Do we struggle each day with finding the future?

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When you got up this morning, did you wonder what you were going to do today?

Most of us have a routine that we are locked in, work, school or family activities.

Each day is almost a reflection of the one before and these days sometimes seem like they stretch on year after year without much change.

It’s like we are living in Bill Murray’s film “Groundhog Day” with some slight deviations each day.
But the repetitive nature of life is somewhat a fallacy. Even though our course is familiar and similar to the previous day, in actuality every day is different.

God provides us endless opportunities on each day by allowing new and different people to cross our paths. Of course, it is up to us as to how we receive these encounters and whether they will make a difference in the day that is positive or negative.

Each morning as I come to my computer, and sit down at my desk, I am hopeful that there will be a call or an e-mail that will change the direction of one of the aspects of my career.

That does not mean I just sit and wait on such things; you have to get after them and help create opportunities for yourself.

But that to me is what makes each day different even though I sit in the same chair, type on the same keyboard and try to reduce the same piles of things to do that are scattered around my office.

I realize since my career crosses several areas of interest that some folks find of interest – acting, music, and writing, some might see a deviation in my norm as more exciting than one in their own life.

I am here to tell you, that is not the case. Excitement in life comes from being engaged in an activity, vocation, or endeavor that you love – one that brings your passion from your heart and places the smile on your face.

Recently, I celebrated in anticipation of Christmas with some friends, as the evening progressed laughter permeated the group lifting our hearts in the activity we shared. I realized as I came back to my home, how long it had been since I laughed like that, since a continuous smile had radiated from my lips.

Despite my doing what I love, the enthusiasm, the fervor for each day had subsided into a level of quiet doldrums. Sometimes holidays of any nature seem to even make it more pronounced.

While it shouldn’t be a revelation, I decided to declare a resolution to use each day to remember the joy, the hope, the love in the gifts that God has shared with me and to reflect that in my walk, my work, my life as I share and experience life with all those that I encounter.

If I can do that in 2022, it will be the best year ever, no matter what other excitement or problems may come my way.

So, put a smile on your face, a song in your heart and a lilt in your step as you glide gracefully through the rest of the year.

 

An Appalachian mountain elf

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The winds pounded upon the side of the house sitting in the shadow of Gravelly Spur Mountain and seeped beneath the cracks around the windows and doors letting the chill of winter in the walls warmed by the wood stacked and burning in the fireplace.

The sound of bells tinkled as they were pulled from a wood box which sat by the evergreen tree placed with love in the corner of the main room.

Pearl tied the small bells with yarn to the boughs. In a small pan, Grandma Kitty popped corn which would soon string into lengths to surround the tree from top to bottom.

“Well, that should be enough,” she said. “Everyone find a place and let’s get busy.”

The time spent stringing brought all the family ‘round to sit upon every open space as stories of Christmas passed were recalled and hopes and wishes for the coming yuletide rang through the laughter.

“I want a wagon,” Nellie said as Pearl used her to model the popcorn string instead of the tree.

Little Ma, Grandad Bill’s grandmother sat closest to the fire with her sewing in hand, refreshing the dress of the angel which he would soon place on the treetop when all was said and done.

Soon one of the children started singing “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem,” and the rest would join in as the work continued.

A knock at the door brought Bill to find no one there. He stepped outside on the porch seeing no one in sight and not a footprint visible in the light smattering of snow on the ground.

“No one is around,” he said as he returned to his work.

“It was the mountain elf making sure we were hard at work preparing for Christmas morn,” Little Ma said.

“The mountain elf,” what’s that Pearl said as she rushed by her side at the fire.

“You see when our people came to the mountains, from Scotland, many of them came with their trunks filled with clothes and bits and pieces of the past from the old country. The elves crawled in alongside the bits and pieces and came to live here with us,” she said.

“What do the look like?” Pearl asked.

“I’ve never seen one but they say they are just like us but smaller,” she said. “They watch after the bits and pieces and make sure they are cared for.”

“Why did they bang on the door,” Pearl asked.

“The bells and this angel were some of the bits and pieces that came over and have passed down through the years,” she said. “They like to see us using them, it reminds them of home. Christmas is the time of year when we all think of home and what has come before and hopefully what will be. I think that is why they knocked, so they could look inside when the door opened. I think when we hang the bells and they ring, it brings them.”

“Do they help Santa on Christmas, is that why you call them an elf?” Pearl said.

“In a way, we are all mountain elves, we all tend to each other’s things, look after one another and help make sure that what is needed be gotten, if it can be got,” she said. “So I reckon they do help him, just like each of us do dear. Now, we best be gettin’ this tree decorated or Christmas will be come and gone and we will have missed it.”

The group begins to sing “Jingle Bells” as the popcorn is wrapped around the tree and the bells swing and ring. Pearl runs to look out the front window to see if a mountain elf may be spying from the other side.

