More shenanigans from Simon's cat

Thanks, Marion, for letting us know 

that Simon's Cat has struck again!

I'm not especially prudish, BUT...

... this is too much (for me, at least)...

According to this news story, a shop in London is planning on serving a new line of ice cream.

Made of breast milk.

This product won't be inexpensive - 14 pounds ($23) a serving - but it's not the price that puts me off.

Or is it me?

Kindness abounds

Many of you have probably read some of the posts found on my sidebar in the section called "A series special to my heart". So you know that this has been a time of deep sadness for me. Dad was much more than a dad to me - he was a dear friend - and I will miss him.

But there have been many special blessings at the same time.

Dad lived in a continuing care retirement community. He'd been in an independent living apartment, and I've stayed in that apartment for several weeks during his last illness while he was in the skilled nursing section. I've made friends here. Some were friends of Dad's already, some he hadn't met, and all have earned a special place in my heart and memory. There are a few that will have my undying gratitude for a rather indelicate reason.

During this last visit, Montezuma's revenge was making the rounds through the retirement community. Fortunately, Dad never got it. And, fortunately, I didn't either... until after his death. But I've just had 36 extremely miserable hours. I don't remember being this sick for many years. The gastrointestinal symptoms were most impressive, as was the exhaustion. I literally slept for 24 hours out of the 36.

I was supposed to meet one of my friends for breakfast after a night spent in intimate contact with the toilet. When I called to cancel, she offered her sympathies followed by a practical question: Do you have enough toilet paper? Within minutes, she'd walked from one end of the complex to the other and made sure the answer to that question was "yes".

Another friend called soon afterwards and, upon learning of my situation, she brought down bouillon and Sprite. An hour later, she'd gone out to the grocery store and returned with Gingerale, "Vitamin water", and chicken noodle soup.

Sometimes we erroneously assume that one must be burned at the stake or perform acts of heroic virtue to be called a saint. But take it from me - sometimes sainthood is made of smaller stuff.

So take the opportunity to perform small acts of kindness, as my friends did. It may not make an impact felt across the globe, but that's OK. It will have an impact, believe me.

I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.

– Stephen Grellet

P.S. - While I may have had my doubts at one point, I now believe I will survive! Yay!

Still more wisdom from St. Francis de Sales

My daughter, we mustn't just be resigned to the inevitability of death. We have to learn to let God choose whatever time and place He pleases, and we must be happy to leave that choice in His hands. Now I see what a strong heart and powerful will you have and how much love you have in that heart of yours, and I wouldn't want it any other way, because what good are lukewarm hearts at a time like this?

- Francis de Sales to Madame de Chantal

on the death of Jeanne de Sales in her care (1607)

Oh yeah. I can relate.

 

 

My dad

Eugene C. Pressler, Jr.

Born April 1, 1930
Died February 22, 2011

A native of Montgomery County, raised in Evansburg, near Collegeville, where he attended public schools and Ursinus College, he was Senior Vice President of Human Resources for Continental Bank. Beginning with the Bank in 1971, Pressler was formerly Manager of Employee Relations and Assistant Director of Personnel before becoming Director of Human Resources. He retired in October 1991 after serving twenty years with the Bank.

He served as a member of the Board of Directors at Foulkeways, a continuing care community of 400 residents in Gwynedd. He chaired the Pension and Personnel Committee and served as a member of the Executive Committee and Finance Committee. A longtime resident of Maple Glen, he co-chaired the Maple Glen Village Association and was a member and Director of the Maple Gen Business and Professional Association.

Pressler was a well-known amateur radio operator and former President of the North Penn and Delmont Radio Clubs and the Telford Area Repeater Association. He served as Assistant Director of the American Radio Relay League (ARRL), and international association of radio amateurs based in Newington, CT, and formerly served as Assistant Section Manager of the League’s Eastern Pennsylvania Section. In 1996, Pressler was honored by the Atlantic Division of ARRL in being chosen as the recipient of its prestigious “Amateur of the Year” award for a “lifetime of service to amateur radio”. He served as Director Emeritus of the Area Repeater Coordination Council, Inc., the regional amateur radio repeater frequency coordinator for eastern Pennsylvania and southern New Jersey, which he cofounded.

