It came...even though we wished that it wouldn't, Father's Day. A Father's Day that finds us without my beloved husband, my daughter's beloved Father. Each and every celebration seems harder as we strive to find a "New normal." I have climbed through the "Valley of the shadow of death," many, many times before as friends and family have passed away. I do know how this works. At their death, the shock, the numbness, the ability to reach out to others seems enhanced. Then everybody goes home to their lives, their families, and you have the task of trying to figure out how to live without your loved one.
At that point the reality becomes horribly apparent. Often long past the time that others think you should be grieving you feel as though your heart is lower than your feet! I have a personal witness that Nyle goes on...he still lives...and we will be together again. The problem is that one night away from Nyle was too long! I have a sneaking suspicion that I will probably live many, MANY more years and in this place and space I DON'T find that a happy thought. Right now I take life one minute at a time, doing my best to not think about the heart wrenching separation that looms before me.
I affirm the sacred and precious opportunity that this life gives us. It brings us ways to learn even through opposition. Learning about this particular type of grief is helping me to be more sensitive to others facing this challenge.
Life is an oxymoron...we learn about joy as we grieve. We recognize blessings after they have been taken away. "There is an opposition in ALL things!" There is always the choice of agency. We can choose to wallow in self-pity, bitterness, or other negative choices, or we can make a conscious choice to reach for something higher. I do love the little quote that says, "It's better to aim for the stars and miss then to aim for the gutter and hit."
Of course my favorite quote comes from Nyle, "Happy Not Crappy." That means don't let circumstances dictate your happiness. You can choose to be happy in spite of those circumstances.
Well I've cheered myself up enough to go wash some clothes, (Today that took lots of cheering! lol) What does this Monday of sunshine bring to you?
Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass....it's about learning to dance in the rain!
Monday, June 17, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Faith in the Principle of the Open Door....BY NYLE BRENT SMITH
I'm going to borrow an excerpt today from my beloved husband's book, "Flagpole Fighting and other lessons my mother taught me." The excerpt is "Faith in the Principle of the Open Door."
So...sit back in a comfy chair and read the lyrical, poetic words of my honeybunch (who was also my favorite writer of all times) There are some small condensations. If you want to read the entire book I believe Ebay still has copies for sale.
Red Oak Lane was named very appropriately. All of the houses had yards that were positively infested with oak trees. In our yard alone, I'm sure the number of trees would have broken one hundred. My mother actually counted them once, but that count escapes me now. I was a member of an informal neighborhood group, loosely calling ourselves the "Flyboys," a name my mother dubbed us because of our undying interest in model planes. After mom had made us a cake one afternoon, icing it green like an airfield, and putting our group's name across it, we voted her best mom in the neighborhood. She was very honored, and to this day still doesn't realize that almost everybody's mom who made us a cake got the same honor. (If you happen to meet her, please don't tell.)
The flyboys incorporated flight into everything. When we would ride our skateboards down the hill, our arms would be flung out as wings. When we rode our bikes, we would do the same over the smooth parts of the road. On the rough parts, we flew wounded, with only one wing. The other wing gripped the handlebars tightly. When we ran, we ran with abandon, zooming through the trees of our yards, occasionally grazing one and scraping our young bodies. It was okay then, we were resilient and still had lots of skin. I must have earned dozens of Purple Hearts that way.
It was this humble practice that spawned the beginnings of the Principle of Faith on the Open Door. The great yellow deliverer that the general population of the world calls a schoolbus ran its route up behind our house. After being school-wound for the last six or seven hours, we would spring from the bus belly the moment that its door swung wide. Rarely remaining standing, we would more often than not be carried by our forward momentum into a rolling impromptu wrestling match. When we had tired of that, we would start the descent to my house. Its backyard was the only shortcut to the rest of the street, so we would have a good number of children running down through it every afternoon. Of course, the flyboys didn't merely run down it, we strafed it, with all the appropriate sounds and gestures of an airborne squadron. I would be the first to peel off from the formation, and veer up my back steps to the kitchen door.
My mother had been noticing this from inside, and it wasn't long before she was ready for my dive bomb. Timing it just right, she would fling open the door just as I approached it, allowing me safe entry into the home without having to fold my wings. As the ritual escalated, soon my mother made sure she was there every afternoon, waiting for me to land. It got to be a spectator sport for the rest of the kids coming down from the bus. I started adding aerial flourishes and, growing braver, ran as fast as I could into the door with my arms flung wide, having complete faith that the door would open. Entering the controlled airspace of the kitchen, I would flop onto the floor, completing a three point landing on my stomach. Every afternoon I did this, having complete faith that the door would open wide, saving me from certain door destruction. And every afternoon, guided by the sure hand of my mother, the door opened.
It was this experience that started me on the road to Faith on the Principle of the Open Door. It wasn't hard to compare my boyish experience with my later life. When it seemed at the last moment of despair that certain failure and destruction seemed imminent, I closed my eyes and flung myself head first into the doors of the heavens, mustering as much faith as I could that the doors would open. More often than not, the doors would swing wide, guided by the sure but unseen hand of God.
