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  Searching for home... It's what I'm constantly doing. Because home moves or is changeable; Depending on our life's decisions and plans. So it means home is with my people and furnishings... In that particular abode. Home has been my lake house, my sailboat, my parent's house. But only in moments with people I love. Because home isn't home when I'm alone in a dwelling. Or is it? Peace and security is home and being alone is... Those things by turns. Home is two recliners, warm towels and a good bed. It's where you groom, relax, and be your toe picking self. Your favorite genre of music, books, and artwork is on display In your home. There are no worries if anyone else likes your choices; They will because they live there too; they are your blood. You can laugh at odd jokes and cry at shared memories At home. Things like forgiveness and patience and forbearance Are practiced because of burps and loud chewing and other Human noises

Sweet Manna From Heaven

  I'm mad at myself for being such a thinker . Why do I have to go and study things? Why did I not get enough substance from the word 'steadfast' that I thrived on in 2020? And why did I have to go and pick another one? Also, have you ever thought about what that expression, "sweet manna from heaven!" even means?  Trust. That's my word for 2021. It's a simple word. Shouldn't be so hard to learn the concepts and ways of trust. Right? WRONG! I'm floundered really. Quite broken and lost. You think you know a thing until you start to court it. Then it becomes a mystery and illusive. Appearing in reassurance only occasionally after you had given up hope. Trust in an Almighty God is the only way. It's for real. It'll hold. But only if you keep yourself and your dreams and desires out of the mix and keep committing those to God. Continually. You have to seek the face of God continually. And be able to pray things like, "Your will, not mine be

Politics Media and Jesus

  * I wrote this article for a writers group I'm a part of, several weeks was written just after the inauguration. I wrote bluntly and boldly...just a warning... or disclaimer or whatever you want to call it. We are living on our 38' sailboat for the next four months. This live-aboard-marina has everything a body could want within walking distance. There's a beautiful golf course that begs to be trampled on but I'd hate to find out what would happen if I did. Beside the bathhouse, which we are allowed to use, complete with toilets, dressing room, and showers, resides a lovely heated pool which we are not allowed to use. There's a bit of snobbery around here. Club membership is needed for the on site restaurant as well. The laundry is available 24 hours a day. I went to do laundry early this morning. An old couple were finishing up their laundry. They were warm and friendly and told me my laundry bag was cute and that I had picked the best time of day to

To the Land Where the Bong Tree Grows

  It's a Monday. Even on a sailboat. Even in Florida. Where I assume, from comments I get, that life should be full of sunshine and ease because we ARE here in this beautiful place while the majority of our friends are out shoveling snow and splitting wood. Life is good, don't get me wrong. But it's life,  and that Monday feeling lingers strong some days. We missed church again yesterday. While bemoaning the fact that I had not gone to church for three Sundays now, Bruce informed me it had been four for him. We are heathens, I guess. It's funny this should bother me. I've struggled with liking going to church every Sunday. Always. Until this last year with the pandemic and personal crisis in our family making it seem like a treasure to attend. I'd like to talk about that sometime...why I like going to church now...but this blog post was to be short, non-preachy,  and to catch you up to what we are doing with our life these days. We came to Florida to experience

Beautifully Made

    Maybe its because I’m sewing a mint green dress, the same color of dress I was wearing on the picture when I was five holding my white bunny. I was sitting on the carpeted staircase of the old farmhouse where I grew up. The carpet orange-y red, the dress, rough double-knit but minty green, the bunny white and pink and not soft at all. But he made me feel happy and content. As happy and content as a five year old knows how to feel. Maybe that's the reason for this soul searching flashback, these triggers of tears in my adult life. I've done a lot of sobbing lately. It's not anyone’s fault, these triggers. I wake up with them. They are more frequent when Bruce is gone over long periods of time. I sleep less and less, my insecurities growing by the night time seconds. I am triggered to remember that long horrible night in and out of reality and delusion, the night my mom kicked my dad out. The night my dad left. The night my world was ripped away from childhood. The n

Piety and Almsgiving/Holiness and Humanitarianism

I remember the first time Matthew chapter six caught my attention. We were confined, our family of five, in our small Macgregor 26' sailboat in a rainy bay in Florida waters. We were anchored somewhere on the northwest side of the peninsula, suffering through a torrential downpour, the dampness of our bodies within a tiny space, filling the cabin with not so pleasant odors and temperaments. We had worn out the games, puzzles, and drawing/artwork supplies, now having moved on to reading and writing in our journals. At least that's what I was doing. It felt funny and wrong to open my Bible to Matthew 6 and see the words of Jesus admonishing to not do the good and right things in life for approval or recognition. Because that's what I was doing. I was trying to be a good mom. I was just trying to get something right in this family memory gone wrong. I wanted my kids to notice that I was trying to make good food and for my husband to notice how brave and strong of spirit I was

Mighty Through God

  It's ten p.m. I should go to bed. But its cold and unfriendly the past eight nights. My bed, that is. I haven't quite caved but have thought of going to Bruce's closet and smelling one of his shirts or sweaters. Instead I look at his empty shoes and glance at the lifeless pieces of fabric hanging on their hangers.  When He started talking about his desire to be a travel nurse my first instinct was to panic and be smitten with fear and disappointment. Because why had I taught four years while he did college for hopes of better tomorrows of time spent together? I was scared and angry combined. And I did struggle not to panic. OK. I did panic off and on. But having just come home from a week of counselling with wise words of what I needed to do instead of panic when I didn't understand and/or was disappointed, I knew I was given this challenge for a purpose. I was told to God-focus. No more ME focus. Go to my safe place(our dock)and tell God every disgusting detail about