That question could apply to any bazillion topics. Mine, today, is directed to those unsung hero’s that write for a living.
The last few days, I have lived at my keyboard. Not writing, but listening to those that do. I am fresh from an online conference for authors. What am I doing hanging with them when I’ve yet to produce a book?
Good question. I ask myself that on a regular basis. The answer may not make sense, sometimes not even to me. A voice led me here, where it came from doesn’t matter because it was real to me.
As I sit under the tutelage of educated folks, I am learning new words. Like Scrivener, Trope, enneagrams. Don’t ask me for definitions, as I haven’t wrapped my head around them yet. I fear there are more lurking about, yet to surface. One of the speakers I heard mentioned we never stop learning. I have grasped I am in over my head and writers are introverts.
My dear husband disagrees with me being introverted. He thinks because I can carry on a conversation I am an extrovert. Not so. This conference has proved my point. All I did is sit and listen, barely responding to questions or comments and I am exhausted! Interacting with people, and apparently just listening wear me out.
The caveat is how much a writer must do to get their words not only published, but then sell themselves. They must be their own advertising agent, convincing others why they need to purchase this book. Let me assure you, this is no easy task for someone who prefers not to call attention to themselves.
Why do they put themselves through this? Because they have a message. It is an inner voice that says their words are of value. That others could learn from a writers experience or wisdom. That’s what Jesus’ dad did. He chose to write a book, sharing his life and all kinds of other stuff that are helpful for living. He included people that set examples, both good and bad for us to learn from.
There is so much more to absorb. Same as reading the words of the Good Book-we never stop learning.
If a school teacher did this today, I bet she could lose her job. Oh, it had all the wrappings of being a good, wholesome thing to do. But I thought I was going to die.
This awful event took place in my early elementary years. The deed? Every so often my teacher would bring in her electric fry pan to class. That alone, was a risky thing. One of us students could have gotten burned if we got too close. It never happened…but it could have.
Her logic was to bring in foods that might be out of the norm and prepared them for us to try. I can’t recall anyone balking at the items she brought in. That is until me. Some of the foods she introduced to us were lima beans, asparagus, brussal sprouts, and much more. I had no issue with that because those were foods we ate at home and liked them just fine.
My undoing was the day no electric frypan was needed. She brought cottage cheese. Up until this day, our teacher brought in normal spoons. On cottage cheese day, the spoon looked more like a huge stirring spoon some cook would use in preparing a dish for one hundred people. I repeat, thought I was going to die.
What makes people like this stuff? It’s snow white, lumpy, and tastes awful. Looking at my description, you could imagine vanilla ice cream with some added cookies or something. While its not my favorite, vanilla ice cream at least tastes good. Not so, for cottage cheese.
Speaking of ice cream, reminds me of the debate my husband and I have from time to time. Soft serve is what is trending now. Likewise, with frozen custard. You know, the stuff that melts all over the place if you don’t eat it fast enough. Give me ice cold, solid, ice cream, thank you. Dave will enunciate it, “It’s ice creeaamm that is so good.” I come back with no “It’s iiicce cream.” Around we go trying to convince the other one how wrong they are. It never ends; a first world issue with no relevance.
At any rate, back to the cottage cheese thing. No doubt some of you will be giving me all kinds of feedback on how you most enjoy cottage cheese. that’s fine as long as you realize I’m not changing my mind.
The good Lord has created all kinds of food for all kinds of taste buds. We can at least be grateful and agree on that.
Today I take a break from the norm. Usually I’m writing to tell you of my past. Today is today.
The most mundane, ordinary things speak loudest to me. Past blogs have shared how life with Midnight, our dog, spoke to me. Another was Gods’ sense of humor in how he orchestrated a job for our son. Today it is my dish drainer. Well, sort of.
It is one of the newer of kitchen items I own. When I washed dishes, I was setting them on the bottom of the sink, where sometimes it may not have been freshly cleaned. Oh, TMI-sorry!
I spied a collapsible number in the home improvement center my husband and I frequent. First, I must think on it. I am, not good at instant decisions. Recently, I took the plunge and purchased one. It works well except for one tiny detail. It does not drain well. Not good since that is what it is designed to do.
Casually mentioning this to my man, he set about drilling out bigger holes for drainage. I am telling you; I do not think there is anything he would not do to make my life better. Not all men are this way and I know it.
Do not think I am attempting to rub it in your face that mine does and yours does not. My point is, it can be hard to put faith or any kind of trust in this guy, Jesus. A man you have never laid eyes on. In light of family and personalities, it may not be your husband, but the upbringing you experienced with a father.