He was an active writer and frequent contributor of newspaper and magazine articles published by the American Radio Relay League’s QST magazine and the Administrative Management Society’s Management World. He authored a book published by the American Radio Relay League and wrote for other professional and avocational publications. For some years he was a regular contributor to the Montgomery Post and Today’s Post newspapers. For over fifteen years, he was the Editor of Continental Bank’s employee magazine, The MUSKET, and, in 1978, he won national recognition from the Freedoms Foundation at Valley Forge as recipient of its coveted George Washington Medal for “outstanding journalism upholding American ideals”.

Pressler formerly served as President of the Administrative Management Society’s Montgomery County Chapter and he is a longtime member and Secretary of the Board of the National Kidney Foundation of the Delaware Valley. He served for many years as a member of the Advisory Boards of the Philadelphia Business Academy, the Philadelphia Opportunities Industrialization Center (OIC), and the Pennsylvania Bankers Association’s Central Atlantic School of Banking at Bucknell University. He also served for several years as an Instructor in Personnel and Supervision for the American Institute of Banking and he was a speaker at several of the annual conferences of the Pennsylvania Bankers Association.

Since retiring, Pressler turned his attention to volunteering and he has been active with the Retired and Senior Volunteer Program of Montgomery County (RSVP) where he is a member and former Chairman of its board of Directors. He has done human resources consulting with non-profits for RSVP’s Volunteer Executive Consultants organization. He was a member and Elder of the First Presbyterian Church of Ambler.

He was preceded in death by his beloved wife, Maripat Cope Pressler, a one-time bank officer herself, and his youngest daughter, Margaret Visher. He is survived by his daughter, Suzanne Roth, of Durham, NC; three grandchildren, Katie Harper, Timothy Visher, and Christina Visher; and three great-grandchildren.

In lieu of flowers, the family respectfully requests donations in loving memory of Eugene and Maripat Pressler to the First Presbyterian Church of Ambler Organ Fund. The address is:

First Presbyterian Church of Ambler
Eugene and Maripat Pressler Organ Fund
4 Southridge Avenue
Ambler, Pennsylvania 19002

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now for some very different news...

Dad left this world last night at 9:15 PM. Some three hours later, God in his grace brought his newest great-grandson, Noah, into the world. Please include Noah and his parents, Jesse and Katie, in your prayers, and share in my rejoicing for a joyful birth as well as a peaceful death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here we go again!

Old Man Winter, go away!

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The 491st Time

Lisa sat on the floor of her old room, staring at the box that lay in front of her. It was an old shoe box that she had decorated to become a memory box many years before. Stickers and penciled flowers covered the top and sides. Its edges were worn, the corners of the lid taped so as to keep their shape.

It had been three years since Lisa last opened the box. A sudden move to Boston had kept her from packing it. But now that she was back home, she took the time to look again at the memories.

Fingering the corners of the box and stroking its cover, Lisa pictured in her mind what was inside.
There was a photo of the family trip to the Grand Canyon, a note from her friend telling her that Nick Bicotti liked her, and the Indian arrowhead she had found while on her senior class trip.

One by one, she remembered the items in the box, lingering over the sweetest, until she came to the last and only painful memory. She knew what it looked like--a single sheet of paper upon which lines had been drawn to form boxes, 490 of them to be exact. And each box contained a check mark, one for each time.

the story behind it..........

"How many times must I forgive my brother?" the disciple Peter had asked Jesus. "Seven times?"

Lisa's Sunday school teacher had read Jesus' surprise answer to the class. "Seventy times seven."

Lisa had leaned over to her brother Brent as the teacher continued reading. "How many times is that?" she whispered. Brent, though two years younger, was smarter than she was.

"Four hundred and ninety," Brent wrote on the corner of his Sunday school paper. Lisa saw the message, nodded, and sat back in her chair. She watched her brother as the lesson continued. He was small for his age, with narrow shoulders and short arms. His glasses were too large for his face, and his hair always matted in swirls. He bordered on being a nerd, but his incredible skills at everything, especially music, made him popular with his classmates.

Brent had learned to play the piano at age four, the clarinet at age seven, and had just begun to play oboe. His music teachers said he'd be a famous musician some day. There was only one thing at which Lisa was better than Brent--basketball. They played it almost every afternoon after school. Brent could have refused to play, but he knew that it was Lisa's only joy in the midst of her struggles to get C's and D's at school.

