After a busy weekend, which involved attending a special church service, a visit from out of town relatives, preparing for an upcoming yard sale, and more, I'm relaxing this afternoon with an old movie, Gaslight. It's a 1944 film starring Ingrid Bergman. It's about a woman whose husband is trying to slowly drive her mad. It's a favorite of mine. It also stars Charles Boyer, Joseph Cotton, and a very young Angela Lansbury.
There's something about an old black & white classic, a hot cup of coffee, the hint of autumn just around the corner. I feel very content right now.
Showing posts with label Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Church. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Thursday, October 23, 2014
To Friendship...
I'm sitting here enjoying a snowy episode of Gilmore Girls, eating a Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tart, sipping a cup of Starbucks Pike Place Roast coffee. And no, I get no compensation for name dropping of major brands. ;)
I'm feeling very blessed. Both sons are home today. They're visiting and video-gaming in the other room. My husband is out getting a haircut and doing some shopping at the mall. I have a large pan of my grandma's Spanish Goulash baking in the oven for later, and the house smells terrific!
I'd been missing two of my closest friends so much. They've just been on my mind. I found out yesterday that DeAnn hasn't been well, but we texted some messages back and forth, and it made her seem closer. In reality, she lives not too far from me, but life seems to be pulling us in different directions, and we just don't get together much any more. We're going to try to fix that, and very soon! We met many years ago when she began dating one of my childhood friends. One of our first nights together, at a church retreat, we spent much of the night talking after all the other ladies had fallen to sleep. Over the years, we've watched our sons grow up, worked on many Harvest Parties for the kids Sunday School classes, had years of Church Camp, dinners out, and game nights! When we're together we're either laughing or breaking out in song, or sometimes both! She is such a dear friend!
Carol lives several hours from me, in north Idaho. We became close because she married my cousin, Paul. They lived in Meridian for several years which is when our friendship really began. We discovered we are "kindred spirits" and have so much in common. It was because of her, I began blogging. We both love books and writing, music, and so much more. We can talk for hours. She has introduced me to so many new ideas. She has a great love for animals and gardening, and she is an excellent cook and hostess. She's an actress in local theatre and has also appeared in a short, independent film. She has a strong Christian faith and has been a constant inspiration to me. I mentioned to my husband, just this morning, how I was missing her. He went out to the mailbox a few minutes later, and there was a card for me! It was from Carol, and on the envelope had a picture of a couple Lab puppies (I love Labs), and "Best Friends" was printed on it. To the side, Carol wrote in "and kindred spirits" which made my heart smile!
I have many other dear, close friends, but won't write about them on this day. If you're reading this, and you are one of those, please know each one of you is precious to me and holds a unique place in my heart.
Here's to friendship!
I'm feeling very blessed. Both sons are home today. They're visiting and video-gaming in the other room. My husband is out getting a haircut and doing some shopping at the mall. I have a large pan of my grandma's Spanish Goulash baking in the oven for later, and the house smells terrific!
I'd been missing two of my closest friends so much. They've just been on my mind. I found out yesterday that DeAnn hasn't been well, but we texted some messages back and forth, and it made her seem closer. In reality, she lives not too far from me, but life seems to be pulling us in different directions, and we just don't get together much any more. We're going to try to fix that, and very soon! We met many years ago when she began dating one of my childhood friends. One of our first nights together, at a church retreat, we spent much of the night talking after all the other ladies had fallen to sleep. Over the years, we've watched our sons grow up, worked on many Harvest Parties for the kids Sunday School classes, had years of Church Camp, dinners out, and game nights! When we're together we're either laughing or breaking out in song, or sometimes both! She is such a dear friend!
Carol lives several hours from me, in north Idaho. We became close because she married my cousin, Paul. They lived in Meridian for several years which is when our friendship really began. We discovered we are "kindred spirits" and have so much in common. It was because of her, I began blogging. We both love books and writing, music, and so much more. We can talk for hours. She has introduced me to so many new ideas. She has a great love for animals and gardening, and she is an excellent cook and hostess. She's an actress in local theatre and has also appeared in a short, independent film. She has a strong Christian faith and has been a constant inspiration to me. I mentioned to my husband, just this morning, how I was missing her. He went out to the mailbox a few minutes later, and there was a card for me! It was from Carol, and on the envelope had a picture of a couple Lab puppies (I love Labs), and "Best Friends" was printed on it. To the side, Carol wrote in "and kindred spirits" which made my heart smile!