Understood. If you are in an unfortunate relationship, what now?
Currently, I am reading a memoir of a famous personality and her road to knowing Jesus. It was not an easy one. Much of her life made sense, until after she formed this friendship with him. Then things started getting sticky.
Popular opinion says life gets better knowing Jesus. I wish to rephrase that and say life gets bearable knowing Jesus. The problem lies in the fact we are too human for our own good. Making a poor decision is too easy, and can take a nasty downward spiral.
This is the very reason why a friendship with him is vital. Jesus directs steps. He brings people into our life for one of two reasons. Either to better identify who we should avoid, or, to recognize his direction and follow it. Getting to know him through his Good Book is a great start. Focus on it, instead of our wishes.
Wishes are a good thing, but a tad too human. Speaking for myself, they have not always been of a godly nature. I want what I want.
What Jesus wants might take us places we would never initiate on our own. Even those difficult times in life can serve a purpose in honing in on how Jesus sees us. He has designed you for a specific task. Others might be able to accomplish it, but then you would not see the growth in yourself. That is what it is all about. Growth. With his help, I might add.
Confession time; I do not know what his help looks like. Just as there are no two identical snowflakes, neither are there set in stone ways Jesus works. With assurance, I can tell you this, if your heart is in seeking him, he makes the way known. You will see it and be able to identify it.
It is only fair to say, his way is not always the easiest way. The potential for pain is there. I hate pain! However, experiencing it, we can make certain not set ourselves up for a repeat performance. Wisdom moves in. So does strength to do the hard stuff. Supplied by none other than you know Who.
Must I really have to learn how to cook all over again?
A year before I was married, my fiancé gifted me with a cookbook. Had I realized he was concerned about my cooking, I might have tried a few recipes in it before the wedding. No, I probably wouldn’t.
After our marriage, I removed the cellophane wrapper off the book. Inside was a foreign language; words like parboil, sear, scald with many others, just to name a few. It was enlightening in ways I never wanted to learn.
Ahh, learn. That must be where the crux of my problem lies. I do not speak kitchen-nese. In our last house-hunt I desperately sought a residence that had no kitchen. To no avail, they all have one.
The frustration doubled with this most recent home we now live in. Allow me to clarify my husband desires me to have good tools to work with. I do, He selected a lovely range with a double oven.
However, there seems to be an awful lot of operator error. I didn’t realize until I put the range use that it’s a convection oven. He knew that but somehow I missed reading that little detail. Do I lower the temperature in baking, or shorten the minutes? Each time I must decide which to do.
Translated, that means I learn how to cook all over again. It took me two years to learn how to fry an egg to his liking. Fifty plus years later, I now must master this newfangled oven.
But it doesn’t end there. One visit at my daughter, Cindy’s house, we began cooking the evening meal. She pointed out a plastic gadget to use in frying up hamburger. “I don’t know how I ever got along without this.” She was right, it was a delight to use. If you can find any delight in the kitchen, I mean.
Upon returning home, and frying up hamburger for spaghetti, I thought of Cindys’ kitchen tool. Using a fork, the handle isn’t quite long enough without my feeling the heat. It didn’t do nearly as good a job as hers chopping up the meat.
That settles it, I’ll get one. It kinda grinds me to get this new utensil when I got along without it for so long. Not to mention its an addition to a room I try to avoid going into in the first place,
Odd, I never seemed to have qualms adding a quilting tool to my collection. The Good Book says there is nothing new under the sun. I wonder what cooks used way back when before this thingy hit the market? I might not want to know.
Garage sale season has arrived and I’ll try hanging my sign out again. Repeat try anyway. Ever since we moved into our downsized home, I have been trying to unload excess baggage. Unsuccessfully for the most part.
It seems no one wants my stuff. Gwen, a former neighbor of mine was uncannily good at it. I will never forget the year ago, we went in on one together. As we sat in the hot sun, a van pulled over; as the driver strolled towards us, she turned to me. “The bikes are not for sale.”
“How ‘do, Ma’am? Fine day for a sale. Are you selling these bikes?”
How did she know he would ask about them!
I can’t say her stuff was any better than mine, she just knew what was in demand. Now that I give it thought, our kids were young so there were a certain number of toys and outgrown children’s’ clothes. That makes a difference. Those days are long past
Today I have big stuff, area rugs, exercise equipment, and excess furniture to dispose of. Ok, so my furnishings are not the latest and greatest. Heck, all kinds of people shop at the Salvation Army and come out with purchases I would never consider. With recycling and refurbishing items trending now, one would think people would love to grab these
I know. If that is the idea, they would happily prefer for us to do the refurbishing making items look new again. Few people want to invest the elbow grease it takes, I don’t either.
