Prayers Blog Posts
I sleep with a face mask on and with ear plugs in to muffle the noisy craziness and shut out the startling fireworks of the day. Tuning out and turning off helps me to gently fall asleep and wake up with a vitalized outlook.
When someone is trying to deceive you, lie to you, how does it work? Usually he/she takes a kernel of truth and elaborates on it to build the lie, to make the lie believable.
Somedays, you get an unexpected gift plopped right in your lap. That’s exactly what happened to me. The gift was an eight-month-old bundle of cuddles. I’ll call him Timmy. He’s one of the babies I keep in our church nursery. He had been running a slight fever, so the day care asked his mom to come and get him. That’s how I got my present for the afternoon.
This is my second blog about anxiety this month. Maybe September is making demands on us as we try and get back into the groove of school and work after vacations.
I found myself jumping to a worst-case scenario again this week and chased a runaway thought down that proverbial rabbit hole. I was concentrating on the feelings evoked by my errant conclusions framing my crazy “what-ifs.” Feelings come and go, yet when we’re tied up by them in the middle of an anxious roller coaster ride, they suck us up, distorting reality.
I have experienced that sometimes if I hold on to my coveted silence, tuck my feet under and really nestle into it, I am startled by any intrusion.
I’m into sewing and quilting on these blistering hot summer afternoons. It’s an escape into a cool air conditioned cave where I put my head down and get lost in fitting together color, shape, and a story.
It seems like our American culture pounds us with messages to camouflage weakness, to vindicate contempt, to thwart persecution, to detour around frustration, and to blame away hardship.
I’m watching my grandchildren making friends while walking through the minefield of Junior High School! My inclination is to hold their hands, not that they would take mine at this age, and absorb the inevitable blows for them. I don’t want to shatter their tender idealism about friendships, but instead I want to protect their precious ingots of innocence.
In an old gardening calendar, a poignant sentence illustrating a pathway littered with rose petals jumped out at me. There was no reference to an author, but the sentence read, “forgiveness is the odor flowers give off when flowers get trampled on.” It reminded me of a discussion I recently had with one of my sisters about forgiveness.