Today's Quote
Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things only hoped for.
-Epicurus
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Monday, May 29, 2006
Something special this week....
I just remembered something special will take place this week.
On Thursday, June 1st, 2006, Uncle Ivan and Aunt Freda Moffat will be married 61 short years! FANTASTIC! It seems that the bar just gets higher and higher with time...
Happy Early Anniversary to you two, and many many more!!
S
On Thursday, June 1st, 2006, Uncle Ivan and Aunt Freda Moffat will be married 61 short years! FANTASTIC! It seems that the bar just gets higher and higher with time...
Happy Early Anniversary to you two, and many many more!!
S
If the only prayer you ever say ...
Today's Quote
If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.
-Meister Eckhart
If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.
-Meister Eckhart
A lone outlook on this mornings walk. Some great and colorful shots in yesterdays photos and some great sunrise photos from this morning in the albums. On thing to remember when looking at todays photos.. there is always, ALWAYS, cause and effect, in nature. As the sun came up in the east, I tried to show you the effect on the western skies this am, including the showers 'not touching' the earth. Have a great day... we had a super nice time with family yesterday. Jake came home from Woodward and points west, and Phil and Tammy and Austyn and Heather, Madison, and Andrew came over for a last minute holiday lunch! We had a good time and it was fun to watch the boys in the pool... I had some great videos but did exactly what I did for Andrew's last Birthday. I used Ofoto to download from camera and then deleted photos not remembering that ofoto does not download from it the video... sigh. some day I will grow up.. haha.. enjoy this day we have. It will soon be gone never to be lived again...
Stan Moffat
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Beginning today, treat everyone
Today's Quote
Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.
-Og Mandino
Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.
-Og Mandino
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Don't worry that children never listen
Today's Quote
Don't worry that children never listen to you. Worry that they are always watching you.
-Robert Fulghum
Don't worry that children never listen to you. Worry that they are always watching you.
-Robert Fulghum
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Head Start students learn from the garden
Life - Head Start students learn from the garden
By Laura Wilson
Staff Writer
(Photo in today's Stillwater NewsPress shows Teacher Tammy Moffat and students with appropriate caption)
The Head Start community garden became a classroom without walls recently.
Carl Barnes and Al Toops of Conservation Organization for the Restoration of Native Seeds and Dick Ortez, local grower and owner of El Sueno Enterprises, guided 90 children and a dozen teachers, parents and volunteers in planting the three sisters — corn, beans and squash.
Each child planted a corn, bean or squash seed in the outdoor garden, alongside other vegetables planted by community volunteers.
CORNS has led classrooms across the United States in this traditional Indian ceremonial planting. Barnes, who was awarded the Cherokee Medal of Honor in 2001 for his work, and Toops have also assisted Cornell University in developing gardening curriculum, available on the Internet at .
The children also examined fresh-cut broccoli and green onions pulled from the garden, along with ladybugs, worms and other garden curiosities. Classes had previously planted seeds indoors, along with radishes and other seeds in their outdoor plot, and recent art projects and other activities had a gardening theme.
“Our work with the children has really been aided by having the community garden this year,” said teacher Lucille Duncan.
Participants in organizing and planting this community garden are Rachel Toops, manager of Countryside Gardens; Ilda Hershey of Sustainable Stillwater; Cara and Ron Beer, Progressive Interfaith Coalition representatives; Kelsey McCollum, Payne County Extension and participants of her Master Gardener class; Chris Brock, Head Start teacher; and Imad Abouzahr, Head Start parent.
Other volunteers include Phillip Moffat, Fred Causley, Eddie Whitehead, Jo Heiliger, Kevin Drees, Sharla Lovern and Cynthia Drescher.
Compost, seed, plants, fertilizer and drip hoses have been donated by Oklahoma State University agricultural classes, JohnnyÂ’s Selected Seeds Company and several other people and organizations.
Not sure who took this photo but the camera and several folks ran outside to see the beautiful sunset last night from Mom's home. the other pics will be online soon. There was a small front moving out of panhandle into OK last night and when I got up this am at 4:30 it was actually sprinkling here too!! but didn't last long.. enjoy the day... I think maybe Kara or Sharon or Phil might have taken the photo.. but then, I have been wrong on lots of things in my life!! Enjoy
Stan Moffat
Some of Great Grandma Moffat's flowers by her garage last evening in the sitting sun... We all went over to eat homemade Ice Cream and Spanish Rice, etc at the Robinson/Moffat gathering Sharon Robinson and Marilyn started several months ago. A great time was had by all. Food was Awesome and fellowship was GREAT!! Morgan is heading to Japan for a month in August to meet and greet and see about possibilities of studing there next year or so in Kito.. bet this is not spelled correctly... Kara is now in her third week of marriage and all is well, Micheal was last heard from heading to Houston with girlfriend to try to increase his dsl business... etc... Lawrence was on business trip, Madison was sick, Jon's did not make it, and Jake is working 7 days a week, sunup to sundown in panhandle of OK on a triple decker oil rig that he and two other welders are getting repaired on location so the company can get to drilling. Talk about pressure.. haha...
Stan Moffat
Life consists not in holding good cards...
Today's Quote
Life consists not in holding good cards, but in playing those you hold well.
-Josh Billings
Life consists not in holding good cards, but in playing those you hold well.
-Josh Billings
Friday, May 19, 2006
Sent to me by a 92 year old online friend of mine...
Wild Pistols Shooting Game Online... Another time waister.. haha....
Be the sheriff of a Wild Western town and get rid of all the bandits!
http://gamesquared.com/gm.shtml?0343.htm
He says this is kid safe.. but let me know one way or other.. later.. have a great day! S
Be the sheriff of a Wild Western town and get rid of all the bandits!
http://gamesquared.com/gm.shtml?0343.htm
He says this is kid safe.. but let me know one way or other.. later.. have a great day! S
Self-pity is our worst enemy and
Today's Quote
Self-pity is our worst enemy and if we yield to it, we can never do anything wise in this world.
-Helen Keller
Self-pity is our worst enemy and if we yield to it, we can never do anything wise in this world.
-Helen Keller
Thursday, May 18, 2006
It's not how much you
It's not how much you have that makes people look up to you, it's who you are.
Elvis Presley
Elvis Presley
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Today's Quote
Today's Quote
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
-Emily Dickinson
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
-Emily Dickinson
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Mama Taught Me to Pray
Mama Taught Me to Pray
When his sister was seriously ill, T.D. Jakes's tough-minded mother stormed heaven with her prayers.
Reprinted from "Mama Made the Difference" by arrangement with G.P. Putnam's Sons.
Credit: Russ
Harrington/EMI
My mother was a woman of faith and conviction. She definitely helped to secure my belief in God. But she was not a sweet, sappy, super-spiritual saint who carried her Bible everywhere she went and greeted people with “Praise the Lord.” No, she was a real person with real challenges–and she had a real faith in a real God. She had a relationship with Him in the deepest part of her being. It was like bedrock beneath every obstacle she ever faced, every emotion she ever felt, every decision she ever made, and every victory she ever gained. She did not flaunt it, she did not spiritualize it, she simply lived it.
In teaching me to pray, my mother never sat me down at the kitchen table and said, “Now son, this is how you pray. First you say this and then you say that…” No, she taught me through exposure. Now, many of us may have been exposed to prayer through various contexts throughout our lives. We have heard people pray in our churches, and in our schools if we are of a certain age. We may have grown up in a family that paused before mealtimes to thank God for you food. We may have seen people pray on television as we watched state funerals or events such as a presidential inauguration. We may have found ourselves in situations so desperate that we have uttered almost a primal cry to God for help or relief. Then again, we may be people who live by prayer, having plumbed the depths of relationship with God, through the communion of prayer. Nevertheless, like a first kiss from a secret crush, we never forget our first awareness of what it means to converse with God.
My own exposure began around the table. I suppose that is where I first became aware that people talk to God. Of course, growing up in church, I heard people pray in my Sunday school classes and in church services. At times those prayers stirred my soul and at times I did not really understand them. I did, though, believe God was listening and I knew that He could answer. But there came a point when my exposure to prayer solidified into a concrete commitment to heavenly communication
My sister became sick. In her early twenties, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking situation, one our family could do nothing about. Of course, we could feed her, and take care of her and ensure that she received the best medical care we could find, but at the core of the matter, we were powerless to heal her. We were helpless when it came to being able to ease her pain or relieve her symptoms. All we could do was pray. My family’s prayers became urgent, fervent, passionate, desperate, and unceasing, as they went forth from our house with the speed, focus, and force of a steady stream of bullets aimed at the throne of God. My mother led the charge.