Perhaps it was this principle my mother trusted in as she began her new life as a single mother after twenty seven years of marriage. Perhaps it was her trust in this principle that carried her through the struggles that regaled her. What strong inside force did help her, I'll never know, but I do know that God opened doors for her, and taught a lesson to the rest of us. No matter how dark life becomes, find a door and throw yourself against it. Have faith on the principle of the Open Door.
So...sit back in a comfy chair and read the lyrical, poetic words of my honeybunch (who was also my favorite writer of all times) There are some small condensations. If you want to read the entire book I believe Ebay still has copies for sale.
Red Oak Lane was named very appropriately. All of the houses had yards that were positively infested with oak trees. In our yard alone, I'm sure the number of trees would have broken one hundred. My mother actually counted them once, but that count escapes me now. I was a member of an informal neighborhood group, loosely calling ourselves the "Flyboys," a name my mother dubbed us because of our undying interest in model planes. After mom had made us a cake one afternoon, icing it green like an airfield, and putting our group's name across it, we voted her best mom in the neighborhood. She was very honored, and to this day still doesn't realize that almost everybody's mom who made us a cake got the same honor. (If you happen to meet her, please don't tell.)
The flyboys incorporated flight into everything. When we would ride our skateboards down the hill, our arms would be flung out as wings. When we rode our bikes, we would do the same over the smooth parts of the road. On the rough parts, we flew wounded, with only one wing. The other wing gripped the handlebars tightly. When we ran, we ran with abandon, zooming through the trees of our yards, occasionally grazing one and scraping our young bodies. It was okay then, we were resilient and still had lots of skin. I must have earned dozens of Purple Hearts that way.
It was this humble practice that spawned the beginnings of the Principle of Faith on the Open Door. The great yellow deliverer that the general population of the world calls a schoolbus ran its route up behind our house. After being school-wound for the last six or seven hours, we would spring from the bus belly the moment that its door swung wide. Rarely remaining standing, we would more often than not be carried by our forward momentum into a rolling impromptu wrestling match. When we had tired of that, we would start the descent to my house. Its backyard was the only shortcut to the rest of the street, so we would have a good number of children running down through it every afternoon. Of course, the flyboys didn't merely run down it, we strafed it, with all the appropriate sounds and gestures of an airborne squadron. I would be the first to peel off from the formation, and veer up my back steps to the kitchen door.
My mother had been noticing this from inside, and it wasn't long before she was ready for my dive bomb. Timing it just right, she would fling open the door just as I approached it, allowing me safe entry into the home without having to fold my wings. As the ritual escalated, soon my mother made sure she was there every afternoon, waiting for me to land. It got to be a spectator sport for the rest of the kids coming down from the bus. I started adding aerial flourishes and, growing braver, ran as fast as I could into the door with my arms flung wide, having complete faith that the door would open. Entering the controlled airspace of the kitchen, I would flop onto the floor, completing a three point landing on my stomach. Every afternoon I did this, having complete faith that the door would open wide, saving me from certain door destruction. And every afternoon, guided by the sure hand of my mother, the door opened.
It was this experience that started me on the road to Faith on the Principle of the Open Door. It wasn't hard to compare my boyish experience with my later life. When it seemed at the last moment of despair that certain failure and destruction seemed imminent, I closed my eyes and flung myself head first into the doors of the heavens, mustering as much faith as I could that the doors would open. More often than not, the doors would swing wide, guided by the sure but unseen hand of God.
Perhaps it was this principle my mother trusted in as she began her new life as a single mother after twenty seven years of marriage. Perhaps it was her trust in this principle that carried her through the struggles that regaled her. What strong inside force did help her, I'll never know, but I do know that God opened doors for her, and taught a lesson to the rest of us. No matter how dark life becomes, find a door and throw yourself against it. Have faith on the principle of the Open Door.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Fears or Faith
Is there one human being on this lovely planet that does NOT have any fears? I believe that if you think that is true you are lying to yourself. Fear is a natural method that our body has for self-preservation. Fear coaxes us to be aware of danger and do everything that we can to prevent injury or accident.
Yes, there are even positive qualities in fear. Fear can teach us to be prepared...for anything...for everything. Fear can drive us to save food and water in case of emergency. Fear can cause us to take a self defense class. Fear can keep us from walking too far out on that cliff with loose rocks. Yes, fear can definitely be a trait that develops self-sustenance.
I'm afraid of SO MANY THINGS! The following is a list of my fears:
The dark Being raped
Heights Sometimes just leaving my house
Depression Abandonment
Crowds Diabetes
Theft The death of those I love (like my sweetheart, Nyle)
I am no longer afraid of my own death...it means reunion with my beloved. I am not doing things to hasten my own demise, but I look forward so poignantly for that time.
To me, the truest definition of courage is to do those things that frighten you most. For example, any sane individual would feel frightened when involved in direct hand to hand combat. It takes very real courage to face your fears in this setting. Indeed it takes courage always to face fear.