Even my kids have let me down. I distinctly told all three of them to buy large enough homes so they could take my unwanted stuff. Did they cooperate? Nope. Probably what they do want are the things I’m still using and enjoying myself. Of course, with so many miles between us, doesn’t help in getting anything to them either.
Several quilt books and sewing supplies will be available to buy. Hopefully, the kids will appreciate that. I’m not the quilter I used to be, or maybe never was. Anyway, if all goes well, my quilt room should look neater. Should, being the key word. Stay tuned.
I eagerly look forward to my forever home, where there will be no excess baggage. Did you know a place is being prepared just for those who be living in heaven? I’m not sure what all to expect, but I know it will be perfect. All I need will be there, Jesus, waiting for my arrival. No fuss, no muss, no garage sales.
Recently, I and my table members had our picture taken at our last meeting of the season. Wonderful women, all of them. But do you ever wish when having your picture taken, that someone else could stand in for you?
After seeing the pic, I realized that somehow, it was my aunts’ image that showed up unannounced. Pretty tricky, seeing how she is deceased. The horror of it all indicates that I look just like her. Here I was, worried about looking like my mother! Now this…
Upon showing the picture to my husband, he snickered, “You can’t deny family heritage.” I can if I want, until stuff like this happens. You don’t have to scold me for focusing too much on myself, I’m aware.
I realize there is a benefit to having your picture taken. At the risk of sounding morbid, go to any funeral and you will see what I mean. Pictures of the deceased are posted on a big screen. That is beneficial for others to see you in better, happier times. It leaves a vivid memory of a life well lived.
That very thing is what made my husband a believer of photos. When his father passed away, there were few pictures of him. Reason being, his dad was the one taking pictures of everyone else. While my husband is not a fan of standing in front of the camera, he is far more tolerant of it so the rest of us can enjoy images of him in the future. Gratitude abounds here.
I go so far as to agree with him, therefore allowing others to take my picture. Unfortunately, I have protested so many shots of myself, I’ve frightened others, It’s just easier to not take my picture. All I ask is for them to pass my approval. I take horrible pictures.
Half-jokingly I request showing my good side, and turn my back to the camera. “Oh no, they say, it looks just like you!” My heart and self-image take a beating.
Because I love words, I would rather others described me by word instead of image. That’s what Jesus did you know? From cover to cover, his book is of words describing himself without any pictures.
But, speaking of images, he took them on. He came to earth looking like his creation, so that we could relate to him. While here, he took the image of God, for all to see his dad’s holiness. Finally, he took on our wrongs, so that we could have free access to eternity with perfection.
Its important for you to understand I don’t look for these things. They come to me unplanned and seemingly out of nowhere. Snapshots that impress me, stuff that I can share with you. Like my neighbors Ginkgo tree.
Last year the homeowner’s association of our neighborhood planted it to replace a tree that died. I was ecstatic because I love ginkgos! It was a baby, all of two feet tall with twig branches. Until I realized, girl, you’re not going to live long enough to see this in its full- grown beauty.
Sometimes I crack me up! To get so excited over something I won’t see.
Hopefully winter is behind us, spring is coming and the tree is growing. I snapped this picture to tell you how it spoke to me. New life is coming. Or should I say renewed life is coming?
It was proof positive that we all have a future renewed life to look forward to. Not everyone can see that. It reminds me of the young girl that was struggling in her teen years. Her mom did the best she could to offer encouragement, letting the girl know a new day was coming that could be better.
As so many teens would say, “You don’t understand.”
Maybe the mom didn’t, after all, generations live in different generations. Times change. Issues can be chameleon-like, taking on different shades based on the background of current society. What remains the same is the struggle. It’s difficult to get excited over something we can’t see.
This is why it is imperative to blow the dust off your Good Book and give it a read. To be lifted up and get a birds-eye view is nice. But to get a Gods-eye view gives hope and enlightenment. Everything around you will take on a different viewpoint.
Plants and trees experience a dormant season. The COVID pandemic has given us a taste of what that is like. Never have I given a thought to nature taking a forced time out. How good it must be, for plant life to feel the warmth of the sun, taking nourishment of the spring rain. Just to come alive again!