And let me tell you, nobody can pray like a mama whose baby is deathly ill–even when her baby is an adult. I had never heard anybody pray the way my mother prayed when my sister was sick. I had heard plenty of people pray, but never like that. She would not back down, she would not let down, she would not calm down. She would not get up and she would not shut up as she literally bombarded heaven on my sister’s behalf.
She became a warrior far superior to any epic hero. She became a giant on her knees. With a sword in one hand she battled the enemies of death and disease, and with her other hand stretched toward heaven she kept beseeching God’s help and His mercy.
Have you ever heard the sound of desperation in another person’s voice? I heard it during those days. I am sure the halls of heaven shook with the force of her intercession. She meant business–and she knew how to do business–with God. Though my mother’s prayers were intense and emotional at times, they were not based on emotion; they were based on faith. Her passionate pleas were built on her deep and intimate acquaintance with God, her years of relationship with Him, her knowledge of His Word. She knew who He was, she knew what He could do, she knew what He had promised–and she went to war for those things to come to pass in my sister’s life.
“What happened?” you ask. Let me just say that today my sister is a strong, healthy, beautiful mother and grandmother. She had an excellent education and a distinguished career in her profession. She has authored books, she is a public speaker, she is a delight to our family, and she is a trophy and a testimony to the power of prayer....
Like so many other lessons, I believe prayer is best taught by example, and I encourage you to begin passing along a prayer legacy to you children if you have not already started. A child who sees and hears you pray will learn to pray in his or her own way. You can provide guidance by encouraging children to pray before meals, when they have a test to take at school, when someone is sick, or when their feelings are hurt. You can remind them to thank God when prayers are answered. The point is to help them realize that they are not alone in life and that they can appeal to a source of help beyond their parents or any other human being. They need to know that God loves them, cares about them, wants to be involved in their lives, is cheering for them, has a great plan for their future, knows best, can be trusted, and loves to hear their voices. Teach them to talk to Him often. Tell them that they need not bow their heads, close their eyes, and fold their hands in order to be heard, but that they can commune with the Maker of the universe in the privacy of their own souls. Let them know that if they will only turn their thoughts toward God, He will listen and respond.
There will always be situations and circumstance that you cannot change for yourself or for your children. There will always be something over which you are utterly powerless–and it may be something potentially devastating. In such moments of crisis, there is no substitute for prayer and there is no source of strength and comfort like prayer. I am reminded of a line from an old song I have known for years: “King Jesus is a-listening when you pray.” Let your voice be heard in heaven–and let me assure you that God is listening when you pray.
Homework for the heart: When did you hear your mother pray? On what occasion would she talk to God? What did she teach you about prayer and communicating with Him? How does this affect the way you pray today? What would you like to tell God that you’ve been reluctant to say to Him? I encourage you to open your heart to Him and listen for His voice.
When his sister was seriously ill, T.D. Jakes's tough-minded mother stormed heaven with her prayers.
Reprinted from "Mama Made the Difference" by arrangement with G.P. Putnam's Sons.
Credit: Russ
Harrington/EMI
My mother was a woman of faith and conviction. She definitely helped to secure my belief in God. But she was not a sweet, sappy, super-spiritual saint who carried her Bible everywhere she went and greeted people with “Praise the Lord.” No, she was a real person with real challenges–and she had a real faith in a real God. She had a relationship with Him in the deepest part of her being. It was like bedrock beneath every obstacle she ever faced, every emotion she ever felt, every decision she ever made, and every victory she ever gained. She did not flaunt it, she did not spiritualize it, she simply lived it.
In teaching me to pray, my mother never sat me down at the kitchen table and said, “Now son, this is how you pray. First you say this and then you say that…” No, she taught me through exposure. Now, many of us may have been exposed to prayer through various contexts throughout our lives. We have heard people pray in our churches, and in our schools if we are of a certain age. We may have grown up in a family that paused before mealtimes to thank God for you food. We may have seen people pray on television as we watched state funerals or events such as a presidential inauguration. We may have found ourselves in situations so desperate that we have uttered almost a primal cry to God for help or relief. Then again, we may be people who live by prayer, having plumbed the depths of relationship with God, through the communion of prayer. Nevertheless, like a first kiss from a secret crush, we never forget our first awareness of what it means to converse with God.
My own exposure began around the table. I suppose that is where I first became aware that people talk to God. Of course, growing up in church, I heard people pray in my Sunday school classes and in church services. At times those prayers stirred my soul and at times I did not really understand them. I did, though, believe God was listening and I knew that He could answer. But there came a point when my exposure to prayer solidified into a concrete commitment to heavenly communication
My sister became sick. In her early twenties, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking situation, one our family could do nothing about. Of course, we could feed her, and take care of her and ensure that she received the best medical care we could find, but at the core of the matter, we were powerless to heal her. We were helpless when it came to being able to ease her pain or relieve her symptoms. All we could do was pray. My family’s prayers became urgent, fervent, passionate, desperate, and unceasing, as they went forth from our house with the speed, focus, and force of a steady stream of bullets aimed at the throne of God. My mother led the charge.
And let me tell you, nobody can pray like a mama whose baby is deathly ill–even when her baby is an adult. I had never heard anybody pray the way my mother prayed when my sister was sick. I had heard plenty of people pray, but never like that. She would not back down, she would not let down, she would not calm down. She would not get up and she would not shut up as she literally bombarded heaven on my sister’s behalf.
She became a warrior far superior to any epic hero. She became a giant on her knees. With a sword in one hand she battled the enemies of death and disease, and with her other hand stretched toward heaven she kept beseeching God’s help and His mercy.
Have you ever heard the sound of desperation in another person’s voice? I heard it during those days. I am sure the halls of heaven shook with the force of her intercession. She meant business–and she knew how to do business–with God. Though my mother’s prayers were intense and emotional at times, they were not based on emotion; they were based on faith. Her passionate pleas were built on her deep and intimate acquaintance with God, her years of relationship with Him, her knowledge of His Word. She knew who He was, she knew what He could do, she knew what He had promised–and she went to war for those things to come to pass in my sister’s life.
“What happened?” you ask. Let me just say that today my sister is a strong, healthy, beautiful mother and grandmother. She had an excellent education and a distinguished career in her profession. She has authored books, she is a public speaker, she is a delight to our family, and she is a trophy and a testimony to the power of prayer....
Like so many other lessons, I believe prayer is best taught by example, and I encourage you to begin passing along a prayer legacy to you children if you have not already started. A child who sees and hears you pray will learn to pray in his or her own way. You can provide guidance by encouraging children to pray before meals, when they have a test to take at school, when someone is sick, or when their feelings are hurt. You can remind them to thank God when prayers are answered. The point is to help them realize that they are not alone in life and that they can appeal to a source of help beyond their parents or any other human being. They need to know that God loves them, cares about them, wants to be involved in their lives, is cheering for them, has a great plan for their future, knows best, can be trusted, and loves to hear their voices. Teach them to talk to Him often. Tell them that they need not bow their heads, close their eyes, and fold their hands in order to be heard, but that they can commune with the Maker of the universe in the privacy of their own souls. Let them know that if they will only turn their thoughts toward God, He will listen and respond.
There will always be situations and circumstance that you cannot change for yourself or for your children. There will always be something over which you are utterly powerless–and it may be something potentially devastating. In such moments of crisis, there is no substitute for prayer and there is no source of strength and comfort like prayer. I am reminded of a line from an old song I have known for years: “King Jesus is a-listening when you pray.” Let your voice be heard in heaven–and let me assure you that God is listening when you pray.
Homework for the heart: When did you hear your mother pray? On what occasion would she talk to God? What did she teach you about prayer and communicating with Him? How does this affect the way you pray today? What would you like to tell God that you’ve been reluctant to say to Him? I encourage you to open your heart to Him and listen for His voice.
My mother had a great deal of trouble
Today's Quote
My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.
-Mark Twain
My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.
-Mark Twain
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Austyn ...
Grandma and I had a wonderful thing happen this week. Austyn came to visit us a couple of evenings. He is a hoot and is really growing up fast. He can tell some nice tales about things and is really finding his way in the world. He told us he is playing tball again this summer. He is playing with the Y league and they play later in the season than Andrew plays. It was wonderful having Austyn come see us and we hope he comes back soon.
Oh... He LOVES popcorn, just like his grandpa does!!!
Have a great day. Nope, didn't get any pics, saving it for this Sunday when all the family gathers to celebrate Mother's Day, and honor the wonderful lady who allowed this family to be and become! Ann is the best mother, best wife and greatest friend anyone might possibly have! She is truly the rock this family is built on, and because of her steadfast love and devotion to us, we will make it! Happy Mothers Day Ann, and many many more to come!