Some fears are rational...things that you can battle back by reasoning within your mind. Nyle LOVED to go on Ferris Wheels. They cause me to be nauseated and panic filled. (Fear of heights) Yet, I would face that fear and go with my darling. Of course, I had the benefit of his strong, masculine arm around me, and his gratitude for my going with him. The other thing is that I could keep my fear within limits through rational thought.
My fear of the dark...has no bearing on rationality. My mind alone can't conquer this fear. It is, of course, much, much worse since my darling died.
So...at what point does faith come into this discussion? Faith, in the basic decency of most humans. Faith, in the regularity of the seasons. Faith, that the sun WILL come up, each and every day. Faith, that the sun will go down and let darkness embrace our weary bodies with rest. Faith in the love we share as a family. Faith in self...in our ability to move through the very hardest of life experiences. These are all grand examples of faith.
Yet the very grandest of examples of faith is faith in a Creator...the Lord of the Earth. I don't care what name you call God, Elohim, Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, Quan Yin...for these purposes I will call him Heavenly Father. I believe personally that he is the father of our spirits. Using our agency to connect with God unleashes strength beyond our own natural strength. This faith has come from my parents, grandparents and before them in their examples. Yet, mostly this faith has come from my very own PERSONAL life experiences.
An example is shortly after Nyle's death. Sometimes the reality of my loss would hit like a boulder had been dropped on me. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop sobbing hysterically. In those times I couldn't even muster a simple prayer, "Heavenly Father, please help me!" All that came out was an anguished "Help!" exhaled from the depths and reaches of my anguish.
I was amazed that in those times I would feel such warmth, embracing love, and knowledge that Nyle was safe, and I would be also. I will never doubt the reality of those times. Those experiences were as real to me as the sun shining in the sky at noon.
In this experience faith was not a simple belief. It was not passive. An action word, a verb, faith was and is a very real power, a force for good and blessing.
If the fear will not bend to rationality, then get help...we ALL need help from time to time. A minister, a counselor, someone who can help you sort the irrational, unreasoning belief that has stopped your progression.
Faith or fear...a choice that all of us make daily.
Yes, there are even positive qualities in fear. Fear can teach us to be prepared...for anything...for everything. Fear can drive us to save food and water in case of emergency. Fear can cause us to take a self defense class. Fear can keep us from walking too far out on that cliff with loose rocks. Yes, fear can definitely be a trait that develops self-sustenance.
I'm afraid of SO MANY THINGS! The following is a list of my fears:
The dark Being raped
Heights Sometimes just leaving my house
Depression Abandonment
Crowds Diabetes
Theft The death of those I love (like my sweetheart, Nyle)
I am no longer afraid of my own death...it means reunion with my beloved. I am not doing things to hasten my own demise, but I look forward so poignantly for that time.
To me, the truest definition of courage is to do those things that frighten you most. For example, any sane individual would feel frightened when involved in direct hand to hand combat. It takes very real courage to face your fears in this setting. Indeed it takes courage always to face fear.
Some fears are rational...things that you can battle back by reasoning within your mind. Nyle LOVED to go on Ferris Wheels. They cause me to be nauseated and panic filled. (Fear of heights) Yet, I would face that fear and go with my darling. Of course, I had the benefit of his strong, masculine arm around me, and his gratitude for my going with him. The other thing is that I could keep my fear within limits through rational thought.
My fear of the dark...has no bearing on rationality. My mind alone can't conquer this fear. It is, of course, much, much worse since my darling died.
So...at what point does faith come into this discussion? Faith, in the basic decency of most humans. Faith, in the regularity of the seasons. Faith, that the sun WILL come up, each and every day. Faith, that the sun will go down and let darkness embrace our weary bodies with rest. Faith in the love we share as a family. Faith in self...in our ability to move through the very hardest of life experiences. These are all grand examples of faith.
Yet the very grandest of examples of faith is faith in a Creator...the Lord of the Earth. I don't care what name you call God, Elohim, Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, Quan Yin...for these purposes I will call him Heavenly Father. I believe personally that he is the father of our spirits. Using our agency to connect with God unleashes strength beyond our own natural strength. This faith has come from my parents, grandparents and before them in their examples. Yet, mostly this faith has come from my very own PERSONAL life experiences.
An example is shortly after Nyle's death. Sometimes the reality of my loss would hit like a boulder had been dropped on me. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop sobbing hysterically. In those times I couldn't even muster a simple prayer, "Heavenly Father, please help me!" All that came out was an anguished "Help!" exhaled from the depths and reaches of my anguish.
I was amazed that in those times I would feel such warmth, embracing love, and knowledge that Nyle was safe, and I would be also. I will never doubt the reality of those times. Those experiences were as real to me as the sun shining in the sky at noon.
In this experience faith was not a simple belief. It was not passive. An action word, a verb, faith was and is a very real power, a force for good and blessing.