The Christmas shine is for sharing

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“Here’s the boxes of outside lights,” I said as I handed them down the attic stairs to my father Floyd.
Next came the interior boxes that were spread on the floor of the living room for my mother Pearl to sift through. A few hops up and down the attic ladder and all the Christmas decorations were strewn on the living room floor.
The holly climbed the wall by our front door, the bushes were full and green in front of the red-brick ranch-style house and the greenery made a perfect location to hold up numerous strings of Christmas lights.
As we moved beyond Thanksgiving, it fell on my father and I to bring my childhood home’s exterior into the Christmas spirit.
“Dad, have you seen the extra light bulbs, we got several out in this string,” I said as I raised my head seeing him standing on a ladder placing a power cord.
The lights were long strings some with full-sized colored bulbs, some with smaller ones. Of course, the first task was making sure all the bulbs worked before placing them. This was my job as my dad ran the electrical cords providing the power.
“There still in the boxes,” he said, so I was up and sticking my hands down through a spider web of wires searching for the box of bulbs.
After getting all the lights in place the final act of exterior decorations was the placement of a large lighted Santa Claus face was hung in the holly by our front door.
By the time this was done we moved inside to set up the faux fireplace, where our stockings were hung and assisted mother with the placement of various items around the house including lighted candles for all the windows and in then we would assemble our artificial tree and add the decorations and lights.
We always worked together to make the tree look just right. We didn’t always have an artificial tree, that came when my health was so weak that live trees caused breathing issues.
We built some wonderful memories preparing for the Christmas season as friends and family flowed in and out of our brightly decorated home.  It was the backdrop of so much joy and laughter, tears of sorrow, and lessons learned.
I watched as both my mother and father welcomed others into our home who had no one to share the holidays with. I participated as my father refurbished bicycles and peddle cars for needy children, and as my mother collected and boxed foods for needy families. Christmas is always brighter with the shiny decorations that we wrap our live within. Let’s not forget that the greatest gift of Christmas was the baby Jesus that charged each of us with loving our neighbor as ourselves. Share the shine that God gave you in your life by loving your neighbors.

Darkness is overcome by the Light

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Inside the depths sometimes there emerges evil from the darkness.
This is often the image seen as we sit watching a film or TV show as
we sit on the edge of our seats, sometimes even screaming at the
character – don’t go in there!
But inevitably, to push the story along, the character presses on
often to his/her own dismay or demise.
I wish that these moments were left to the world of fiction but sadly
there is a reality that finds each of us at some point in our lives
when the darkness envelopes the circumstances of our lives.
The darkness can be brought on by others or us, or a mixture of both.
They can also simply be the reflection of things within you not
working the way they were intended. Chemical imbalances, mental
illness, addictions are all part of that mix.
These moments can push a person on much like the character in the
movie. That can entail them doing things that they would never do
otherwise.
I wish I could say in my life that I have not seen such moments, but
I have seen my family struggle with the impact of the darkness.
The only thing in science that will chase away the dark is the light.
In my belief, the greatest Light emanates from God’s love shared
through Jesus Christ.
He is always there waiting to shine upon even when we wish to cover
our own lives in the darkness. There is no deep cavern of shame,
regret or guilt that any of us can enter that His light cannot find
where we are. All we have to do is ask.
The asking isn’t always easy, but one thing for sure, beyond the
asking comes the hardest part of the work to push the darkness away
each and every time it creeps into our environs. He will walk along
with us providing the Light even when we are weak. He will cry with
us when we fail, fall short and are flat on the ground begging for
Him to take us back.
The greatest gift is He never let us go, He was there hoping for us
to prevail. While we may not do it each and every time, He is still
there.
He is why so many are also still there and did not completely give up
to the darkness.
I pray that you always find the Light shining upon your path.

 

Are things piling up?

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Have you ever realized how things seem to simply pile up?
I have just endured about four and a half weeks of reducing these piles, sheet by sheet, stack by stack, and at times it felt like word by word – junk mail, business letters, tax paperwork, newspapers, magazines?

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A Breath Shared

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I struggled to catch a breath as I leaned up on my pillow, trying to find the next clear bit of air and pull it into my lungs.

I often wondered if there would be another breath but there was an endless desire to keep trying.
As a child, like many others I suffered from a multitude of ailments that made my stay on this earth sometimes tenuous.

One of the results of the multitude was asthma that left me with weak lungs that often seize up making exerting myself a dance with living on the edge.

With the caring effort of my mother and dad, rubbing me down in mentholated rub, beating my back to loosen my lungs, keeping a house as clean from irritants as possible, I know my survival would have been unlikely.
There came a morning when I was about five that I did not awake. I relay the account as shared with me, since I was unable to experience it from a conscious perspective.