Oh... He LOVES popcorn, just like his grandpa does!!!
Have a great day. Nope, didn't get any pics, saving it for this Sunday when all the family gathers to celebrate Mother's Day, and honor the wonderful lady who allowed this family to be and become! Ann is the best mother, best wife and greatest friend anyone might possibly have! She is truly the rock this family is built on, and because of her steadfast love and devotion to us, we will make it! Happy Mothers Day Ann, and many many more to come!
What you think you create
" What you think you create, what you feel you attract, what you imagine you become."
Author Unknown
Author Unknown
This prayer seemed to fit....
Dear Lord,
For all the times in our lives when things DO seem right,
when we have that moment of clarity when we feel there is hope, when the sun shines down upon us and warms our face and reminds us that life IS a gift...
we thank you Lord.
Amen
For all the times in our lives when things DO seem right,
when we have that moment of clarity when we feel there is hope, when the sun shines down upon us and warms our face and reminds us that life IS a gift...
we thank you Lord.
Amen
Lady Luck generally woos those who earnestly
Today's Quote
Lady Luck generally woos those who earnestly, enthusiastically, unremittingly woo her.
-B.C. Forbes
Lady Luck generally woos those who earnestly, enthusiastically, unremittingly woo her.
-B.C. Forbes
Friday, May 12, 2006
When you shoot an arrow, you aim a little above
" If you feel bad, if you can do nothing, think of a rock in your shoe. It is very small, but it makes a huge difference!"
Written in 2006 by C.K. --- Tennessee
" When you shoot an arrow, you aim a little above your target for force of gravity. In life, you should always dream more than you can do."
Author Unknown
Written in 2006 by C.K. --- Tennessee
" When you shoot an arrow, you aim a little above your target for force of gravity. In life, you should always dream more than you can do."
Author Unknown
Living Under the Overpass
Living Under the Overpass
When I realized that my life didn't reflect Christ's command to 'love thy neighbor,' I decided to live as a homeless person.
By Mike Yankoski
Author Mike Yankoski
In 2003, college students Mike Yankoski and Sam Purvis voluntarily became homeless in order to experience what life is like for the poor in America. For five months, both men traveled through five different cities with bare essentials and two acoustic guitars. Singing worship songs while panhandling, Mike and Sam got to know homeless people and saw firsthand whether churches respond to their needs. Below are excerpts from "Under the Overpass," Mike's book about his travels.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Washington D.C. * San Francisco * Phoenix
WASHINGTON D.C.
Communion on an Empty Stomach
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially when you didn’t eat the night before.
In D.C., the only place we found to get breakfast on Sundays was at an Episcopal church in the heart of the city. The old church’s oak pews were at least softer than concrete, and seemed almost welcoming after a night on the sidewalk.
Each morning, a female priest spoke briefly on the passage of the day while more than a hundred homeless men and women sat scattered through the sanctuary, enduring the mandatory service. Some rocked slowly back and forth. Others talked to themselves, or coughed incessantly. Some slept quietly, others snored loudly. Some escaped to the sounds of heavy metal in their headphones. Some actually listened, and you’d hear an occasional “Amen” ringing out through the expansive sanctuary, usually well after the priest had begun her next sentence.
One Sunday, the priest offered communion, and about 40 of us ragged souls walked up and kneeled down around the pulpit.
I knelt next to a huge man who had been seated in front of me. His broad shoulders and large, rough hands told of a lifetime of hard labor. The wrinkles in his weathered face were thrown into dark relief by the dirt that had collected in them. His long graying hair and beard were stained and thick with debris.
As I knelt beside him, he started coughing violently, a thick gurgle rising from his lungs between convulsions. He braced himself against the floor with both hands until he could regain his composure, then he wiped his eyes, shifted back to a kneeling position, and waited.
The priest moved quietly around the circle, leaning down to each person. “This is the body of Christ, which was broken for you,” she said, looking each in the eye. Then she came around again with the cup. “This is the blood of Christ, which was shed for you.” The white of her cloak shone brilliantly against our filth.
By the time she brought the cup to the big guy next to me, he was back on his hands again, struggling for breath. She stopped directly in front of him and waited for him to rise. When he could look up at her, she held the shining silver cup as he put it to his lips. I heard him swallow, and as he handed the cup back to the priest, two drops of wine ran down his mustache and disappeared into his beard.
The priest wiped the cup where he had received and stepped in front of me. "This is the blood of Christ..."
I’d never taken communion on an empty stomach before. The cup burns when you’re hungry. It goes deeper, quicker, when there’s nothing to stop it.
The priest moved on, and with a deep sigh, the big man next to me crossed his chest and pushed himself to his feet. I rose too, and before we walked back to our seats, we caught each other’s gaze and nodded.
SAN FRANCISCO
The Grace of Pizza
It was a busy Saturday night in Berkeley, throngs of students everywhere. We’d come here on BART (the Bay Area Rapid Transit system) earlier in the day in a search of better panhandling. So far, we were doing okay on the donations, not so great on the requests. We just never seemed to know the songs others wanted to hear.
My fingers were getting sore from hours of playing. I stood to stretch, then yawned and laughed.
“What?” Sam asked.
“You know, before we came out here, a part of me was excited to have all this time to play the guitar. I figured I’d get a lot better. Six months on the street and I’d be the next Dave Matthews.”
Sam confessed to having similar thoughts.
I examined the calluses on my left hand. “We’ve gotten a little better, but not much. Out here, you don’t play to get better, you play to eat.”
“Yup, and that means being heard above the traffic.”
“So we’re not really playing and singing, right?” I said. “We’re strumming and yelling. We’re getting better at strumming and yelling.”
We both laughed, and I sat down to begin again. Just then three guys walked past, the lead guy carrying a pizza box.
“Hey bro!” I called. “You going to eat the rest of that pizza?”
The guy stopped, looked from Sam and me to his box of pizza, then said, “Nope.” Shaking his head, he walked over. “You want it?” he asked.
“Sure!” I said, and he handed it down to us.
We thanked him profusely. “No problem,” he said, walking away. “Enjoy.”
Opening the box we found half a pepperoni pizza. “Unbelievable!” Sam yelled.
“This is the good stuff!” I said, grabbing a piece. “Father, thank you for this food!”
We sat there, happily devouring the still-warm pizza. By the time we were down to the crumbs, we were ready for more conversation.
“‘Father, thank you for this food’ means something different out here, doesn’t it?” I said.
“Sure does,” said Sam. “I don’t know if I’ll ever say it so sincerely again after we get back.”
“I hope I don’t change,” I said.
We sat watching people walk by, thinking about pizza and thankfulness. “What do you think would have happened if the Israelites hadn’t gone out and picked up the manna God sent,” I asked.
“And your meaning is?” said Sam.
“I mean, don’t you think they would have starved if they never actually went out and picked the manna off the ground?”
Sam looked at me as if I had pepperoni poisoning. Finally, he responded. “Yeah, probably. They had to eat, and God was providing, but—yes—they had to go out and pick it up.”
“Exactly!” I said enthusiastically. “They had to pick it up! How dumb would it have been if some had starved because they refused to take what God was providing.”
Sam sounded thoughtful. “I’d be a lot more hungry right now if we hadn’t asked those guys for their leftover pizza.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “We prayed for God’s provision, right? We prayed that He would bless us and give us what we need. But then when it walked by, we had to make our move. Asking and receiving means different things out here on the streets than back home. But the idea is the same.”
Sam didn’t look nearly impressed enough by my line of logic. So I kept at it.
“Just like you said,” I continued, “we’d be a lot more hungry if we hadn’t asked for that pizza. God answered our prayers for provision, but we still had to ask these guys for it. We still had to ‘pick up the manna.’”
Now Sam was nodding. “I wonder how much we miss because we’re unwilling to pick it up. That verse in Matthew, ‘Knock and the door will be opened,’ why have the door opened if you don’t walk through?”
“I know,” I said. “Kinda scary.”
“It’s like asking God to bless your day, then when He puts a needy, smelly person in front of you that you could really help, you wonder what you did to deserve such rotten luck.”
“Yep!” I agreed.
We both felt insightful, mature, brilliant to the point of genius. Manna does that to you.
In no time at all, we were back to strumming and yelling.
PHOENIX
Sleeping on the Church Steps
Although Sam and I had spent every Sunday morning at church somewhere on our travels, the lack of community was taking a toll on us. Even at church, we felt isolated because of how we looked, how we smelled, and who people perceived us to be. In fact, walking into a church where we hoped to find genuine fellowship only to be met by condescension or suspicion or disingenuous flattery was the worst kind of rejection.
