January: Another new year, and time once again to look at our attitudes and habits.
February: There doesn’t seem to be a lot of middle ground when it comes to speaking in tongues.
March: Now that my Tony has turned into a large, loud, smelly tom cat it’s time to visit the vet.
April: I think faith often starts in childhood.
May: I haven’t forgotten or abandoned you guys, and I’m not really missing, just quiet.
June: When someone says “God” what image comes to mind?
July: I’ve been playing with my new digital camera lately.
August: Reading her ad, she realized the dress had survived the past twelve years better than she had.
September: You big dummy, why didn’t you let us know you were hurting?
October: Sorry it’s been so long. I found this stupid farming game on Face Book… (forgive me, but I am sooooo bored) …well that and dozens of relatives.
November: This, my brothers and sisters in Christ, is how we make God smile.
December: She was somewhere between thirteen and fifteen years old, and she never used a computer, talked on the phone, or rode in a car.
Hmm, it’s been quite a year.
This is a Christmas repost from 2007. I thought about updating and dusting it off, but decided to let it stand, as is.
She was somewhere between thirteen and fifteen years old, and she never used a computer, talked on the phone, or rode in a car. TV would have seemed like witchcraft to her, and an airplane would have inspired sheer terror. She was a sweet, simple, country girl, from a poor working family, who probably never owned more than two dresses or one pair of shoes at a time.
For her, a formal education would have been impractical and out of reach. She learned from her mother how to cook, clean, care for children, and run a home. That was her lot in life and she was content with it. She had won the love of a good man, with a tender heart, and was looking forward to becoming his wife.
She lived during a time when speaking with angels wasn’t unheard of, and wasn’t as likely to get one locked away as it is today. And an angel told this simple, virgin, country girl she was going to have a child, not just any child, but the only begotten Son of God.
No one believed her, at first, but two thousand years later people, who don’t believe any part of the old story, know her name. She is honored in song, and remembered in films. Many of us wonder if we could have borne such a heavy responsibility.
Never think that God can’t use you, because of your lack of education or speaking skills.
1 Corinthians 1:27 “But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty;”
Never think your past life will hinder His use of you.
2 Corinthians 12:9 ”… for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
Never be afraid to step out on faith.
Galatians 3:26 ”For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.”
God can and will use you, if your heart is willing.
You big dummy, why didn’t you let us know you were hurting? You have friends who would forgive you anything, and do our best to help you get through anything. You made the one decision that leaves us totally helpless. The store is so quiet, people with swollen eyes and weak smiles, trying to hide our sorrow and the thoughts we can’t help but have. Did I in some way contribute to the pain you could no longer bear? Was there something I could have done to help? You’ve left so many questions without answers. Why Ray? What made you decide this was the only way?
I have every confidence, my friend that we will meet again, some day. Right now I don’t know if I want to hug you or knock you on your butt, probably both, and each just as heartfelt. Until then, rest in Him, and enjoy the peace you couldn’t find here with us.
On Wednesday, September 2, Ray R. Vickers Jr. took his own life. He was a good man and my coworker and friend. He is already much missed.
For once the eight-track didn’t have to be coaxed into not eating the tape, which meant we were ready to listen to the comedian we’d seen on a new show called Saturday Night Live. As six of us sat on my bedroom floor, the smoke of strawberry incense swirling around our heads, and black light posters glowing, George Carlin’s voice came through the speakers like an ice pick through the heart of polite society. We alternated between shocked and hysterical laughter as we listened to “Class Clown” and “Seven Words”. If one could actually die laughing the “Hippy Dippy Weatherman” would have done me in, that day.
How did we get here, George, to the end of your life and more than half-way through mine?
Some things hit kind of hard.
“Always do whatever’s next.”
“Don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things.”
“Just cause you got the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.”
“The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.”
“Weather forecast for tonight: dark.”
“May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.”
Good-bye George. Thanks for the memories.
While Hubby and I were cleaning out the closet today, we ran across an old blue sundress, in a size I will never see again. As he held it up for my inspection, I thought about throwing it out and just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Right before my ex-husband and I split up, I was feeling pretty lousy about myself. I’d gained a few (very few) pounds with each child, and felt fat. My marriage was all but over, and I felt totally inadequate as a wife and a woman.
I saw the dress one afternoon and thought it was pretty, so I bought it to cheer myself up, even though the only places I had to wear it were work and home, where no one would notice or care.
While I was getting ready for work the next morning my son, who was four at the time, came in and said, “Mommy you’re very pretty in that dress. You look just like Cinderella.”
So in answer to my husband’s questioning look, this afternoon, I said, “Yeah, it’s hopelessly out of fashion, and I will never be that size again. Let’s just put it back.”
I can’t think of one good reason it shouldn’t hang there another 18 years.