Here is my take-away for you. Splash in the puddles, rejoice in a brand-new day. Give thanks that our dormant season is becoming a thing of the past. Grasp hold of the opportunity that God gives for us to have a new life, with his perspective making all the difference in this world and the next.
Mistakes in life are too often downplayed. They have a place of value. I can tell you firsthand, my best lessons have been learned through the uh-ohs of life.
Generally speaking, people don’t like to confess their failures. The need to be always right is part of the human nature.
My former neighbor Selina, once told me she had never given her mother a moments concern. Looking back at that conversation, I wonder if I raised my eyebrows?
She became pregnant out of wedlock when she was fifteen years old. Current society doesn’t think that is any big deal, but back in the early sixties, yes, it was frowned upon. Selina also openly admits that she has a favorite child. Imagine how the ‘unfavorite’ kids feel.
Have you ever heard a person say they have no regrets? Thoughts come to mind that perhaps they have never challenged themselves. Nothing ventured, nothing gained is true. Or maybe there is no inquisitive nature.
My husband for instance, as a child was always wondering what makes things work. More than once he took a perfectly workable object apart to learn the mechanics of it, but when put back together, it no longer worked. I don’t believe his parents ever chastised him. If they had, it would have thwarted his curiosity. Today the man can build or repair anything-and this wife is thankful!
Like anything, the pendulum could also swing the other way. I recall a co-worker learning of a position open that she was interested in. She applied, and was interviewed. She gave herself a glowing report, claiming she could easily transition into this new role. For her sake, I hoped she didn’t get the job, because no way she could perform to the degree she implied. It would do nothing for her reputation.
Another downfall to not being honest with yourself is the false sense of security. To be ‘your own person,’ to the extent of not acknowledging a need for Jesus is risky. So much of life is beyond control and to think events can be manipulated in a pleasing manner is a recipe for disappointment.
In my own experience, I have found a friendship with Jesus has given me a healthy view of myself. I see all kinds of faults, but Jesus shows me he can take those flaws and turn them into a productive work that encourages others and makes both he and I look good at the same time. He can do stuff in and through me that I could never do on my own.
Do you get into folklore stories? Some folks are and can’t get enough of it. The reason I ask is I’ve just finished reading a book that claimed to be a true legend. With some research I learned a true legend is a story handed down that is true, but there is no proof of it.
The only legend I am familiar with is the one about J. Have you heard of him? Tons of books have been written about him. From what I understand, J was from another world. How he got here is disputed. But it’s hard to deny the existence of a guy standing in front of you.
According to the story, a magical voice spoke to a young girl saying she was going to have a baby, but not by natural means. Supposedly she was a goody two shoes, as we call people today that seem to do no wrong. Naturally this caused quite a stir from her family, even her boyfriend was put off by the whole thing.
One would need to be a fly on the wall to hear the conversations that followed her announcement. Nothing is documented on what her folks had to say, but the boyfriend was ready to nix their marriage plans. But the magical voice spoke to him too, so he wound up staying by her side.
So that is how J came to planet earth. He was an interesting sort of character. People either loved him or hated him. He had that kind of personality that seemed to draw out a persons’ true character. It was as if he could see right through them and read their minds. But he told neat stories that always seemed to have a message and drew folks to him from all over.
Keep in mind he was an alien from another realm, they can do what no man can. J healed sick people. That could be another reason for drawing as many crowds as he did. His actions irritated so many knowledgeable men of the day. J made them look bad because he could do things they couldn’t. He knew things that they didn’t. J claimed to be on a mission.
There was only one thing the haters could do…get rid of J. It would solve all their problems and once again, folks would look up to them in respect. To accomplish this a trial was necessary, only the timing was bad. There was a religious holiday going on. So a pretend one was established.
The scum of the earth people were hauled in to court giving false testimony. The whole thing was a cruel joke. But it was effective and J was tortured, beaten, and nailed to a cross. Yes nailed! Let that sink in a moment. He hung there for all the world to see until he died. The haters won, or so they thought.
One would wonder, if J knew so much, why would he put himself through this? What exactly was his mission? He made some outrageous claims. Like he and his dad created life! You and I know how babies come, but this lends the question: What came first, the chicken or the egg? Something had to get the ball rolling, right?
It didn’t stop there. He was always talking about the home he came from. That people could come live there with him if they wanted to. How is that possible? All he asked was to give credit where it’s due. To acknowledge him as who he was, the Son of God. J had a way of making all the wrongs of this world turn into something right, like is was his ultimate plan all along.