Lisa's attention came back to her Sunday school teacher as the woman finished the lesson and closed with prayer. That same Sunday afternoon found brother and sister playing basketball in the driveway. It was then that the counting had begun. Brent was guarding Lisa as she dribbled toward the basket. He had tried to bat the ball away, got his face near her elbow, and took a shot on the chin. "Ow!", he cried out and turned away.

Lisa saw her opening and drove to the basket, making an easy lay-up. She gloated over her success but stopped when she saw Brent. "You okay?", she asked. Brent shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry," Lisa said. "Really. It was a cheap shot." "It's all right. I forgive you," he said. A thin smile then formed on his face. "Just 489 more times though."

"Whaddaya mean?" Lisa asked.

"You know...what we learned in Sunday school today. You're supposed to forgive someone 490 times. I just forgave you, so now you have 489 left," he kidded. The two of them laughed at the thought of keeping track of every time Lisa had done something to Brent. They were sure she had gone past 490 long ago.

The rain interrupted their game, and the two moved indoors. "Wanna play Battleship?" Lisa asked. Brent agreed, and they were soon on the floor of the living room with their game boards in front of them. Each took turns calling out a letter and number combination, hoping to hit each other's ships.
Lisa knew she was in trouble as the game went on. Brent had only lost one ship out of five. Lisa had lost three. Desperate to win, she found herself leaning over the edge of Brent's barrier ever so slightly. She was thus able to see where Brent had placed two of his ships. She quickly evened the score.

Pleased, Lisa searched once more for the location of the last two ships. She peered over the barrier again, but this time Brent caught her in the act. "Hey, you're cheating!" He stared at her in disbelief.
Lisa's face turned red. Her lips quivered. "I'm sorry," she said, staring at the carpet. There was not much Brent could say. He knew Lisa sometimes did things like this. He felt sorry that Lisa found so few things she could do well. It was wrong for her to cheat, but he knew the temptation was hard for her.

"Okay, I forgive you," Brent said. Then he added with a small laugh, "I guess it's down to 488 now, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so." She returned his kindness with a weak smile and added, "Thanks for being my brother, Brent."

Brent's forgiving spirit gripped Lisa, and she wanted him to know how sorry she was. It was that evening that she had made the chart with the 490 boxes. She showed it to him before he went to bed. "We can keep track of every time I mess up and you forgive me," she said.

"See, I'll put a check in each box--like this." She placed two marks in the upper left-hand boxes. "These are for today."

Brent raised his hands to protest. "You don't need to keep --"

"Yes I do!" Lisa interrupted. "You're always forgiving me, and I want to keep track. Just let me do this!" She went back to her room and tacked the chart to her bulletin board.

There were many opportunities to fill in the chart in the years that followed. She once told the kids at school that Brent talked in his sleep and called out Rhonda Hill's name, even though it wasn't true. The teasing caused Brent days and days of misery. When she realized how cruel she had been, Lisa apologized sincerely. That night she marked box number 96. Forgiveness number 211 came in the tenth grade when Lisa failed to bring home his English book. Brent had stayed home sick that day and had asked her to bring it so he could study for a quiz. She forgot and he got a C.

Number 393 was for lost keys...418 for the extra bleach she put in the washer, which ruined his favorite polo shirt...449, the dent she had put in his car when she had borrowed it.

There was a small ceremony when Lisa checked number 490. She used a gold pen for the check mark, had Brent sign the chart, and then placed it in her memory box.

"I guess that's the end," Lisa said. "No more screw-ups from me any more!"

Brent just laughed. "Yeah, right."

Number 491 was just another one of Lisa's careless mistakes, but its hurt lasted a lifetime. Brent had become all that his music teachers said he would. Few could play the oboe better than he. In his fourth year at the best music school in the United States, he received the opportunity of a lifetime--a chance to try out for New York City's great orchestra.

The tryout would be held sometime during the following two weeks. It would be the fulfillment of his young dreams. But he never got the chance. Brent had been out when the call about the tryout came to the house. Lisa was the only one home and on her way out the door, eager to get to work on time.
"Two-thirty on the tenth," the secretary said on the phone. Lisa did not have a pen, but she told herself that she could remember it.

"Got it. Thanks." I can remember that, she thought. But she did not. It was a week later around the dinner table that Lisa realized her mistake.