If the fear will not bend to rationality, then get help...we ALL need help from time to time. A minister, a counselor, someone who can help you sort the irrational, unreasoning belief that has stopped your progression.
Faith or fear...a choice that all of us make daily.
Friday, June 7, 2013
How do you feel loved?
Being really, truly, loved is one of life's greatest gifts. The kind of love that embraces your...good, bad, and ugly, and yet loves you still. I love the quote, "You are the type of friend that makes me better just for being with you." They love you, but still help you to stretch, reach upwards towards being more than just average.
There is a book that I can't remember the title but it's something about 5 ways to feel love. It's quite brilliant. It speaks of the ways that we feel loved. Mine is most positively words of affirmation. Nyle was wonderful at every single way of giving love...affirmations, gifts, and the other methods as well.
Imagine my surprise after his passing to discover that even though he showed, said it, every single way he gave love to me. I just didn't seem to feel in...deep down inside my soul. I had experienced so much of cruelty and criticism in my youth that even when my sweetie, or anyone send love my way it just couldn't quite reach all the way to my heart.
Before I am with my darling again I WILL conquer that problem...the inability to feel loved. Nyle was SO GOOD at being romantic and showing love that some of my friends asked if he would teach their husbands.
For my 40th birthday he was very sick, stuck to his bed 24/7. I was at church teaching the Women's Group. Suddenly there was my own personal incarnation of Sir Galahad, Sir Lancelot, and Arthur, all rolled into one giant of a man, Nyle. He was in one of his beautiful pin stripe power suits, and he was so handsome the room grew lighter because of the power of his presence.
He lovingly interrupted my teaching, and handing me an armful of flowers, he announced, "Ladies, I apologize for interrupting. CJ's 40th birthday is next week. I want to invite all of you and your husbands to join us to party that night." He then dipped me and kissed me. "Oohs, and aahs, went all around the room." Then he said, "We will see you next week," and left.
Well getting back to a spiritual lesson was pretty much impossible at that point. I stumbled through, finished, and went home.
To fully understand how amazing what Nyle did was you need to know that he couldn't dress himself at that stage...he was too weak. He couldn't really walk, it made him desperately sick to his stomach. If he started to cough (he had incurable lung disease), it dropped him to his knees his cough was so deep and hard. He needed oxygen, but he didn't have any. He dressed himself, went and bought me flowers, drove the car, and came in and performed like he was the healthiest man in the world.
Then he orchestrated a huge party for me with printed banners, 40 balloons, cake, and food to eat. It was a glorious party. It is a memory I will cherish for the rest of my life. Then he asked everyone to come outside. He gave each one a balloon, until 40 balloons were in 40 hands. He explained, "CJ has experienced a lot of challenges in her 40 years of living. Each of these balloons represent a challenge, or trouble that she has experienced. Now we're going to release those balloons, and anything negative from the past will go with the balloons."
Up, up, up went the balloons and I had the impressive sensation of being BRAND NEW. So...at that moment I DID feel cherished, loved, and precious to my darling husband. Who wouldn't?
What makes you feel loved? I would love comments, ideas, thoughts about those experiences and reasons for feeling loved. Pretty please?
There is a book that I can't remember the title but it's something about 5 ways to feel love. It's quite brilliant. It speaks of the ways that we feel loved. Mine is most positively words of affirmation. Nyle was wonderful at every single way of giving love...affirmations, gifts, and the other methods as well.
Imagine my surprise after his passing to discover that even though he showed, said it, every single way he gave love to me. I just didn't seem to feel in...deep down inside my soul. I had experienced so much of cruelty and criticism in my youth that even when my sweetie, or anyone send love my way it just couldn't quite reach all the way to my heart.
Before I am with my darling again I WILL conquer that problem...the inability to feel loved. Nyle was SO GOOD at being romantic and showing love that some of my friends asked if he would teach their husbands.
For my 40th birthday he was very sick, stuck to his bed 24/7. I was at church teaching the Women's Group. Suddenly there was my own personal incarnation of Sir Galahad, Sir Lancelot, and Arthur, all rolled into one giant of a man, Nyle. He was in one of his beautiful pin stripe power suits, and he was so handsome the room grew lighter because of the power of his presence.
He lovingly interrupted my teaching, and handing me an armful of flowers, he announced, "Ladies, I apologize for interrupting. CJ's 40th birthday is next week. I want to invite all of you and your husbands to join us to party that night." He then dipped me and kissed me. "Oohs, and aahs, went all around the room." Then he said, "We will see you next week," and left.
Well getting back to a spiritual lesson was pretty much impossible at that point. I stumbled through, finished, and went home.
To fully understand how amazing what Nyle did was you need to know that he couldn't dress himself at that stage...he was too weak. He couldn't really walk, it made him desperately sick to his stomach. If he started to cough (he had incurable lung disease), it dropped him to his knees his cough was so deep and hard. He needed oxygen, but he didn't have any. He dressed himself, went and bought me flowers, drove the car, and came in and performed like he was the healthiest man in the world.