After calling my name several times to raise me from my slumber with no avail, my late mother came in to find me laying in my bed, the sight scared her, her boy there, still, staring up at the ceiling, lifeless. In her words, “Your eyes were set back in your head and you were not breathing.”

She grabbed me up wrapped in the quilt that I was sleeping in, threw me over her shoulder, picked up the kitchen phone calling the doctor’s office, saying, “I’m bringing him in.” She jumped into our blue 1964 Chevy Malibu and as she said, didn’t stop for a single light as she drove the five miles to his office.

She rushed through the waiting room and the receptionist jumped up, opened the door realizing I was in distress and the immediately took me into an exam room placing me on the table.

The doctor questioned why she didn’t take me to the emergency room. Her reply “He’s here now, do something.”
So he did, with only what he had on hand he started trying to revive me and sent the nurse to get a shot of some kind.
He administered the shot and then turned to mom and said, “All we can do now is pray.”

That’s what they did, pray over my lifeless body with no signs of hope.

After a few moments of prayer, I began to breath and the life that was gone was restored. What accomplished this? The doctor’s sharing his skill with limited means; or the prayers of them standing above my lifeless body calling out to God to not allow the senseless death of a toddler.

Whatever it was, their faith, medicine, it allowed me to breathe again, and grow, struggle, and cling to life again and again, as I battled more childhood adversities carrying me to adulthood. He allowed me to learn, and work, and give, and pray for others. He has allowed me to serve.

For me that day was God’s miracle of life that He gave me initially and He chose to give it back to me because that five-year-old had something more to do for Him.

Once again when I was in my twenties, a water-borne illness had me near death with no medical means of improving my situation. It was mother’s unceasing prayers by my hospital bedside that drew me back to health.

There are two times when I know God intervened in the course of the frailness of the human body and allowed me to continue.

Each day, I know that I fail in using the opportunities He affords, and sometimes I find myself bogged down in my own hopes and desires. But then I remind myself, my presence here is His gift to me, that He has given more times than I can count or even know about.

I try to remember that is my work here to give back and so I pray I always remember and act accordingly. Prayer is a gift – use it, give it, share it.

Snow and the pot-bellied stove

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As I placed the log into the black cast iron stove, I watched the orange sparks rise up from the burning embers within its belly in grandma’s parlor.

I often stood at its front hopeful that it would make me feel warmer. It usually did at least on the one side until I turned and let the other warm.

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Where do we go from here?

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I remember it as if it was yesterday. The doctor had told my Mom that she might have breast cancer. I wasn’t much more than eight years old and hardly understood what it meant. All I know is that it worried her and she was extremely sad. I was sitting on the bed next to her. She had been crying and I went in trying to console her and make her smile. I do remember that she did stop long enough to smile at me and tell me that she loved me.

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Time’s a wastin’ – do something

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As I walked across the yard this morning the wind whirled around me with a chill that reminded me that today is the first day of fall.

I cannot remember a year thus far in my life that has seemed to fly by like this one has.

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Warming of the heart

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The cold wind blew hard against the windowpane as I pulled the covers up above my head.
I could barely turn over with the heaviness of the quilts which seemed a foot thick above me.

The back room of Grandma Kitty’s house seemed a long way from the warmth of the stove in the living room.
At least the bedroom was off the kitchen, so when the sounds of rolling dough for biscuits and coffee percolating, most likely, would wake me from slumber before the house filled with the smell of bacon and eggs.

I would lift the covers up so the smells would fill in the gap as I watched my breath raise as I breathed in the smell of breakfast.
My grandmother’s cathead biscuits baking in the oven filled my room with enough aroma to evoke a desire to jump out of bed. Usually that effort would take a time or two. I would muster the strength to throw back the covers only to feel my bare feet hitting the cold floor, just to jump back in pulling the hand sewn quilts of patchwork back over my head.

Soon I would garner the courage to jump out of bed again finding my socks and shoes slipping them on after I pulled up my britches, then I would pull back the curtain to see Grandma Kitty making her way around the kitchen. In the corner sat the butter churn that the day before I wore out my arm on making the butter that we would put on the cathead biscuits.

Grandma was pouring the grease off the bacon and sausage getting ready to stir up some sawmill gravy.
I stood quietly watching the artistry of someone who had for 60 plus years raised before dawn to prepare a meal to keep a family working. Though there wasn’t as much to do and fewer to do it, she still went through the ritual with the joy that the eating would bring to the family as they gathered around the table.

Eventually, my quiet vantage point would catch her eye as she turned to place some meats on the table, and she would beckon me towards her and I would hug her and then find myself consumed with helping until the others joined us as she called everyone from slumber.
It is amazing how the cold outside seemed to disappear around the warmth of her table and the love that found its way seated around it. I pray you find the warmth of your heart as the cold wind blows on your windowpane.