"So, Brent," his mom asked him, "When do you try out?" "Don't know yet. They're supposed to call."

Lisa froze in her seat.

"Oh, no!" she blurted out loud. "What's today's date? Quick!"

"It's the twelfth," her dad answered. "Why?"

A terrible pain ripped through Lisa's heart. She buried her face in her hands, crying. "Lisa, what's the matter?" her mother asked.

Through sobs Lisa explained what had happened. "It was two days ago...the tryout...two-thirty...the call came...last week." Brent sat back in his chair, not believing Lisa.

"Is this one of your jokes, sis?" he asked, though he could tell her misery was real. She shook her head, still unable to look at him.

"Then I really missed it?" She nodded.

Brent ran out of the kitchen without a word. He did not come out of his room the rest of the evening. Lisa tried once to knock on the door, but she could not face him. She went to her room where she cried bitterly. Suddenly she knew that she had to do. She had ruined Brent's life. He could never forgive her for that. She had failed her family, and there was nothing to do but to leave home. Lisa packed her pickup truck in the middle of the night and left a note behind, telling her folks she'd be all right. She began writing a note to Brent, but her words sounded empty to her. Nothing I say could make a difference anyway, she thought.

Two days later she got a job as a waitress in Boston. She found an apartment not too far from the restaurant. Her parents tried many times to reach her, but Lisa ignored their letters.

"It's too late," she wrote them once. "I've ruined Brent's life, and I'm not coming back."

Lisa did not think she would ever see home again. But one day in the restaurant where she worked she saw a face she knew. "Lisa!" said Mrs. Nelson, looking up from her plate. "What a surprise."
The woman was a friend of Lisa's family from back home. "I was so sorry to hear about your brother," Mrs. Nelson said softly.

"Such a terrible accident. But we can be thankful that he died quickly. He didn't suffer." Lisa stared at the woman in shock.

"Wh-hat," she finally stammered.

It couldn't be! Her brother? Dead? The woman quickly saw that Lisa did not know about the accident. She told the girl the sad story of the speeding car, the rush to the hospital, the doctors working over Brent. But all they could do was not enough to save him.

Lisa returned home that afternoon.

********
Now she found herself in her room thinking about her brother as she held the small box that held some of her memories of him. Sadly, she opened the box and peered inside. It was as she remembered, except for one item--Brent's chart. It was not there. In its place, at the bottom of the box, was an envelope. Her hands shook as she tore it open and removed a letter.

The first page read:

Dear Lisa,
It was you who kept count, not me. But if you're stubborn enough to keep count, use the new chart I've made for you.
Love,
Brent

Lisa turned to the second page where she found a chart just like the one she had made as a child, but on this one the lines were drawn in perfect precision. And unlike the chart she had kept, there was but one check mark in the upper left- hand corner. Written in red felt tip pen over the entire page were the words: "Number 491. Forgiven, forever."

- Author unknown

The story continues...

Yesterday I requested your prayers and good wishes for my father, who is dying. I noticed later that the links I'd included were "broken" - sorry. They're now repaired.

But I wanted to share a few thoughts I've had through the day today as I've continued to watch my Dad take the last leg of his earthly journey...

Over the course of the past 5 years or so, my dad and I have grown progressively closer. Having a good relationship has been something that we've both made a priority. We could have "bumped heads" - believe me. (We certainly did that often enough when I was younger!) But we've had the good fortune to get to know, love, and respect each other as independent adults who swim in the same gene pool.

We've known, of course, that at some point, one of us would be left behind. We've tried to make that as easy as possible for each other. I've been there when he's needed me and supported his decisions 100%. And as I've searched for some of the things I knew we'd be needing in the near future, I found that he'd been doing his best to make this time as easy as possible. He's even written his obituary, for heaven's sake!

Nevertheless, Dad has relied on me more and more over the past year or so. It's been an odd transition in some ways. As a kid, I thought he was invincible. He was a big man, tall, and strong. I remember him climbing hundreds of feet in the air to work on his ham radio antenna. He was (and is) smart as a whip, and he taught me a lot. It has felt strange for him to begin to relinquish some of his responsibilities to me and to rely on me for advice. It seemed somehow backwards from the ways things were supposed to be. It's been interesting to see our relationship change.