Then he orchestrated a huge party for me with printed banners, 40 balloons, cake, and food to eat. It was a glorious party. It is a memory I will cherish for the rest of my life. Then he asked everyone to come outside. He gave each one a balloon, until 40 balloons were in 40 hands. He explained, "CJ has experienced a lot of challenges in her 40 years of living. Each of these balloons represent a challenge, or trouble that she has experienced. Now we're going to release those balloons, and anything negative from the past will go with the balloons."
Up, up, up went the balloons and I had the impressive sensation of being BRAND NEW. So...at that moment I DID feel cherished, loved, and precious to my darling husband. Who wouldn't?
What makes you feel loved? I would love comments, ideas, thoughts about those experiences and reasons for feeling loved. Pretty please?
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Can you hear a still, small voice?
I was traveling on a winter slickened road. The speed limit was 65 and I was traveling a prudent 60 due to the weather conditions. In my mind I heard a voice say, "Slow down and move to the right." I thought, "Everything is fine, the cars around me are traveling wisely. Why would I slow and move?" I'm a little slow to catch on to "Spirit," or "Conscience," or "Intuition," whatever you wish to call that flash of knowledge that comes to all of us from time to time.
Three times I heard the same message, "Slow down and move to the right." I finally (really I needed three times to listen?) listened. I slowed down to 55, and wound my way through a very heavy traffic to the right lane.
Almost instantly to the moment that I reached that right lane I heard a sickening sound. Metal, hitting metal, hitting metal, hitting metal. A car had passed me going at least 70 and possibly 80 miles an hour on those snow-slippery roads. I noticed that the car was from Nevada and thought to myself, "No wonder they don't know how to drive on slick roads."
His car had spun out, and began to hit other cars like a sick, horrible version of pinball. I pulled to the emergency lane of the highway. This was long before cell phone usage. (OK, I was NOT alive when dinosaurs roamed the earth....well not very alive anyway! :^)
It wasn't very long before emergency vehicles were on the scene...sirens screeching their sound of rescue. I can't remember exactly how many cars were now twisted, and mangled. I was in 100 percent shock. If I hadn't slowed down exactly when I did, moved to the right exactly when I did...I would have been a part of that hideous pinball disaster.
The police combed the area looking for witnesses to try and sort out what had happened. After they gave me the OK to leave, I slowly limped to the nearest freeway exit and called my husband.
Nyle asked "Honey do you want me to come? If I drive over to you then we will both still have to drive home. I could call someone to bring me but that would take longer. Do you just want to drive, very slowly and carefully, and when you get here I will give you the biggest hug!"
I climbed aboard the (frontage road) that paralleled the freeway but offered much less traffic, and much less speed. It took me twice as long to get home but it also offered the peace of mind that if someone went for a spin, I could get out of the way.
When I reached home, I wanted to bend down and kiss the ground....seriously, I just wanted to kiss my own personal soil sample.
I went in the house and was immediately greeted by our cute kitty Oozoos, and my beloved honey. He engulfed me in one of his amazing hugs (he was six foot four inches, and built like a football player) I was five foot six inches, and slender. Oh how I miss those hugs of engulfment.
Do you ever hear a voice in your head that says, "Slow down move over, or don't pass right now," and then you find out that the car you were going to pass chose that moment to pull into the left lane without blinking?
Those little moments probably happen a lot more often and we don't even know. After all if a crash is avoided we don't even remember the incident.
My point is learn to listen to that voice. One of my beloved neighborhood daughters read a book about fear. It taught that intuition can give each and any of us a nudge along the path to safety. It advises that you learn to listen to those warnings. The writer claims that evolution has placed this warning system in us to insure the safety of the species. I disagree with why we have those promptings but I absolutely believe they are there to protect us.
So...today, if a little voice says, "Go home from work 30 minutes early to be safe and avoid traffic," I don't know if that's anything other than the fact that you're tired of work and want to get home. If that little voice says, "Slow down and move to the right." DO IT! If that little voice says, "Put your seat belt on...now!" DO IT!
Learn to listen to your little voice, I don't care what you call it. I believe that God has put in each of us an early warning signal to help this life be as crisis free, and healthy as possible. That doesn't mean that we will sail through life untested, untried. This life is intended to be a grand school...a place to learn from our mistakes as well as our positive choices.
Unfortunately the voice can't save us from our own poor choices. Do you EVER need a small voice to say, "Don't even attempt to try heroin...it's hideously addicting and you will spend the rest of your miserable life searching for your next hit, your next high." No small voice should be needed. That is just common knowledge.
You should not need a small voice to tell you, "Indiscriminate sex is a poor choice. (For teenagers. Hopefully anyone 20 years old and older know this as a fact.) Have you never heard that you can get pregnant after even one time of having sex?" For adults, "Indiscriminate sex is a poor choice, it can cause all types of Sexually Transmitted Diseases, that you will have to cope with for the rest of your life. It can cause Aids which may substantially shorten your life, and make the rest of your life a battle with your health.