One night in Phoenix we stretched out our sleeping bags in front of a church’s main doors hoping that early the next morning we would be awakened by a kindhearted churchgoer wondering if he could help us in some way. A simple, obvious plan, we thought, but it didn’t work.
At about 7 the next morning, while a dream of wintertime in the Rockies cooled my sweating body, a far away voice pulled me back to reality. “And before we read from Romans 8, let us pray together...”
Sam and I were still on the steps of the church and already baking in the morning sun. I rolled over to look through the sanctuary windows. A small gathering was standing while the pastor led in prayer. The early service was just getting under way inside, but for us, the voice came from a speaker just above where we slept.
“Sam,” I said, nudging him awake.
“Yeah?” He sat up and shaking his head.
“Did anybody wake you up?” I said pointing into the sanctuary.
"No way,” he said. We both realized what had happened. Every person inside had gone through a side door. “Nobody woke me up. You?”
“Nope.”
The pastor was ending his prayer. “Lord, teach us to look not unto ourselves but unto you and unto others...” With a loud Amen that came metallically through the speaker above, the congregation took its seat and he began his sermon.
Already soaked with sweat, we decided to pack up and move on. “Wow,” said Sam, “I thought we were making it easy for them!”
But were we? I’m not so sure now. I think two sleeping transients on the church steps early one morning would make most people uneasy, Christian or not. The need is unexpected, out of place, and a little disturbing. Yet it is in exactly here, in the difficult circumstances, that Christ’s love should take risks to meet needs. In A Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning describes what that kind of love looks like: “To evangelize a person is to say to him or her: you too are loved by God and the Lord Jesus. And not only to say it but to really think it, and relate it to them so they can sense it. But that becomes possible only by offering the person your friendship, a friendship that is real, unselfish, without condescension, full of confidence and profound esteem.”
Reprinted from 'Under the Overpass' by Mike Yankoski, with permission of Multnomah Publishers. Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.
When I realized that my life didn't reflect Christ's command to 'love thy neighbor,' I decided to live as a homeless person.
By Mike Yankoski
Author Mike Yankoski
In 2003, college students Mike Yankoski and Sam Purvis voluntarily became homeless in order to experience what life is like for the poor in America. For five months, both men traveled through five different cities with bare essentials and two acoustic guitars. Singing worship songs while panhandling, Mike and Sam got to know homeless people and saw firsthand whether churches respond to their needs. Below are excerpts from "Under the Overpass," Mike's book about his travels.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Washington D.C. * San Francisco * Phoenix
WASHINGTON D.C.
Communion on an Empty Stomach
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially when you didn’t eat the night before.
In D.C., the only place we found to get breakfast on Sundays was at an Episcopal church in the heart of the city. The old church’s oak pews were at least softer than concrete, and seemed almost welcoming after a night on the sidewalk.
Each morning, a female priest spoke briefly on the passage of the day while more than a hundred homeless men and women sat scattered through the sanctuary, enduring the mandatory service. Some rocked slowly back and forth. Others talked to themselves, or coughed incessantly. Some slept quietly, others snored loudly. Some escaped to the sounds of heavy metal in their headphones. Some actually listened, and you’d hear an occasional “Amen” ringing out through the expansive sanctuary, usually well after the priest had begun her next sentence.
One Sunday, the priest offered communion, and about 40 of us ragged souls walked up and kneeled down around the pulpit.
I knelt next to a huge man who had been seated in front of me. His broad shoulders and large, rough hands told of a lifetime of hard labor. The wrinkles in his weathered face were thrown into dark relief by the dirt that had collected in them. His long graying hair and beard were stained and thick with debris.
As I knelt beside him, he started coughing violently, a thick gurgle rising from his lungs between convulsions. He braced himself against the floor with both hands until he could regain his composure, then he wiped his eyes, shifted back to a kneeling position, and waited.
The priest moved quietly around the circle, leaning down to each person. “This is the body of Christ, which was broken for you,” she said, looking each in the eye. Then she came around again with the cup. “This is the blood of Christ, which was shed for you.” The white of her cloak shone brilliantly against our filth.
By the time she brought the cup to the big guy next to me, he was back on his hands again, struggling for breath. She stopped directly in front of him and waited for him to rise. When he could look up at her, she held the shining silver cup as he put it to his lips. I heard him swallow, and as he handed the cup back to the priest, two drops of wine ran down his mustache and disappeared into his beard.
The priest wiped the cup where he had received and stepped in front of me. "This is the blood of Christ..."
I’d never taken communion on an empty stomach before. The cup burns when you’re hungry. It goes deeper, quicker, when there’s nothing to stop it.
The priest moved on, and with a deep sigh, the big man next to me crossed his chest and pushed himself to his feet. I rose too, and before we walked back to our seats, we caught each other’s gaze and nodded.
SAN FRANCISCO
The Grace of Pizza
It was a busy Saturday night in Berkeley, throngs of students everywhere. We’d come here on BART (the Bay Area Rapid Transit system) earlier in the day in a search of better panhandling. So far, we were doing okay on the donations, not so great on the requests. We just never seemed to know the songs others wanted to hear.
My fingers were getting sore from hours of playing. I stood to stretch, then yawned and laughed.
“What?” Sam asked.
“You know, before we came out here, a part of me was excited to have all this time to play the guitar. I figured I’d get a lot better. Six months on the street and I’d be the next Dave Matthews.”
Sam confessed to having similar thoughts.
I examined the calluses on my left hand. “We’ve gotten a little better, but not much. Out here, you don’t play to get better, you play to eat.”
“Yup, and that means being heard above the traffic.”
“So we’re not really playing and singing, right?” I said. “We’re strumming and yelling. We’re getting better at strumming and yelling.”
We both laughed, and I sat down to begin again. Just then three guys walked past, the lead guy carrying a pizza box.
“Hey bro!” I called. “You going to eat the rest of that pizza?”
The guy stopped, looked from Sam and me to his box of pizza, then said, “Nope.” Shaking his head, he walked over. “You want it?” he asked.
“Sure!” I said, and he handed it down to us.
We thanked him profusely. “No problem,” he said, walking away. “Enjoy.”
Opening the box we found half a pepperoni pizza. “Unbelievable!” Sam yelled.
“This is the good stuff!” I said, grabbing a piece. “Father, thank you for this food!”
We sat there, happily devouring the still-warm pizza. By the time we were down to the crumbs, we were ready for more conversation.
“‘Father, thank you for this food’ means something different out here, doesn’t it?” I said.
“Sure does,” said Sam. “I don’t know if I’ll ever say it so sincerely again after we get back.”
“I hope I don’t change,” I said.
We sat watching people walk by, thinking about pizza and thankfulness. “What do you think would have happened if the Israelites hadn’t gone out and picked up the manna God sent,” I asked.
“And your meaning is?” said Sam.
“I mean, don’t you think they would have starved if they never actually went out and picked the manna off the ground?”
Sam looked at me as if I had pepperoni poisoning. Finally, he responded. “Yeah, probably. They had to eat, and God was providing, but—yes—they had to go out and pick it up.”
“Exactly!” I said enthusiastically. “They had to pick it up! How dumb would it have been if some had starved because they refused to take what God was providing.”
Sam sounded thoughtful. “I’d be a lot more hungry right now if we hadn’t asked those guys for their leftover pizza.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “We prayed for God’s provision, right? We prayed that He would bless us and give us what we need. But then when it walked by, we had to make our move. Asking and receiving means different things out here on the streets than back home. But the idea is the same.”
Sam didn’t look nearly impressed enough by my line of logic. So I kept at it.
“Just like you said,” I continued, “we’d be a lot more hungry if we hadn’t asked for that pizza. God answered our prayers for provision, but we still had to ask these guys for it. We still had to ‘pick up the manna.’”
Now Sam was nodding. “I wonder how much we miss because we’re unwilling to pick it up. That verse in Matthew, ‘Knock and the door will be opened,’ why have the door opened if you don’t walk through?”
“I know,” I said. “Kinda scary.”
“It’s like asking God to bless your day, then when He puts a needy, smelly person in front of you that you could really help, you wonder what you did to deserve such rotten luck.”
“Yep!” I agreed.
We both felt insightful, mature, brilliant to the point of genius. Manna does that to you.
In no time at all, we were back to strumming and yelling.
PHOENIX
Sleeping on the Church Steps
Although Sam and I had spent every Sunday morning at church somewhere on our travels, the lack of community was taking a toll on us. Even at church, we felt isolated because of how we looked, how we smelled, and who people perceived us to be. In fact, walking into a church where we hoped to find genuine fellowship only to be met by condescension or suspicion or disingenuous flattery was the worst kind of rejection.