Ours hasn't been the only relationship to change. A much-loved family member and my father had become estranged a decade ago, and, over the past 2 months, have become reconciled. This has been another gift... one that has meant the world to my father, and to me. In a world where some people nurse grudges and refuse to forgive, it heartens me to know that there are others who are willing to lay aside differences and become peacemakers.

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God." This I believe.

We've had one other very special gift to treasure in the 3 days since my father decided to go on hospice care. Some of the people who are closest to Dad have taken this opportunity to come and see him or, if that was not possible, to call. Over the past 2 days, he has had 25 or 30 visitors. They have had the chance to reminisce, share stories, and to laugh together. At the end of the day today, although he was certainly ready for bed, he said, "Today has been exhilarating. It's a shame that some people die of a heart attack or something and don't have an opportunity like this."

These last years - and last weeks - and last days - have had some special "life lessons" for me. I guess it's important for me to put them into words, so here they are:

• If you're going to have a relationship, work hard to make it a good one. 
• Be flexible enough to allow your relationship to change as needed. 
• Do what you can - when you can - to ease each others' burdens. You may not have a second opportunity.
• Don't take the chance that you'll be faced with regret for words spoken in anger.
• Forgive.
• Be a peacemaker.
• Don't miss the chance to spend time with those who are important to you. Share memories. Make memories. Laugh... and sometimes even cry... together. 
• And remember - this may be the last time you have to spend together. Use the time well.

Prayers and good wishes requested.

If you've been following this blog for a while, you may remember when I posted here and here and here about my father, who became critically ill after breaking his hip. He has fought hard to regain his strength, but finally decided that it is time to shift to hospice care. I may not be able to post as frequently for a while, but will be thankful for your prayers as we face this new challenge together.

Seventy times seven?

Members of my Church read the same passages from scripture at services across the world. It is one of the ways we are united as the Body of Christ, although we speak different languages and follow different customs. There’s a reading from the Old Testament, the Psalms, and the Gospels, followed by another selection from the New Testament. Often there will be a common theme in each of the readings on a given day. And as it happens, there has been a common theme running through each of the readings for two consecutive weeks: that of forgiveness. In my daily Bible reading, I’ve run across still more readings on forgiveness just recently. Let me share a few examples with you:

In Matthew 18:21-35, Peter asks Jesus, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?” I imagine Peter thought himself rather magnanimous to consider forgiving someone over and over again. Seven times?!? But Jesus’ answer must have been even more surprising: he said, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times. And he goes on to tell a story of a king whose servant was unable to repay a debt. At first the king issued an order for the man and all of his family to be sold in order to satisfy the debt, but the man begged for mercy and promised to repay what he owed. The king was merciful and cancelled the debt altogether.

One would have expected that the heart of the man who’d been treated with such mercy would be softened, but this was not so. Instead, he went to a man who owed him far less, throttled him, and demanded repayment. Although his debtor begged for mercy, the servant had him thrown into prison until he could repay the debt he owed. The conclusion of the parable is instructive:

“Then the master called the servant in. ‘You wicked servant,’ he said, ‘I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?’ In anger his master handed him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.

“This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

In Matthew 5:21-25, Jesus goes a step further. He goes beyond denouncing actions such as those shown by the ungrateful servant, and condemns their source: anger, bitterness, and malice. He says,

“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.

“Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.

“Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still together on the way, or your adversary may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will not get out until you have paid the last penny. 

Another reading – this time from 1 Corinthians 3:16-17 – seems to point to an excellent reason to avoid harboring ill feelings:

Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in your midst? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person; for God’s temple is sacred, and you together are that temple.

If I truly believe that I am a dwelling-place for God’s Spirit, should I not be careful to offer him only the best lodging? Would I really want to offer the Lord a resting-place furnished with resentment and anger?

Even in the Old Testament, the injunction against harboring these sorts of feelings was clear. In this example from Leviticus 19:17-18, for example, it is recognized that even if it is necessary to correct another, we are to guard against sinning in the process:

“You shall not bear hatred for your brother or sister in your heart. Though you may have to reprove your fellow citizen, do not incur sin because of him. Take no revenge and cherish no grudge against any of your people. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.”