I have many other dear, close friends, but won't write about them on this day. If you're reading this, and you are one of those, please know each one of you is precious to me and holds a unique place in my heart.
Here's to friendship!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Sunday Scribblings #270 - Sweet
This is my response to the new Sunday Scribblings prompt. It's not my usual poem or piece of fiction. Just some shared thoughts, on where I am in my life, on this particular day...
Church has always played a role in my life, whether I was attending or not. My mother told me I was baptized as an infant, but I neglected to ask where or what denomination. It was most likely in Kellogg, Idaho. It didn't really matter to me, because for as long as I can remember, I spoke to God and felt like He heard me. What I felt for my Creator was sweet, pure, and deep within me.
Mom worked nights and many Sunday mornings, but she often let me walk to a little pink church down the road. I loved Sunday School, until they started putting black marks by my name for the Sundays I missed. My final break with the pink church was when my Sunday School Teacher, and
I use the word teacher lightly here (though I did learn a lesson from her), told me that unless my mom started coming with me, she was going to burn in the fires of Hell! Then she passed around the bag for our offering. I slipped my clenched hand into my pocket, hanging on tightly to my dime. I never went back to that church. I did continue to pray to God each night though.
I'm saying all of this because I'm in an identity crisis with my faith. I've always known who I was, what I believed, and who God was to me. I had my home church, and it remained home to me even when I lived in another state. But everything has changed.
It's not so much that my church changed, though it has. It's more that I have changed. My faith has been challenged... well, actually rocked! I feel like I've been treading water, and I've never been a good swimmer so there is the constant fear of drowning. Of losing myself. So once again, I am home on a Sunday morning, and it feels strange to me. I haven't stopped praying. I still believe. I'm just standing at the metaphorical fork in the road. Neither path looks appealing. Neither calls out to me. So I'm sitting on this grassy knoll, enjoying the sun, until I'm ready to move on.
© 5Jun2011 ajj
Church has always played a role in my life, whether I was attending or not. My mother told me I was baptized as an infant, but I neglected to ask where or what denomination. It was most likely in Kellogg, Idaho. It didn't really matter to me, because for as long as I can remember, I spoke to God and felt like He heard me. What I felt for my Creator was sweet, pure, and deep within me.
Mom worked nights and many Sunday mornings, but she often let me walk to a little pink church down the road. I loved Sunday School, until they started putting black marks by my name for the Sundays I missed. My final break with the pink church was when my Sunday School Teacher, and
I use the word teacher lightly here (though I did learn a lesson from her), told me that unless my mom started coming with me, she was going to burn in the fires of Hell! Then she passed around the bag for our offering. I slipped my clenched hand into my pocket, hanging on tightly to my dime. I never went back to that church. I did continue to pray to God each night though.
I'm saying all of this because I'm in an identity crisis with my faith. I've always known who I was, what I believed, and who God was to me. I had my home church, and it remained home to me even when I lived in another state. But everything has changed.
It's not so much that my church changed, though it has. It's more that I have changed. My faith has been challenged... well, actually rocked! I feel like I've been treading water, and I've never been a good swimmer so there is the constant fear of drowning. Of losing myself. So once again, I am home on a Sunday morning, and it feels strange to me. I haven't stopped praying. I still believe. I'm just standing at the metaphorical fork in the road. Neither path looks appealing. Neither calls out to me. So I'm sitting on this grassy knoll, enjoying the sun, until I'm ready to move on.
© 5Jun2011 ajj
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Cousins...
Today I'm thinking of cousins... and aunts, uncles, grandparents... Most of my social life growing up was either at school or one of the three-times-a-week church services we attended (plus a Wednesday morning Bible Study and in the 70's, a Saturday night youth service). The exceptions were the occasional family gatherings.
I loved those family times. When it was at our home, where sis and I lived with Grandma and Grandpa, it brought additional love and laughter into the house. Occasionally, it also brought a bit of bickering (a favorite Grandma word... can you kids stop bickering). I remember one "incident" with cousin Paul (I'm sure it was my turn... lol!), and about a billion with cousin Kent (he loved to tease... right Laur?), and I was always so nice... Okay, I exaggerate. Anyone will tell you that! Then there was Kevin... he was the quieter, fun one who loved making Paul laugh. David was the baby. At times, some of the other cousins were there; Diana, Debra, Lisa, Kristen, Karol, Jack, Sally. Sometimes my brother Tommy or my brother Ronnie or Timmy, Marcus, and little Tammy. Sweet times.