One night in Phoenix we stretched out our sleeping bags in front of a church’s main doors hoping that early the next morning we would be awakened by a kindhearted churchgoer wondering if he could help us in some way. A simple, obvious plan, we thought, but it didn’t work.
At about 7 the next morning, while a dream of wintertime in the Rockies cooled my sweating body, a far away voice pulled me back to reality. “And before we read from Romans 8, let us pray together...”
Sam and I were still on the steps of the church and already baking in the morning sun. I rolled over to look through the sanctuary windows. A small gathering was standing while the pastor led in prayer. The early service was just getting under way inside, but for us, the voice came from a speaker just above where we slept.
“Sam,” I said, nudging him awake.
“Yeah?” He sat up and shaking his head.
“Did anybody wake you up?” I said pointing into the sanctuary.
"No way,” he said. We both realized what had happened. Every person inside had gone through a side door. “Nobody woke me up. You?”
“Nope.”
The pastor was ending his prayer. “Lord, teach us to look not unto ourselves but unto you and unto others...” With a loud Amen that came metallically through the speaker above, the congregation took its seat and he began his sermon.
Already soaked with sweat, we decided to pack up and move on. “Wow,” said Sam, “I thought we were making it easy for them!”
But were we? I’m not so sure now. I think two sleeping transients on the church steps early one morning would make most people uneasy, Christian or not. The need is unexpected, out of place, and a little disturbing. Yet it is in exactly here, in the difficult circumstances, that Christ’s love should take risks to meet needs. In A Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning describes what that kind of love looks like: “To evangelize a person is to say to him or her: you too are loved by God and the Lord Jesus. And not only to say it but to really think it, and relate it to them so they can sense it. But that becomes possible only by offering the person your friendship, a friendship that is real, unselfish, without condescension, full of confidence and profound esteem.”
Reprinted from 'Under the Overpass' by Mike Yankoski, with permission of Multnomah Publishers. Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.
When we look into our own hearts
Today's Quote
When we look into our own hearts and begin to discover what is confused and what is brilliant, what is bitter and what is sweet, it isn't just ourselves that we're discovering. We're discovering the universe.
-Pema Chodron
When we look into our own hearts and begin to discover what is confused and what is brilliant, what is bitter and what is sweet, it isn't just ourselves that we're discovering. We're discovering the universe.
-Pema Chodron
Thursday, May 11, 2006
If I had my life to live over...
Today's Quote
If I had my life to live over...I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
-Nadine Stair
If I had my life to live over...I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
-Nadine Stair
One can walk all day, thousands of days and never see this view
One can walk all day, thousands of days and never see this view and then all of a sudden it appears, and then God helps in making my hands steady and then He uses my eye to find the picture and allows me to take it. This is what is meant by... we are only using what God has lent to us, and this photo is in fact, talent on loan from God seeing His world on loan to us all through our own eyes... As Ann taught me when we were dating and she came out and helped me feed the cows one afternoon, and had me stop by some ole weeds, I thought, at the north end of the double pond pasture, and got out and walked to the weeds and got down on her knees and looked at the small beautiful flowers, that I called weeds, and she had me get out and join her and look at their beauty, and I have never forgot that valuable lesson in life and taking time to see things around us! So now, all that know me have to suffer through tons of photos... haha... Needless to say, you can see by the path in the grass, I walk this way every day and have never seen this till today! And yes, in person, it was breathtaking. I honestly stopped and enjoyed this for about 5 minutes!! It took my breath away! I am amazed every day at the evidence of His Being, and all that He created.
And yes, there are lots of photos from this mornings walk, but I will have to post them later. Enjoy the day!
Stan Moffat
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
forgot to mention
Lots of new pics online in the gallery and on dotphoto.com. see links below.
Ann and I went to Austyn's Tea Party at School last Thursday afternoon. We had a great time and saw a GREAT teacher and a super set of kiddos perform various skits and behave in a "grownup" way. Nothing at all like it would have been had I been young and there... in that class at that age. I was blown away by it all!
Photos from it and tons of short movie clips too online at http://www.paynecountyline.com/Gallery. or see the gallery link below on the left side of this page...
Ann and I went to Austyn's Tea Party at School last Thursday afternoon. We had a great time and saw a GREAT teacher and a super set of kiddos perform various skits and behave in a "grownup" way. Nothing at all like it would have been had I been young and there... in that class at that age. I was blown away by it all!
Photos from it and tons of short movie clips too online at http://www.paynecountyline.com/Gallery. or see the gallery link below on the left side of this page...
Finally... my blog is back online.. haha..
Seems ole Mr. Blogger ate this one for a week... it seems... haha...
We had a family day last Sunday at Heather and Paul's to celebrate a very important milestone. Young Miss Madison celebrated her 1st Birthday!! It was a wonderful afternoon. And a great party. She had a blast and enjoyed it all, from providing the "stripper" entertainment to eat her birthday cake... to opening her presents to being held and played with by Grandpa Roy and Uncle Chris and playing with Kaitlyn and Andrew too.... Was a great time. We all have made a point to be together on the first birthday of each kiddo... we might not be able to make the rest, but we wanted to be together on their first. This kind'a started with Austyn and how we all came together for his birthday.
It's a neat family thing. You would just have to be there to appreciate it, haha...
Well, God heard our prayers and has sent us rain. And we rejoice in His love. Just when it seems He might have turned a deaf ear, He blesses us, in many, many ways!
Paul was one of the chosen few to guard the President of the USA on his visit to Stillwater to speak at the OSU graduation. He has quite a story to tell, so will let him share that with you, but it is truly the "once in a lifetime" story. He had an early start and an eventful time, we can leave it at that.
Andrew if playing TBall and having fun. He as a couple of really good coaches and they are getting the best from him.
Ann and I bout have our home finished on the outside. Sure has changed the way it looks. Matthew did an awesome job for us. The kiddos went to school with Matthew, so we chose him. We just told him to do it. And he did and all is well in the world.
I am still walking about half as much as before the rain started. But am down to about 250... less in the buff, but thought that paints a pretty bad image so maybe I should not mention it... haha...
That's 50 pounds from heart attack and 100 from last Sept. 1st!!
Our heifers we kept back are calving and looking great. The mature cow pastures we have are enjoying this spring and the rain to recharge themselves and grow without momma cows eating them off ...
I moved my office for Payne County Line to Flatland Studios in Stillwater and am helping my good friend Greg Pearce. He has put together a complete package for artists at any point in their career. Flatland has a very modern up to date recording studio, a management company, a booking agency, a record label, a publishing company, and a university for the artists to attend to learn the business of music. I enjoy it and being around the artists I have known for a long time.
To date we have two artists we have signed exclusively with our record label, Tough Records.
Well, actually we are in the process of signing our second artists. He is from Midland, TX. and is a solid artists and a very nice person as well. We will see.. haha...
Payne County Line, my first love, crashed the servers that is it housed on with ipowerweb.com. They informed me that the site in 4 hours that afternoon received over 750,000 hits!! PCL has had many days of million hits... unbelievable to me. Some days it seems like maybe I should quit doing it as no one looks at it, but that is just on the surface, I guess... it seems that Nashville and both coast's have found it too...
ok.. enough of us... now how bout you???
later.. Enjoy the day - S
We had a family day last Sunday at Heather and Paul's to celebrate a very important milestone. Young Miss Madison celebrated her 1st Birthday!! It was a wonderful afternoon. And a great party. She had a blast and enjoyed it all, from providing the "stripper" entertainment to eat her birthday cake... to opening her presents to being held and played with by Grandpa Roy and Uncle Chris and playing with Kaitlyn and Andrew too.... Was a great time. We all have made a point to be together on the first birthday of each kiddo... we might not be able to make the rest, but we wanted to be together on their first. This kind'a started with Austyn and how we all came together for his birthday.
It's a neat family thing. You would just have to be there to appreciate it, haha...
Well, God heard our prayers and has sent us rain. And we rejoice in His love. Just when it seems He might have turned a deaf ear, He blesses us, in many, many ways!
Paul was one of the chosen few to guard the President of the USA on his visit to Stillwater to speak at the OSU graduation. He has quite a story to tell, so will let him share that with you, but it is truly the "once in a lifetime" story. He had an early start and an eventful time, we can leave it at that.
Andrew if playing TBall and having fun. He as a couple of really good coaches and they are getting the best from him.
Ann and I bout have our home finished on the outside. Sure has changed the way it looks. Matthew did an awesome job for us. The kiddos went to school with Matthew, so we chose him. We just told him to do it. And he did and all is well in the world.
I am still walking about half as much as before the rain started. But am down to about 250... less in the buff, but thought that paints a pretty bad image so maybe I should not mention it... haha...
