Do you get so busy in your life that you barely notice your surroundings? I do! Busy is a funny word. . . busy with mundane chores? Busy with enjoyable tasks? Busy with TV watching? Busy with watching birds? I think we can really make time for the things we love. . . but are you too busy to notice your community? How can you help? What can you do to improve your little area? . . . small little things can mount up for a big change–get busy about changing the world. . . one small random act of kindness every day. . . be a BUSY world changer!!
May 23, 1947. . . Today would have been Rich’s seventieth birthday! Amazing! It just wasn’t in God’s plan. I posted several pictures. . . many commented how Brock and AJ resembled him
. . . I thought so, but thought it was just me. I think about going to the cemetery. . . I know he isn’t there. Where and what do I do to feel closer to him? Lunch at Red Lobster? Mow and care for our church that he loved dearly? A walk through Christy Woods, our “Owen County,” get away during college? Resting in the courtyard that he loved. . . a shaded, peaceful, escape from the world. This evening will be a ballgame watching Brock.
I know I don’t need to go anywhere to be with him. He is with me always, because his love is in my heart. That was the biggest surprise in his death. I thought I would have to stop loving him when he died—SO NOT TRUE. . . my love continues every day! We said for ALWAYS!
In his last days, he wanted me to promise three things. . . . 1. Mow the weeds under his red Chevy! :), 2, No flowers on his grave, but always put an American Flag, and 3. Be Happy! I have kept all three promises. My family, friends, students, have brought me much happiness and joy in these twelve years since Rich left.
This travel of grief is a personal journey. . . you can’t avoid it, go around it, or try and skip it. . . . You just have to muddle through the best you can. No one can do it for you. BUT know that the love you felt will last . . . ALWAYS!!!
Reading Survivors Club by Michael Bornstein and Debbie Bornstein Holinstat.
Heart wrenching story about survival of a young prisoner of Auschwitz. How could anyone question the reality of these death camps? How could anyone so young survive? Prayers, hope, and belief that “this too shall pass!” I’ve finished the first third of the book and plan to nestle down on this rainy day to read more. . .
I am thinking of two of my favorite hymns. . .
Thus far the Lord has led me on;
Thus far His power prolongs my days;
And every evening shall make known,
Some fresh memorials of His grace.
Much of my time has run to waste,
And I, perhaps am near my home;
But He forgives my follies past;
He gives me strength for days to come.
I lay my body down to sleep
Peace is the pillow for my head,
While well appointed angels
Keep their watchful stations round my bed.
In vain the sons of earth or hell,
Tell me a thousand frightful things,
But God in safety makes me dwell
Beneath the shadow of His wings.. . .
. . . while blessed with a sense of His love,
A palace a toy would appear;
And prisons would palaces prove,
If Jesus would dwell with me there.
Jesus will always be with us! He promised! We can rest in peace knowing, believing that!
“I have planted. . . but God gave the increase” – I Corin 3:6
I love spring, yardwork, and flower beds! Work I love. . . but can so easily get away from me. The garden starts immaculate, and rows are clean. BUT by the end of summer, a mower is needed to go down the rows. That doesn’t dampen my spirits. . . every year I have a renewed hope. I feel so close to Mom in the garden. . she was the master gardener! I think she found peace there that she didn’t find anywhere else. In the Garden was the lullaby song she sang to my brother. A beautiful place in the cool morning air, sun coming up, and seeing the “fruit” of her labor! Enjoy the chirping birds, and peace for the day!
In The Garden Lyrics
I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,
The Son of God discloses.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me,
Within my heart is ringing.
I’d stay in the garden with Him,
Tho’ the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go, thro’ the voice of woe,
His voice to me is calling.