Turning 70

For you formed my inward parts;
    you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
Praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
    my soul knows it very well. psalm 139:13, 14.

This last sunset of my 6th decade has left me pondering my life. The consistent thread in my life has sewn a beautiful tapestry of life’s many different colors and stitches. Like every other human being on earth I have known tragedy and triump. I have sorrows that scar my heart but I have great love which heals my heart. I have had illnesses, chronic pain with many moments of healing and reprieve.
I have known great gain and loss. I caused most of my own heart ache so I blame no one but myself. To sum it up, I journey just like millions of others. So here now is my testament in 70 years there has never and I mean never in my life when I cried out to God and he was there for me. Upon hearing the voice of The Good Shepherd every time I stumble. He, Jesus, has been here with me and for me without fail. I know His voice!

So here I go…
Heading out this morning, into the sun
Riding on the diamond waves, little darlin’ one
Warm wind caress her, her lover it seems
Oh Annie, dreamboat Annie
Ship of dreams
Oh Annie, dreamboat Annie
Little ship of dreams

Grace

Photo by James Wheeler

I am always astounded when a renewed sense of the “Realm of Grace.” is gifted to me by the Holy. My dear mentor Dr. Hud McWilliams puts it this way, “Grace erodes all of our human ability to be gods. Grace removes ALL of our ability to PRETEND we are in control.”

I clearly see This Realm of Grace cannot be diminished, Grace cannot be penetrated by darkness, Grace cannot be stopped by disease nor death, and best of all it cannot be bought or earned!
The birthing place of Grace is Mercy. The person of Grace is Jesus our Lord who died and gave us his grace because our Heavenly Father is merciful.
This refreshing and renewing gift from Grace is that Grace annihilated Shame! And I bear it no more!

Nursing Journal Memories

She is a petite and elegant woman. She is dying. After receiving palliative care for a year and a few days, she is now receiving continuous care until she passes away. In the area of Hospice nursing, continuous care abbreviated to CC marks the twenty- four hour care beginning. I have been on twelve hour shifts with her for three days.
The first visit I noticed that she continuously positioned her right hand in a fist with her thumb slightly curvedat the top of the fist. I would straighten the hand out flat thinking this would be more comfortable but within five minutes that hand would return to the position of holding onto a rope. I began to observe that even in her brief waking moments she would do this action with both hands.
Eventually during very quiet and brief conversations we talked of her younger life and all the glorious days that love in life have brought her. A loving husband, healthy children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren. She told me that her husband is the best human being she has ever known. She was the first female professor of a big University in Texas and she said her husband supported her all the way!
On the last day she was weaker and her voice diminished so we didn’t talk much. I had been straightening her hands off and on for days and within a minute or to she would peacefully dose off and put her hands right back in this unique position. Finally, I asked her about it and she said, “sometimes I become a little afraid of dying and when that fear hits I am reminded of a braided cord. A cord made up of three separate fibers that are entwined as if they were one large rope. Unbreakable bonds, least that is what they say. One day the pain and fear overwhelmed me and I whispered to God and asked for comfort. Then as I prayed my hands seemed to involuntarily fold like a fist holding a rope and it was so comfortable and calming. As I lay there praying the Spirit of God greeted me so gently and told me he loved me and soon he would be taking me home. He told me to hold onto to this rope of The Trinity and not let go. He said that he won’t leave me and to just trust him and hold on to the rope and even as I grow weaker and you straighten my hands they return to the rope and I hold on so hard that I feel no pain nor fear at all. Within the hour this beautiful, faith filled woman died but without a doubt I know Whom she was holding to and that He would never break his promise.

“It is God who establishes us with you in Christ, and has anointed us, and who has also put his seal on us and given us his Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee. 2Corinthians 1:21,22

Like a sledgehammer

He said I felt like a sledgehammer in his chest
He said my steel magnolia eyes are the place he found rest
He said he never met a girl life me before or since
He said life without me made no sense
And the music played and the song was sung.

Evening in Paris Blues

Photo by Pierre Blachu00e9

I “feel” in color. These color harbour themselves in my heart like a traveling carnival. Today as I lay down to rest I am aware of a sadness wrapped around me like a blanket. The color I feel is called “Evening in Paris” blue. It is a Catalina blue tinged with muted dark lavender. What a beautiful color sadness can be. I see cafes quiet with an evening crowd. I see and feel a comfortable sense of lighting coming from the old gas street lamps that flickers burnt orange in the blue of this night. This sadness is comforting in a strange way. It is pondering missed people, remembering a special day that can never be again. It is a story to tell of both the good and the.bad of life.
The “Evening in Paris Blue” lay like a blanket upon the earth. Everywhere you look it is blue and it is okay to be sad sometimes. it is a primary emotion. In its soberest of actions sadness cannot be explained very well but here in Evening Paris blue there is no explanation needed. it is just a feeling. It will pass but I will see Evening in Paris blue again.

perfect and stubborn

Love will grow over barriers and around obstacles still blooming and still fragrant. Love is having the strength to stay. Love is a wild and furious risk, a pouring out of all that one can from that cup and drink it. Love is rich and poor. Love is sickness and health. Love is a verb, an action word. Nothing about love is passive. Love cannot be manipulated. Love. Risks. Everything. The Holy God is Love’s name…ponder this, ponder Him on this busy Tuesday of your life. Love changes everything!

Snapshot Dreams

Pages of snap shots in my dreams.


I rise early in the morning a few seconds post dawn. The melted butterscotch sky is streaked with baby blue and left over indigo. A nice squall blew up last night and the sand has no footprints in it. The sand dunes are pregnant with sea oats. The oats, my favorite tropical grass, sway charmingly in the breeze and quietly support the island with their roots. The large oats smell like salt and theirs stalks tall and sleek weave into grass.


Just in a snap spot of my dreams I take off running from shore as the rain begins. I dash and grab my laundry on the clothes line.. At that moment your camera just happened to find my face and you say,” your eyes are blue- gray, like seawater.” I close my eyes. When I open them you are gone.
Shutter stop.

The Knockout Punch

The knockout punch…

I have eaten nothing in three days.

The pain in my chest is a slow agony.

I have no memory of warmth with others of my kind.

Although fading, my longing drives my soul forward.

A primal memory of Joy beats like a captured bird in my brain.

Yet somehow I know Him and see the full Glory of God.

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me. Genesis 16:13

High School Fiction

These high school halls are not hallowed halls but they are unsurpassed in the scheme of life lessons….Truth and Fiction …

Remember that boy with the unfortunate eyebrows hurrying down the hall as if afraid or embarrassed? He was.

Remember that girl passing a note to her “steady” guy declaring her undying devotion because he said he “loved” her? He did not.

Remember when you thought a certain friend’s family seemed so perfect? They were not.

The stereo- types still linger in these tales of fiction. Fifty years later and I can name them all by heart.

We all wanted to be (well most of us) to be prettier, cuter, thinner, funnier, taller, shorter, darker, lighter, a better singer, a better dancer, the beauty queen, the sports star, the math genius, or the valedictorian.

I guess it is like the “Breakfast Club” and the “Big Chill” movie all rolled up together. (we did have the best music though). I always felt like the adults in my days of high school tried to minimize the harshness of the unspoken boundaries. There are many people that I admired from afar and would have like to have known better but there was also a nagging burden of exposure.

Ends up that about ninety-nine percent of High School Fiction left some of us hurt and even wounded and that is where reality steps in. No, we had not yet let our tender souls relax in the discovery zone of finding there is no such thing as perfect. How could we know that what lay ahead would require a lot more truth and a little less comparison?

Just saying…