That's 50 pounds from heart attack and 100 from last Sept. 1st!!
Our heifers we kept back are calving and looking great. The mature cow pastures we have are enjoying this spring and the rain to recharge themselves and grow without momma cows eating them off ...
I moved my office for Payne County Line to Flatland Studios in Stillwater and am helping my good friend Greg Pearce. He has put together a complete package for artists at any point in their career. Flatland has a very modern up to date recording studio, a management company, a booking agency, a record label, a publishing company, and a university for the artists to attend to learn the business of music. I enjoy it and being around the artists I have known for a long time.
To date we have two artists we have signed exclusively with our record label, Tough Records.
Well, actually we are in the process of signing our second artists. He is from Midland, TX. and is a solid artists and a very nice person as well. We will see.. haha...
Payne County Line, my first love, crashed the servers that is it housed on with ipowerweb.com. They informed me that the site in 4 hours that afternoon received over 750,000 hits!! PCL has had many days of million hits... unbelievable to me. Some days it seems like maybe I should quit doing it as no one looks at it, but that is just on the surface, I guess... it seems that Nashville and both coast's have found it too...
ok.. enough of us... now how bout you???
later.. Enjoy the day - S
Let us be grateful
Today's Quote
Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
-Marcel Proust
Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
-Marcel Proust
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Making Memories
Making Memories
Some may think spending the day with a child is doing 'nothing much.' Here's why it's the most important thing in the world.
By Tonna Canfield
Reprinted with permission from Chicken Soup for the Soul.
After eating breakfast, my little girl says, "Mommy, will you watch this show with me?" I look at the breakfast dishes in the sink and then at her big brown eyes.
"Okay," I say, and we snuggle together on the couch and watch her favorite show.
After the show, we put together a puzzle and I head for the kitchen to wash those dirty dishes when the phone rings. "Hi," my friend says, "What have you been doing?"
"Well," I say, "watching my little one's favorite show with her and putting together a puzzle."
"Oh," she says, "so you're not busy today."
No, I think to myself, just busy making memories.
After lunch, Erica says, "Mommy, please play a game with me." Now I am looking at not only the breakfast dishes but also the lunch dishes piled in the sink. But again, I look at those big brown eyes and I remember how special it felt when my mom played games with me when I was a little girl.
"Sounds like fun," I answer, "but just one game." We play her favorite game, and I can tell she is delighting in every moment.
When the game ends, she says, "Please read me a story."
"Okay," I say, "but just one."
After reading her favorite story, I head for the kitchen to tackle those dishes. With the dishes now done, I start to fix supper. My willing little helper comes eagerly to the kitchen to help me with my task. I'm running behind and thinking about how much faster I could do this if my sweet little one would just go play or watch a video, but her willingness to help and her eagerness to learn how to do what her mommy is doing melts my heart, and I say, "Okay, you can help," knowing it will probably take twice as long.
As supper is about ready, my husband comes home from work and asks, "What did you do today?"
I answer, "Let's see, we watched her favorite show and we played a game and read a book. I did the dishes and vacuumed; then with my little helper, I fixed supper."
"Great," he says, "I'm glad you didn't have a busy day today."
But I was busy, I think to myself, busy making memories.
After supper, Erica says, "Let's bake cookies."
"Okay," I say, "let's bake cookies."
After baking cookies, once again I am staring at a mountain of dishes from supper and cookie baking, but with the smell of warm cookies consuming the house, I pour us a glass of cold milk and fill a plate with warm cookies and take them to the table. We gather around the table eating cookies, drinking milk, talking and making memories.
No sooner have I tackled those dishes than my little sweetie comes tugging at my shirt, saying, "Could we take a walk?"
"Okay," I say, "let's take a walk." The second time around the block I'm thinking about the mountain of laundry that I need to get started on and the dust encompassing our home; but I feel the warmth of her hand in mine and the sweetness of our conversation as she enjoys my undivided attention, and I decide at least once more around the block sounds like a good idea.
When we get home, my husband asks, "Where have you been?"
"We've been making memories," I say.
A load in the wash and, my little girl all bathed and in her gown, the tiredness begins to creep in as she says, "Let's fix each other's hair."
I'm so tired! my mind is saying, but I hear my mouth saying, "Okay, let's brush each other's hair." With that task complete, she jumps up excitedly, "Let's paint each other's nails! Please!" So she paints my toenails, and I paint her fingernails, and we read a book while waiting for our nails to dry. I have to turn the pages, of course, because her fingernails are still drying.
We put away the book and say our prayers. My husband peeks his head in the door, "What are my girls doing?" he asks.
"Making memories," I answer.
"Mommy," she says, "will you lay with me until I fall asleep?"
"Yes," I say, but inside I'm thinking, I hope she falls asleep quickly so I can get up; I have so much to do.
About that time, two precious little arms encircle my neck as she whispers, "Mommy, nobody but God loves you as much as I do." I feel the tears roll down my cheeks as I thank God for the day we spent making memories.
Some may think spending the day with a child is doing 'nothing much.' Here's why it's the most important thing in the world.
By Tonna Canfield
Reprinted with permission from Chicken Soup for the Soul.
After eating breakfast, my little girl says, "Mommy, will you watch this show with me?" I look at the breakfast dishes in the sink and then at her big brown eyes.
"Okay," I say, and we snuggle together on the couch and watch her favorite show.
After the show, we put together a puzzle and I head for the kitchen to wash those dirty dishes when the phone rings. "Hi," my friend says, "What have you been doing?"
"Well," I say, "watching my little one's favorite show with her and putting together a puzzle."
"Oh," she says, "so you're not busy today."
No, I think to myself, just busy making memories.
After lunch, Erica says, "Mommy, please play a game with me." Now I am looking at not only the breakfast dishes but also the lunch dishes piled in the sink. But again, I look at those big brown eyes and I remember how special it felt when my mom played games with me when I was a little girl.
"Sounds like fun," I answer, "but just one game." We play her favorite game, and I can tell she is delighting in every moment.
When the game ends, she says, "Please read me a story."
"Okay," I say, "but just one."
After reading her favorite story, I head for the kitchen to tackle those dishes. With the dishes now done, I start to fix supper. My willing little helper comes eagerly to the kitchen to help me with my task. I'm running behind and thinking about how much faster I could do this if my sweet little one would just go play or watch a video, but her willingness to help and her eagerness to learn how to do what her mommy is doing melts my heart, and I say, "Okay, you can help," knowing it will probably take twice as long.
As supper is about ready, my husband comes home from work and asks, "What did you do today?"
I answer, "Let's see, we watched her favorite show and we played a game and read a book. I did the dishes and vacuumed; then with my little helper, I fixed supper."
"Great," he says, "I'm glad you didn't have a busy day today."
But I was busy, I think to myself, busy making memories.
After supper, Erica says, "Let's bake cookies."
"Okay," I say, "let's bake cookies."
After baking cookies, once again I am staring at a mountain of dishes from supper and cookie baking, but with the smell of warm cookies consuming the house, I pour us a glass of cold milk and fill a plate with warm cookies and take them to the table. We gather around the table eating cookies, drinking milk, talking and making memories.
No sooner have I tackled those dishes than my little sweetie comes tugging at my shirt, saying, "Could we take a walk?"
"Okay," I say, "let's take a walk." The second time around the block I'm thinking about the mountain of laundry that I need to get started on and the dust encompassing our home; but I feel the warmth of her hand in mine and the sweetness of our conversation as she enjoys my undivided attention, and I decide at least once more around the block sounds like a good idea.
When we get home, my husband asks, "Where have you been?"
"We've been making memories," I say.
A load in the wash and, my little girl all bathed and in her gown, the tiredness begins to creep in as she says, "Let's fix each other's hair."
I'm so tired! my mind is saying, but I hear my mouth saying, "Okay, let's brush each other's hair." With that task complete, she jumps up excitedly, "Let's paint each other's nails! Please!" So she paints my toenails, and I paint her fingernails, and we read a book while waiting for our nails to dry. I have to turn the pages, of course, because her fingernails are still drying.
We put away the book and say our prayers. My husband peeks his head in the door, "What are my girls doing?" he asks.
"Making memories," I answer.
"Mommy," she says, "will you lay with me until I fall asleep?"
"Yes," I say, but inside I'm thinking, I hope she falls asleep quickly so I can get up; I have so much to do.
About that time, two precious little arms encircle my neck as she whispers, "Mommy, nobody but God loves you as much as I do." I feel the tears roll down my cheeks as I thank God for the day we spent making memories.
Starting an Inspiration Practice
Starting an Inspiration Practice
Five ways to live each day 'in Spirit.'
By Wayne Dyer
Excerpted from "Inspiration: Your Ultimate Calling," with permission of Hay House, Inc.