We are not always protected from the poor choices of others. We all have agency...the ability to choose in any and all situations. My own family was in a terrible car accident when a young man was not looking at the road. They were on the shoulder of the road having car troubles. He hit them going 75 miles an hour. He didn't even brake. All three of my family were impacted for life. I believe that it shortened my Nyle's life. So...remember the use of your agency can cause others to suffer. Sometimes that little voice, or early warning signal, can help protect you from spending your life in regretting the misery you caused in another person's life.
I love a simple children's hymn from my faith, "Through a still small, voice, the spirit speaks to me, to guide me, to save me, from the evil that I see." Listen today...listen tomorrow...learn to listen!
Three times I heard the same message, "Slow down and move to the right." I finally (really I needed three times to listen?) listened. I slowed down to 55, and wound my way through a very heavy traffic to the right lane.
Almost instantly to the moment that I reached that right lane I heard a sickening sound. Metal, hitting metal, hitting metal, hitting metal. A car had passed me going at least 70 and possibly 80 miles an hour on those snow-slippery roads. I noticed that the car was from Nevada and thought to myself, "No wonder they don't know how to drive on slick roads."
His car had spun out, and began to hit other cars like a sick, horrible version of pinball. I pulled to the emergency lane of the highway. This was long before cell phone usage. (OK, I was NOT alive when dinosaurs roamed the earth....well not very alive anyway! :^)
It wasn't very long before emergency vehicles were on the scene...sirens screeching their sound of rescue. I can't remember exactly how many cars were now twisted, and mangled. I was in 100 percent shock. If I hadn't slowed down exactly when I did, moved to the right exactly when I did...I would have been a part of that hideous pinball disaster.
The police combed the area looking for witnesses to try and sort out what had happened. After they gave me the OK to leave, I slowly limped to the nearest freeway exit and called my husband.
Nyle asked "Honey do you want me to come? If I drive over to you then we will both still have to drive home. I could call someone to bring me but that would take longer. Do you just want to drive, very slowly and carefully, and when you get here I will give you the biggest hug!"
I climbed aboard the (frontage road) that paralleled the freeway but offered much less traffic, and much less speed. It took me twice as long to get home but it also offered the peace of mind that if someone went for a spin, I could get out of the way.
When I reached home, I wanted to bend down and kiss the ground....seriously, I just wanted to kiss my own personal soil sample.
I went in the house and was immediately greeted by our cute kitty Oozoos, and my beloved honey. He engulfed me in one of his amazing hugs (he was six foot four inches, and built like a football player) I was five foot six inches, and slender. Oh how I miss those hugs of engulfment.
Do you ever hear a voice in your head that says, "Slow down move over, or don't pass right now," and then you find out that the car you were going to pass chose that moment to pull into the left lane without blinking?
Those little moments probably happen a lot more often and we don't even know. After all if a crash is avoided we don't even remember the incident.
My point is learn to listen to that voice. One of my beloved neighborhood daughters read a book about fear. It taught that intuition can give each and any of us a nudge along the path to safety. It advises that you learn to listen to those warnings. The writer claims that evolution has placed this warning system in us to insure the safety of the species. I disagree with why we have those promptings but I absolutely believe they are there to protect us.
So...today, if a little voice says, "Go home from work 30 minutes early to be safe and avoid traffic," I don't know if that's anything other than the fact that you're tired of work and want to get home. If that little voice says, "Slow down and move to the right." DO IT! If that little voice says, "Put your seat belt on...now!" DO IT!
Learn to listen to your little voice, I don't care what you call it. I believe that God has put in each of us an early warning signal to help this life be as crisis free, and healthy as possible. That doesn't mean that we will sail through life untested, untried. This life is intended to be a grand school...a place to learn from our mistakes as well as our positive choices.
Unfortunately the voice can't save us from our own poor choices. Do you EVER need a small voice to say, "Don't even attempt to try heroin...it's hideously addicting and you will spend the rest of your miserable life searching for your next hit, your next high." No small voice should be needed. That is just common knowledge.
You should not need a small voice to tell you, "Indiscriminate sex is a poor choice. (For teenagers. Hopefully anyone 20 years old and older know this as a fact.) Have you never heard that you can get pregnant after even one time of having sex?" For adults, "Indiscriminate sex is a poor choice, it can cause all types of Sexually Transmitted Diseases, that you will have to cope with for the rest of your life. It can cause Aids which may substantially shorten your life, and make the rest of your life a battle with your health.
We are not always protected from the poor choices of others. We all have agency...the ability to choose in any and all situations. My own family was in a terrible car accident when a young man was not looking at the road. They were on the shoulder of the road having car troubles. He hit them going 75 miles an hour. He didn't even brake. All three of my family were impacted for life. I believe that it shortened my Nyle's life. So...remember the use of your agency can cause others to suffer. Sometimes that little voice, or early warning signal, can help protect you from spending your life in regretting the misery you caused in another person's life.