The thing is, we grew together. We shared life experiences that are unique to our family. Like the time my dad showed up drunk, made me cry (he was sharing all his lost dreams and wishes), and got run off the property... not for the first time either. Or the night Grandma went after the bat! My memory is her with the broom, Grandpa with a brown paper bag. She knocked it down in my room, and Grandpa scooped it into the bag and removed it from the house.
Pie... there was always pie. A fruit pie cooked by Grandma; Rhubarb, Gooseberry, or Apple. Cream pies made by Aunt Pat; Chocolate, Butterscotch, Yummmm! The grownups got soda... once in while, the kids got some too! R. C. Cola or Pepsi! There was always ice cream or sherbet, or the best of both... Double Delight! A lovely swirl of vanilla ice cream and orange sherbet! My favorite, next to Butter Brickle.
I remember sitting by the closed door to the living room, listening to the grown-ups talk about life, God, whatever... and feeling so safe. Listening to 45's on my little record player. I remember climbing the Crab Apple tree in the front yard. Softball, Truth or Dare, Statue, Hide and Seek. Running, laughing, sharing. Playing outside long after dark. Poignant, precious memories of life... of cousins.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Happy Birthday Uncle Burt!
Well, this is a few hours after the fact but I hope you had a splendid birthday!
My Uncle Burt is one of my faithful readers (yes, I am talking about him as if he weren't reading this). In fact, he is one of the few special people in my life who supported and encouraged my writing. He is not only my uncle, but was my Pastor for many years. When our church newsletter position became vacant, he offered me the privilege of writing it. I did this for about 7 years, and I am sure it blessed me even more than my readers.
It was a way to put my writing skills to work, it challenged me to read more scripture (to support the subject I was writing about), it lifted my spirit as I studied and prayed for divine inspiration; I am changed as a result of being trusted with the job of writing and publishing the newsletter.
My uncle poured his life into service for God, and his love for his wife and family. He took on the major role of keeping watch over his parents in their old age. He still visits his mother, my Grandma Martha, on a regular basis making sure her needs are attended to. Even when life gets difficult, he holds on to his faith in God and his sense of humor!
I could never list all the things he has done for me, and for others. Even now, when he could be sitting back just relaxing in his retirement years, he is often found painting, repairing, and putting his skills into the maintenance of our church building. And he does it with joy!
My Dear Uncle, I can never thank you enough for all you have done for me over the years. For the prayers, the trust, the caring, the love. You have blessed me...
May God continue to use you, bless you, and strengthen your body with healing! Happy Birthday and blessings in the year ahead of you!
With much love,
AJ
Oh, click Here to see an old photo of Uncle Burt with his brothers & sister.
My Uncle Burt is one of my faithful readers (yes, I am talking about him as if he weren't reading this). In fact, he is one of the few special people in my life who supported and encouraged my writing. He is not only my uncle, but was my Pastor for many years. When our church newsletter position became vacant, he offered me the privilege of writing it. I did this for about 7 years, and I am sure it blessed me even more than my readers.
It was a way to put my writing skills to work, it challenged me to read more scripture (to support the subject I was writing about), it lifted my spirit as I studied and prayed for divine inspiration; I am changed as a result of being trusted with the job of writing and publishing the newsletter.
My uncle poured his life into service for God, and his love for his wife and family. He took on the major role of keeping watch over his parents in their old age. He still visits his mother, my Grandma Martha, on a regular basis making sure her needs are attended to. Even when life gets difficult, he holds on to his faith in God and his sense of humor!
I could never list all the things he has done for me, and for others. Even now, when he could be sitting back just relaxing in his retirement years, he is often found painting, repairing, and putting his skills into the maintenance of our church building. And he does it with joy!
My Dear Uncle, I can never thank you enough for all you have done for me over the years. For the prayers, the trust, the caring, the love. You have blessed me...
May God continue to use you, bless you, and strengthen your body with healing! Happy Birthday and blessings in the year ahead of you!
With much love,
AJ
Oh, click Here to see an old photo of Uncle Burt with his brothers & sister.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Sunday Scribblings - How I Met My...
It's time for Sunday Scribblings. The subject is "How I Met My..." and this is my story:
I want to share how I met my Grandpa Mike; my mom's daddy. Although I know he saw me when I was very young, I had no actual memory of him. He was like a character in a story. Mom would tell us things about him now and then. This was usually when we were going through old family photos.