These daily practices will help you move toward Spirit in your thoughts and actions.
1. Commit to at least one daily experience where you share something of yourself with no expectation of being acknowledged or thanked. For example, before I begin my daily routine of exercise, meditation, or writing, I go to my desk and choose my gift for that day. Sometimes it’s just a phone call to a stranger who’s written to me, or perhaps I order flowers or send a book or present to someone who has helped me in a local store. On one occasion I wrote to the president of the university I graduated from to start a scholarship fund, on another day I took a calendar to the yard man, on another I sent a check to Habitat for Humanity, and on another I sent three rolls of postage stamps to my son who’d just started his own business. It doesn’t matter if this activity is big or small—it’s a way to begin the day in-Spirit.
2. Become conscious of all thoughts that aren’t aligned with your Source. The moment you catch yourself excluding someone or having a judgmental thought, say the words “in-Spirit” to yourself. Then make a silent effort to shift that thought to match up with Source energy.
3. In the morning before you’re fully awake, and again as you’re going to sleep, take one or two minutes of what I call “quiet time with God.” Be in a state of appreciation and say aloud, “I want to feel good.”
4. Remind yourself of this statement: My life is bigger than I am. Print it out and post it strategically in your home, car, or workplace. The “I” is your ego identification. Your life is Spirit flowing through you unhindered by ego—it’s what you showed up here to actualize—and is infinite. The “I” that identifies you is a fleeting snippet.
5. Dedicate your life to something that reflects an awareness of your Divinity. You are greatness personified, a resident genius, and a creative master—regardless of anyone’s opinion. Make a silent dedication to encourage and express your Divine nature.
Excerpted from 'Inspiration: Your Ultimate Calling,' with permission of Hay House, Inc.. Copyright (c) 2006 by Dr. Wayne W. Dyer
Five ways to live each day 'in Spirit.'
By Wayne Dyer
Excerpted from "Inspiration: Your Ultimate Calling," with permission of Hay House, Inc.
These daily practices will help you move toward Spirit in your thoughts and actions.
1. Commit to at least one daily experience where you share something of yourself with no expectation of being acknowledged or thanked. For example, before I begin my daily routine of exercise, meditation, or writing, I go to my desk and choose my gift for that day. Sometimes it’s just a phone call to a stranger who’s written to me, or perhaps I order flowers or send a book or present to someone who has helped me in a local store. On one occasion I wrote to the president of the university I graduated from to start a scholarship fund, on another day I took a calendar to the yard man, on another I sent a check to Habitat for Humanity, and on another I sent three rolls of postage stamps to my son who’d just started his own business. It doesn’t matter if this activity is big or small—it’s a way to begin the day in-Spirit.
2. Become conscious of all thoughts that aren’t aligned with your Source. The moment you catch yourself excluding someone or having a judgmental thought, say the words “in-Spirit” to yourself. Then make a silent effort to shift that thought to match up with Source energy.
3. In the morning before you’re fully awake, and again as you’re going to sleep, take one or two minutes of what I call “quiet time with God.” Be in a state of appreciation and say aloud, “I want to feel good.”
4. Remind yourself of this statement: My life is bigger than I am. Print it out and post it strategically in your home, car, or workplace. The “I” is your ego identification. Your life is Spirit flowing through you unhindered by ego—it’s what you showed up here to actualize—and is infinite. The “I” that identifies you is a fleeting snippet.
5. Dedicate your life to something that reflects an awareness of your Divinity. You are greatness personified, a resident genius, and a creative master—regardless of anyone’s opinion. Make a silent dedication to encourage and express your Divine nature.
Excerpted from 'Inspiration: Your Ultimate Calling,' with permission of Hay House, Inc.. Copyright (c) 2006 by Dr. Wayne W. Dyer
Growing Strawberries Again
Growing Strawberries Again
The bittersweet memories of summer fruits...and motherhood.
By Deborah Caldwell
When I was a girl, my family had a strawberry patch. On early summer mornings, my mother sent me to the back yard to weed the patch and pick the berries. I’d sit there weeding and eating, flapping the bugs away and feeling the chilly dirt.
My mother was a terrific gardener. In addition to strawberries, we grew zucchini, lettuce, rhubarb, beans, and enormous tomatoes. One year we planted and harvested a row of corn. Another year we put in raspberry bushes.
But the strawberries were special.
They ripened in June, and that’s when we celebrated nearly every family event: my mother’s birthday, my parents’ anniversary, Father’s Day, my birthday, and my brother’s birthday. The ripening strawberries were part of the festivities.
For some reason, my birthday was the occasion when strawberries took center stage. As a little girl, I ordered a strawberry cake for my parties. In later years, my mother made strawberry pie for my birthday. It was a simple but miraculous treat: delicate crust, ripe strawberries laced with a small amount of sugar, and homemade whipped cream.
As my mother aged, she became ill with depression. The depression cloaked her, and then it cloaked our house. As the years went by, spring became unbearable. People prone to depression are often sickest in the spring—as the rest of the world awakens to new life, and as the flowers bloom and the strawberries ripen, sad people are frozen in winter.
The family celebrations became a burden. We still had strawberry pie for my birthday, but we bought it from a local bakery. The years went on, and my mother became angry, abusive and cruel. She taunted me and my sister and brother, told us we were “bad kids,” and refused to pay attention to our activities and accomplishments. She would fly into a rage and storm out of the house, or throw our clothes out the front door. She threatened my father with a knife. She told us repeatedly she hated us, was afraid of us, and hated herself.
By the time I was a teenager, my mother would often check herself into a hospital sometime after Mother’s Day to weather the rest of the spring. Later, when I was a young adult, her suicide attempts would frequently happen in the spring.
Each year, I dreaded Mother’s Day. Most years she would either refuse gifts or, if she opened them, she would give them back in a huff. Sometimes she would retreat to her bedroom in anger or despair. There were no Mother’s Day cards at the store to describe adequately the disappointment, betrayal, and grief I felt about the loss of the mother I had once known.
Around that time, the strawberry patch died. My mother told me strawberry plants only bear fruit for a certain number of years, and so they must be replenished. But my mother stopped planting new, young strawberries. Eventually, the plants stopped bearing fruit.
We three children grew up, went away to college and got married. My mother’s depression deepened. There were no more strawberry pies.
One day, when I was home to visit, I happened to walk into my parents’ bedroom to look for something on their desk. Sitting atop of a pile of papers was the start of a poem, in my mother’s precise grammar school teacher handwriting. The title was “The Strawberry Years Are Gone.”
At the time, it struck me as maudlin and ridiculous. After all, my mother had become a shrew. I hated her for what she had become and what she was doing to us.
By the time I was in my mid-30s, we were all out of the house, and my parents had divorced. My mother was utterly alone. Her hair turned white and began to thin. She was only in her 50s.
But sometimes she would surprise me. Once, when I was having trouble with my elder son, who was in the Terrible Twos, she suggested I put him on a step stool at the kitchen sink and let him play in the water. It worked. She delighted in news that I was planting flowers. She wanted to know what I was cooking for dinner.
Then, 2 ½ years ago, my mother suddenly died of a massive heart attack.
I didn’t miss her, exactly, at first. There was no denying she was a very difficult person. I felt relief that I wouldn’t have to rush to any more emergency rooms, wouldn’t have to worry about her, wouldn’t have to listen to her angry tirades.
Still, she emerged. Like most people in mourning, I felt her presence or saw her shadow or thought I caught a glimpse of her. I would talk to her in my head as I bathed the children or watched them play. I would tell the boys stories of Mistress Mistletoe, a little fairy she made up for me, long before the depression caught hold.
And I felt her in peculiar ways as well. For at least a year after her death, I’d be looking for some work of literature or reference at home and suddenly discover a funny little book she’d sent me—something I’d completely forgotten. One was a collection of quotes about motherhood that she’d mailed when my elder boy was 20 months old. She wrote inside the front cover: “My love to a very special mother—my very own daughter...How I love you! Always, Mom.”
Last year, my husband and I bought a rambling old house with a back yard in need of attention. This is our first spring here, and although I never have enough time, I am desperate to garden. My boys love digging in the mud, pulling weeds and planting flowers with me.
The other day I took my younger son to Home Depot to buy lawn bags and fertilizer and all the things you need for spring gardening. As we browsed through azalea bushes and pansies, weed clippers and grass seed--I spotted strawberry plants.
Touching the familiar three-sprigged leaves, I peeked underneath to see the white buds. I imagined a sunny strawberry patch at the end of the yard. I imagined my boys stealing outside to fill themselves with the reddest, ripest, juiciest berries. I imagined a strawberry pie.