I love a simple children's hymn from my faith, "Through a still small, voice, the spirit speaks to me, to guide me, to save me, from the evil that I see." Listen today...listen tomorrow...learn to listen!
Monday, June 3, 2013
Perfect...perfectly...perfectest?
Perhaps you should sit down to read this blog if you're not sitting down already. Hmm...I guess you could be standing reading this blog on your smartphone but it would be complicated to stand and read this on your computer. Anyway, I have something quite shocking to reveal...yes, I said, SHOCKING! (Remember, you read it first here! :)
I (that's me, myself) am NOT perfect. Did I just hear someone scream and say, "No, say it isn't so!" It's absolutely true...I am NOT perfect. If my family read this post they would snort and say, "I know that!"
To expand upon that idea...nobody is perfect...NOBODY! Not even my late, great departed, adorable honeybunch was perfect. (Perfect for me though)
Now why would I feel a need to express something that is so obvious? I usually write my Blogposts in the bright, new morning. A fresh, new start each and every day. The day is untried, filled with possibilities, and it all lies within me.
Then comes the rest of the day, sometimes with great frustrations, disappointments, or sorrows. As the day goes on it becomes harder and harder to maintain the "Patina of Positive." As a matter of fact sometimes I am absolutely negative...it's the little things that trap me. Little things like a computer that will not work as it is supposed to. A software program that will not allow me to publish my book...tripping, falling, and hurting myself...little things like that.
Sometimes when I fail to "Act instead of react," I second guess myself. "Why do you write about being positive when you are so endlessly weak, and capable of negativity?" Actually that is the answer, I write about being positive BECAUSE it's a BETTER way to be. We are all human, but we can all improve, and grow...progression lies along that climb.
If sometime we should meet in a grocery store, or at a movie I would not want you to say, "Gasp....she's not perfect!" (I conjured up that image to make myself smile). Being imperfect can give us motivation. With motivation we can set goals, to continue trying, to never give up.
I suppose we can be perfect in small ways. Some people never drink alcohol, or never swear, or always smile at others. (I said some people, not me, ok I don't drink at least). Perhaps focusing on the ways we CAN be perfect might help when we feel weak or limited. (The older I get the more I realize feelings of insecurity are universal).
So...in one way the human race is all equal. Not one human being is perfect. We are all born with weaknesses and flaws.
I (that's me, myself) am NOT perfect. Did I just hear someone scream and say, "No, say it isn't so!" It's absolutely true...I am NOT perfect. If my family read this post they would snort and say, "I know that!"
To expand upon that idea...nobody is perfect...NOBODY! Not even my late, great departed, adorable honeybunch was perfect. (Perfect for me though)
Now why would I feel a need to express something that is so obvious? I usually write my Blogposts in the bright, new morning. A fresh, new start each and every day. The day is untried, filled with possibilities, and it all lies within me.
Then comes the rest of the day, sometimes with great frustrations, disappointments, or sorrows. As the day goes on it becomes harder and harder to maintain the "Patina of Positive." As a matter of fact sometimes I am absolutely negative...it's the little things that trap me. Little things like a computer that will not work as it is supposed to. A software program that will not allow me to publish my book...tripping, falling, and hurting myself...little things like that.
Sometimes when I fail to "Act instead of react," I second guess myself. "Why do you write about being positive when you are so endlessly weak, and capable of negativity?" Actually that is the answer, I write about being positive BECAUSE it's a BETTER way to be. We are all human, but we can all improve, and grow...progression lies along that climb.
If sometime we should meet in a grocery store, or at a movie I would not want you to say, "Gasp....she's not perfect!" (I conjured up that image to make myself smile). Being imperfect can give us motivation. With motivation we can set goals, to continue trying, to never give up.
I suppose we can be perfect in small ways. Some people never drink alcohol, or never swear, or always smile at others. (I said some people, not me, ok I don't drink at least). Perhaps focusing on the ways we CAN be perfect might help when we feel weak or limited. (The older I get the more I realize feelings of insecurity are universal).
So...in one way the human race is all equal. Not one human being is perfect. We are all born with weaknesses and flaws.
A Rose By Any Other Name?
Georgia Leal was a lovely name. That's what my dear Daddy thought. It was taken from the middle names of my two Grandma's Lillian Georgina, and Alice Leal. You ask, "What did the Grandma's think of that name?" I'll tell you, "They hated it!" Not disliked it and discreetly dropped hints, but full scale hated.
Grandma Cheney wrote to Papa (this was long before the internet) telling him about a scandal in the family. A man named George Cheney had spent his life in and out of jail. What if people confused my name for him? (Good try Grandma but did you really think that I would look like a man?)
Grandma Howard was equally vocal. When her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears (My parents were both a little...well shall we say it nicely, determined!) When they joined forces they were an undefeatable team. They had closed ranks on this decision and no one was going to change their minds.
Grandma Howard went to buy a dress for me to be blessed in. (In The Church of Jesus Christ of latter day Saints we do not believe in infant baptism. Instead the Father stands in a circle of men who are family and friends, and blesses the infant and give the child a name.) Grandma looked at lots of lovely little dresses.