The love of his life, Grandma Ruth, passed away when I was a year old. Mike didn't deal with this loss very well. He became a kind of solitary man that my mother rarely saw. He moved to Wyoming, and that's where he stayed.
My mother lived across the street from the church we attended. I was 19. I had been out with friends and had pulled into the church parking lot to finish our conversation. They left to head home, and that's when I noticed a man walking around mom's house in the dark. She worked nights and wasn't home, but my little brother was inside by himself. This man was peering into the windows and trying the doorknobs.
I am not a brave person, but something stirred up in me. I pulled my car closer, walked up to the man, looked him in the eye, and said "Can I help you with something?" He looked me right back in the eye, "I'm looking for someone who lives here."
"You're looking for Leah? Who are you?"
"Well, I'm her dad! Who the hell are you?"
I was stunned. This little man, no taller than I, didn't look anything like the man in the photos. He was old, and small and thin. "Well, I'm her daughter!" I answered him.
His mouth dropped open, he grinned a huge grin and said, "That means you're my granddaughter!" Then he grabbed me and gave me a hug.
That was the beginning of a unique relationship. This grandpa was nothing like the grandpa that had raised me. He was an old cowboy, who livened up a conversation with a smattering of profanity that made my mom blush.
We took grandpa to church with us the next morning. He and mom were seated a few rows behind me. My uncle was giving the sermon. Then I clearly heard Grandpa Mike's voice in a loud whisper, "When's that guy gonna stop yackin?"
I turned slightly and made eye contact with mom. She was red-faced. A minute or two later I heard a loud whisper, "I'm gettin' the hell outa here." As I turned again, I saw grandpa stand and say it louder, "I'm gettin' the hell outa here!" He turned and headed for the door. Mom sent my brother over to the house, to keep grandpa company, till service was over.
I didn't dare look mom in the eye this time. It was one of those moments, when I knew it would not take much for me to be laughing right out loud.
I would love to have the chance for one more conversation with Grandpa Mike. He added a lot of color to our lives!
copyright 2008
I want to share how I met my Grandpa Mike; my mom's daddy. Although I know he saw me when I was very young, I had no actual memory of him. He was like a character in a story. Mom would tell us things about him now and then. This was usually when we were going through old family photos.
The love of his life, Grandma Ruth, passed away when I was a year old. Mike didn't deal with this loss very well. He became a kind of solitary man that my mother rarely saw. He moved to Wyoming, and that's where he stayed.
My mother lived across the street from the church we attended. I was 19. I had been out with friends and had pulled into the church parking lot to finish our conversation. They left to head home, and that's when I noticed a man walking around mom's house in the dark. She worked nights and wasn't home, but my little brother was inside by himself. This man was peering into the windows and trying the doorknobs.
I am not a brave person, but something stirred up in me. I pulled my car closer, walked up to the man, looked him in the eye, and said "Can I help you with something?" He looked me right back in the eye, "I'm looking for someone who lives here."
"You're looking for Leah? Who are you?"
"Well, I'm her dad! Who the hell are you?"
I was stunned. This little man, no taller than I, didn't look anything like the man in the photos. He was old, and small and thin. "Well, I'm her daughter!" I answered him.
His mouth dropped open, he grinned a huge grin and said, "That means you're my granddaughter!" Then he grabbed me and gave me a hug.
That was the beginning of a unique relationship. This grandpa was nothing like the grandpa that had raised me. He was an old cowboy, who livened up a conversation with a smattering of profanity that made my mom blush.
We took grandpa to church with us the next morning. He and mom were seated a few rows behind me. My uncle was giving the sermon. Then I clearly heard Grandpa Mike's voice in a loud whisper, "When's that guy gonna stop yackin?"
I turned slightly and made eye contact with mom. She was red-faced. A minute or two later I heard a loud whisper, "I'm gettin' the hell outa here." As I turned again, I saw grandpa stand and say it louder, "I'm gettin' the hell outa here!" He turned and headed for the door. Mom sent my brother over to the house, to keep grandpa company, till service was over.
I didn't dare look mom in the eye this time. It was one of those moments, when I knew it would not take much for me to be laughing right out loud.
I would love to have the chance for one more conversation with Grandpa Mike. He added a lot of color to our lives!
copyright 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)