“We’re going to grow strawberries,” I said to my little boy.
And I gently placed the box of new plants in my cart.
The bittersweet memories of summer fruits...and motherhood.
By Deborah Caldwell
When I was a girl, my family had a strawberry patch. On early summer mornings, my mother sent me to the back yard to weed the patch and pick the berries. I’d sit there weeding and eating, flapping the bugs away and feeling the chilly dirt.
My mother was a terrific gardener. In addition to strawberries, we grew zucchini, lettuce, rhubarb, beans, and enormous tomatoes. One year we planted and harvested a row of corn. Another year we put in raspberry bushes.
But the strawberries were special.
They ripened in June, and that’s when we celebrated nearly every family event: my mother’s birthday, my parents’ anniversary, Father’s Day, my birthday, and my brother’s birthday. The ripening strawberries were part of the festivities.
For some reason, my birthday was the occasion when strawberries took center stage. As a little girl, I ordered a strawberry cake for my parties. In later years, my mother made strawberry pie for my birthday. It was a simple but miraculous treat: delicate crust, ripe strawberries laced with a small amount of sugar, and homemade whipped cream.
As my mother aged, she became ill with depression. The depression cloaked her, and then it cloaked our house. As the years went by, spring became unbearable. People prone to depression are often sickest in the spring—as the rest of the world awakens to new life, and as the flowers bloom and the strawberries ripen, sad people are frozen in winter.
The family celebrations became a burden. We still had strawberry pie for my birthday, but we bought it from a local bakery. The years went on, and my mother became angry, abusive and cruel. She taunted me and my sister and brother, told us we were “bad kids,” and refused to pay attention to our activities and accomplishments. She would fly into a rage and storm out of the house, or throw our clothes out the front door. She threatened my father with a knife. She told us repeatedly she hated us, was afraid of us, and hated herself.
By the time I was a teenager, my mother would often check herself into a hospital sometime after Mother’s Day to weather the rest of the spring. Later, when I was a young adult, her suicide attempts would frequently happen in the spring.
Each year, I dreaded Mother’s Day. Most years she would either refuse gifts or, if she opened them, she would give them back in a huff. Sometimes she would retreat to her bedroom in anger or despair. There were no Mother’s Day cards at the store to describe adequately the disappointment, betrayal, and grief I felt about the loss of the mother I had once known.
Around that time, the strawberry patch died. My mother told me strawberry plants only bear fruit for a certain number of years, and so they must be replenished. But my mother stopped planting new, young strawberries. Eventually, the plants stopped bearing fruit.
We three children grew up, went away to college and got married. My mother’s depression deepened. There were no more strawberry pies.
One day, when I was home to visit, I happened to walk into my parents’ bedroom to look for something on their desk. Sitting atop of a pile of papers was the start of a poem, in my mother’s precise grammar school teacher handwriting. The title was “The Strawberry Years Are Gone.”
At the time, it struck me as maudlin and ridiculous. After all, my mother had become a shrew. I hated her for what she had become and what she was doing to us.
By the time I was in my mid-30s, we were all out of the house, and my parents had divorced. My mother was utterly alone. Her hair turned white and began to thin. She was only in her 50s.
But sometimes she would surprise me. Once, when I was having trouble with my elder son, who was in the Terrible Twos, she suggested I put him on a step stool at the kitchen sink and let him play in the water. It worked. She delighted in news that I was planting flowers. She wanted to know what I was cooking for dinner.
Then, 2 ½ years ago, my mother suddenly died of a massive heart attack.
I didn’t miss her, exactly, at first. There was no denying she was a very difficult person. I felt relief that I wouldn’t have to rush to any more emergency rooms, wouldn’t have to worry about her, wouldn’t have to listen to her angry tirades.
Still, she emerged. Like most people in mourning, I felt her presence or saw her shadow or thought I caught a glimpse of her. I would talk to her in my head as I bathed the children or watched them play. I would tell the boys stories of Mistress Mistletoe, a little fairy she made up for me, long before the depression caught hold.
And I felt her in peculiar ways as well. For at least a year after her death, I’d be looking for some work of literature or reference at home and suddenly discover a funny little book she’d sent me—something I’d completely forgotten. One was a collection of quotes about motherhood that she’d mailed when my elder boy was 20 months old. She wrote inside the front cover: “My love to a very special mother—my very own daughter...How I love you! Always, Mom.”
Last year, my husband and I bought a rambling old house with a back yard in need of attention. This is our first spring here, and although I never have enough time, I am desperate to garden. My boys love digging in the mud, pulling weeds and planting flowers with me.
The other day I took my younger son to Home Depot to buy lawn bags and fertilizer and all the things you need for spring gardening. As we browsed through azalea bushes and pansies, weed clippers and grass seed--I spotted strawberry plants.
Touching the familiar three-sprigged leaves, I peeked underneath to see the white buds. I imagined a sunny strawberry patch at the end of the yard. I imagined my boys stealing outside to fill themselves with the reddest, ripest, juiciest berries. I imagined a strawberry pie.
“We’re going to grow strawberries,” I said to my little boy.
And I gently placed the box of new plants in my cart.
Today's Quote
I trust that everything happens for a reason, even when we're not wise enough to see it.
-Oprah Winfrey
-Oprah Winfrey
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Only if.....
"Only as high as I reach can I grow,
Only as far as I seek can I go,
Only as deep as I look can I see,
Only as much as I dream can I be."
Karen Raven
"Determination is the strength you achieve after failure." Scott T. Powell
"Without the stones of life being thrown at you, you would have nothing to step on to get to the next level." Rondra Bolden
" No one was born intellectual, smart or successful... we make ourselves that way. You can do anything you put your mind to... through hard work and dedication anything's possible. Out of hard work comes success. Never belittle your standards to achieve your goal...always fight your way through; the harder the battle the sweeter the victory." Ricardo Bailey
" What you think you create, what you feel you attract, what you imagine you become."
Author Unknown
" Determination is a counterstrike to overcome any adversity when the only hope of survival is defeat." Pritesh Jethwani
Only as far as I seek can I go,
Only as deep as I look can I see,
Only as much as I dream can I be."
Karen Raven
"Determination is the strength you achieve after failure." Scott T. Powell
"Without the stones of life being thrown at you, you would have nothing to step on to get to the next level." Rondra Bolden
" No one was born intellectual, smart or successful... we make ourselves that way. You can do anything you put your mind to... through hard work and dedication anything's possible. Out of hard work comes success. Never belittle your standards to achieve your goal...always fight your way through; the harder the battle the sweeter the victory." Ricardo Bailey
" What you think you create, what you feel you attract, what you imagine you become."
Author Unknown
" Determination is a counterstrike to overcome any adversity when the only hope of survival is defeat." Pritesh Jethwani
Friday, May 05, 2006
Within your heart
Today's Quote
Within your heart, keep one still, secret spot where dreams may grow.
-Louise Driscoll (submitted by MelodyGregory)
Within your heart, keep one still, secret spot where dreams may grow.
-Louise Driscoll (submitted by MelodyGregory)
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Life is like....
Life is like a ten-speed bike. Most of us have gears we never use.
-Charles M. Schultz
-Charles M. Schultz
Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday to Madison Ann Blankinship, a big one year old today... and mom.. you survived her first year..haha...
Phil started his new job with his old company on Monday and is still there as of Wednesday.... how cool!! teasing phil... just teasing...
We got RAIN and a bit more RAIN.... love it... 2.66 inches last night in three hours.. ponds are now officially full.... but we always could use more...
Happy birthday... Madison...
Phil started his new job with his old company on Monday and is still there as of Wednesday.... how cool!! teasing phil... just teasing...
We got RAIN and a bit more RAIN.... love it... 2.66 inches last night in three hours.. ponds are now officially full.... but we always could use more...
Happy birthday... Madison...
Monday, May 01, 2006
water, sweet water....
turn up your sound too... Water running from the spillway of a pond on our place ...after a spring shower.... two days ago!! Right click your mouse and save target as ... file on your desktop. Then you can play with your video player and discard later.. if you want too...
have a great day! S
have a great day! S
Austyn and Madison at backdoor Sunday. Sunday was yet another special day at our home. Heather and Paul and Kiddos visited in the afternoon and we had Sunday Dinner with Phil and Tammy and Austyn and Jake and Madison. How cool is that? What a great day. Got to see kids and grand kids and eat some great "homecooked" barbeque from Lost Creek UM Church Men's Group. Wow!! Enjoy the day.... YES, Ann, that was rain that fell from the sky this past weekend. It was confirmed via weather men in OKC!!! It was wet and the drops were round and they fell from above and it was GREAT!!!
Stan Moffat
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)