I don't know if she saw the dress first or the tag first. She bought the beautiful little white dress, and an elegant slip to go under (the dress was made of a transparent fabric...oh so lovely). The tag on the dress said, "A Caroljoy Creation."
Grandma came home with a smile on her face. She said to Mama and Papa, "Look at this tag. Isn't Caroljoy a lovely name? Much prettier than Georgia Leal."
Papa stewed and simmered until he went up to bless me. Then he named me Caroljoy...Thank you SO MUCH Grandma's for not liking the name Georgia Leal. Oh don't get me wrong, I think it's a beautiful name...for someone else. Maybe even a Grand daughter someday. (Like I have any say in those names...hee hee)
The story does NOT end there. I have gone through life loving my name Caroljoy. A Carol is a song of joy. So I'm a song of joy, joy...it gives me something to aspire towards. Oh I'm definitely not ALWAYS a song of joy. Sometimes I'm a big, old, GRUMPY PANTS!~ Yet my name reminds me of who I WANT to be.
The story does not end there. Thirty years later our first daughter was born. The most beautiful babe in the world, with very fair skin, and dark hair (like her Papa). She had tons of hair, but I digress. My beloved sister in law suggested that the perfect dress for blessing our girl was my blessing dress. After all this baby was truly a "Caroljoy Creation!"
I agreed, but the dress had yellowed horribly over the thirty years since I was blessed. My wonderful sister in law did not let this dampen her enthusiasm. Fels Naptha is her laundry weapon of choice. It's an old fashioned miracle. It's a humble bar that you buy at the store for about $1.50. Wetting the dress, she then took the bar and rubbed it all over the dress. Then she sat the dress in a bowl with more Fels Naptha and warm water. She repeated this process two or three times over two or three days. I was in awe when the dress came out looking brand new! (I LOVE Fels Naptha...and I LOVE my sister in law).
On a beautiful Autumn day with tons of family looking on (I do not exaggerate, we both have huge families), Nyle blessed our oldest daughter in her Caroljoy Creation dress.
I don't think the story ends there. Who will be the next little "Caroljoy Creation?"
Grandma Cheney wrote to Papa (this was long before the internet) telling him about a scandal in the family. A man named George Cheney had spent his life in and out of jail. What if people confused my name for him? (Good try Grandma but did you really think that I would look like a man?)
Grandma Howard was equally vocal. When her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears (My parents were both a little...well shall we say it nicely, determined!) When they joined forces they were an undefeatable team. They had closed ranks on this decision and no one was going to change their minds.
Grandma Howard went to buy a dress for me to be blessed in. (In The Church of Jesus Christ of latter day Saints we do not believe in infant baptism. Instead the Father stands in a circle of men who are family and friends, and blesses the infant and give the child a name.) Grandma looked at lots of lovely little dresses.
I don't know if she saw the dress first or the tag first. She bought the beautiful little white dress, and an elegant slip to go under (the dress was made of a transparent fabric...oh so lovely). The tag on the dress said, "A Caroljoy Creation."
Grandma came home with a smile on her face. She said to Mama and Papa, "Look at this tag. Isn't Caroljoy a lovely name? Much prettier than Georgia Leal."
Papa stewed and simmered until he went up to bless me. Then he named me Caroljoy...Thank you SO MUCH Grandma's for not liking the name Georgia Leal. Oh don't get me wrong, I think it's a beautiful name...for someone else. Maybe even a Grand daughter someday. (Like I have any say in those names...hee hee)
The story does NOT end there. I have gone through life loving my name Caroljoy. A Carol is a song of joy. So I'm a song of joy, joy...it gives me something to aspire towards. Oh I'm definitely not ALWAYS a song of joy. Sometimes I'm a big, old, GRUMPY PANTS!~ Yet my name reminds me of who I WANT to be.
The story does not end there. Thirty years later our first daughter was born. The most beautiful babe in the world, with very fair skin, and dark hair (like her Papa). She had tons of hair, but I digress. My beloved sister in law suggested that the perfect dress for blessing our girl was my blessing dress. After all this baby was truly a "Caroljoy Creation!"
I agreed, but the dress had yellowed horribly over the thirty years since I was blessed. My wonderful sister in law did not let this dampen her enthusiasm. Fels Naptha is her laundry weapon of choice. It's an old fashioned miracle. It's a humble bar that you buy at the store for about $1.50. Wetting the dress, she then took the bar and rubbed it all over the dress. Then she sat the dress in a bowl with more Fels Naptha and warm water. She repeated this process two or three times over two or three days. I was in awe when the dress came out looking brand new! (I LOVE Fels Naptha...and I LOVE my sister in law).
On a beautiful Autumn day with tons of family looking on (I do not exaggerate, we both have huge families), Nyle blessed our oldest daughter in her Caroljoy Creation dress.
I don't think the story ends there. Who will be the next little "Caroljoy Creation?"
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