One little problem with the haters plan. They neglected to keep in mind they were dealing with an alien. J didn’t stay dead! He helps us see what he sees, encourages us to want what he wants…he draws us.
J is waiting but the ball is in your court on what you think of this true legend.
Our doorbell rang. Midnight barked her announcement that we had a visitor. My husband headed for the door telling her to settle down. Midnight barked quieter.
“Shush girl, I’m right here.”
“Woof.” Quieter yet.
“That’s enough!”
Midnight stalked away with disgust written on her snout, mumbling “mwmwm.” After all she was only doing her job!
Pets do have personalities. As far as Midnight was concerned, the door belonged to her, likewise the sidewalk. Naturally she would sound the alarm when someone who didn’t belong used them. Midnight included in her fold Grandma, and her dog Puddin. Grandma adored Midnight and Puddin adored coming to our house to watch the fish swim in the fish tank. It appeared to be canine MTV.
Midnight considered us family, but not everyone was thrilled by that. My husband and I both grew up with pets, but my husband was done with them. Our son had other ideas though. I vividly recall the day my husband called me upstairs where he was working.
“I’m getting weak,” he said. “I’m thinking of getting Jamie a dog. Can you think of any reason we shouldn’t? Please, any reason at all?”
His petition took me by surprise because nothing had been said recently. At the moment I could not come up with a reason why our boy should not have his dog. Later I was able to pinpoint an issue with pet ownership. Hair. Everywhere. Which should not have come as a surprise because we already had a cat. Adding another pet to the mix just meant twice the hair.
After we brought our pup home, the family gathered around the table for the serious discussion of a name for this new family member. Because she was all black, I leaned towards Licorice. But that was quickly squashed due to my tendency to go by nicknames. Standing at the door calling for Licker didn’t seem appropriate. We settled on Midnight but called her by many names, Pup, Poochkie, Mid, Mutney. She responded to all, lapping up the love and attention most of us gave her.
At about the same time Midnight joined our family, some friends of ours added a pup to their family as well. Their experience with a new puppy wasn’t altogether good.
“Are you folks having problems at night with your puppy whining and crying after being put to bed?”
“No, not at all,” I said, perplexed as to why they were experiencing this. All the kids welcomed her with open arms, our son especially. Because the puppy was too small to jump onto his bed, our boy lined the floor with newspapers and slept on it with Mid. Our friend, on the other hand, put their pup in a kennel far from any family members. Clearly, he didn’t grasp that dogs shouldn’t be treated like animals.
Midnight was happiest when she was included in family activities. She especially enjoyed going camping with us. Most of the time we were outdoors with her, so she had ample attention. One vacation in particular she tried to befriend another black critter that had a really neat white streak running down its back. Thankfully I managed to squelch that doomed friendship before any bad memory took place.
It amazes me the how and what lessons God will bring into my life to learn. Living with our new family member, I became a student of valuable lessons that Midnight had for me. Take for instance the aforementioned visitor at the door. Immediately Midnight determined whether our visitor was friend or foe. Her policy was to like everyone. Then had a friend for life
Other lessons I learned from Midnight:
When a person is hurting, stay close by, with a listening ear available to them. Midnight lived that out making herself available to any one of the kids during those tough adolescent years.
Even the few times we reprimanded her, Mutney always forgave us.
Little people were some of Mid’s favorite humans. I guess because they knew how to have fun. If they tended to be a little clumsy she exercised patience.
Mid could read people and take joy in another person’s happiness. Understanding wasn’t a prerequisite for her to join in the celebration.
Our girl loved car rides. She made it a practice to never pass up an opportunity for a road trip, however small it might be. Ditto for red wagons. Don’t postpone joy.
When outdoors, she always took the opportunity to go to the bathroom. Who knows when the next opportunity would be?
You don’t have to finish all the food in your bowl. If her snout was dry and she felt a little under the weather, it was ok.
In theory, Mid was not to be on furniture. It was my way of controlling some of the shed hair. When we were gone, it was another story. The furniture was at her disposal. When taking a nap, she would find the softest pillow in the house.
Be a kitchen-helper. There just isn’t an easy way to conduct floor patrol without getting underfoot. At least the cook shouldn’t feel lonely in there by herself.
Adapt to the changes in your world. As long as you have family, you have all the support and protection you need.
Lastly, always have the last word.
While my husband might not completely agree, our lives would not have been complete without this four-legged family member. As long as Midnight gave her master the lead dog position, all was well with the world. We miss you girl and always remain your faithful family.
© jb katke
© jb katke