These readings have made me look more carefully at myself. After all, I recognize that forgiveness hasn’t always come easily to me, especially when I was younger. There was a period of years when I carried a load of baggage around with me before realizing, as Malachy McCourt has said, that “Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

So today, I plan to clean house a bit and ensure that any vestiges of these harmful feelings have been rooted out.

Jesus said to his disciples:
“You have heard that it was said,
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
But I say to you, offer no resistance to one who is evil.
When someone strikes you on your right cheek,
turn the other one as well.
If anyone wants to go to law with you over your tunic,
hand over your cloak as well.
Should anyone press you into service for one mile,
go for two miles.
Give to the one who asks of you,
and do not turn your back on one who wants to borrow.
“You have heard that it was said,
You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.
But I say to you, love your enemies
and pray for those who persecute you,
that you may be children of your heavenly Father,
for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good,
and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust.
For if you love those who love you, what recompense will you have?
Do not the tax collectors do the same?
And if you greet your brothers only,
what is unusual about that?
Do not the pagans do the same?
So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

- Matthew 5:38-48 

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Visit Conversion Diary each Friday for 7 Quick Takes.

If A Dog Were Your Teacher

If a dog were your teacher
These are some of the lessons you might learn...

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face
to be pure ecstasy

When it's in your best interest
practice obedience
Let others know when they've invaded your territory
Take naps and stretch before rising
Run romp and play daily

Thrive on attention and let people touch you
Avoid biting, when a simple growl will do
On warm days stop to lie on your back on the grass
On hot days drink lots of water and lay under a shady tree
When you're happy dance around and wag your entire body

No matter how often you're scolded
don't buy into the guilt thing and pout
run right back and make friends

Delight in the simple joy of a long walk
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm
Stop when you have had enough
Be loyal
Never pretend to be something you're not

If what you want lies buried
dig until you find it
When someone is having a bad day
be silent .....
...sit close by.

...and nuzzle them gently.

- Author Unknown

Wordless Wednesday

Head on over to Wordless Wednesday here for more great stuff!

An email from a man (of course)

The top 10 ways you know it’s time for spring.

1. The color of the sky and the ground both match: they’re both solid gray.
2. Mice sit outside the front door and tease the cat because they know kitty won’t go outside.
3. The dog has trouble walking because of icicles hanging from his fur.
4. The grocery store always looks like there’s been a bread robbery because people are constantly stocking up.
5. You don’t need mousse because your hair is frozen solid.
6. The kids are sick and tired of snow days.
7. The phrase “turn in the direction of the skid” begins to make sense.
8. You hope you’ll get the flu so you won’t have to drive in that stuff.
9. The Department of Transportation closes toll booths due to concern about worker safety.
10. The weatherman starts getting hate mail.

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Visit "OhAmanda" at Top Ten Tuesday .

Daniel's gloves - verified on Snopes

I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day.

As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, 'I will work for food.' My heart sank.

I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them.. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car.

Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: 'Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square.'

Then with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the store front church, going through his sack.

I stopped and looked; feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor.

'Looking for the pastor?' I asked.

'Not really,' he replied, 'just resting.'

'Have you eaten today?'

'Oh, I ate something early this morning.'

'Would you like to have lunch with me?'

'Do you have some work I could do for you?'

'No work,' I replied 'I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch.'

'Sure,' he replied with a smile.

As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions. Where you headed?'

'St.. Louis '

'Where you from?'

'Oh, all over; mostly Florida ..'

'How long you been walking?'

'Fourteen years,' came the reply.

I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, 'Jesus is The Never Ending Story.'

Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. . Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought.

He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God

'Nothing's been the same since,' he said, 'I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now.'

'Ever think of stopping?' I asked.

'Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads.'

I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: 'What's it like?'

'What?'

'To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?'

'Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me.'

My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused He turned to me and said, 'Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in.'

I felt as if we were on holy ground. 'Could you use another Bible?' I asked.

He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite. 'I've read through it 14 times,' he said.

'I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see' I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.

'Where are you headed from here?' I asked.

'Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon.'

'Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?'

'No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next.'

He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town-square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.

'Would you sign my autograph book?' he asked. 'I like to keep messages from folks I meet.'

I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, 'I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you; Plans to give you a future and a hope.'

'Thanks, man,' he said. 'I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you.'

'I know,' I said, 'I love you, too.' 'The Lord is good!'

'Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?' I asked.

‘A long time,' he replied

And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.. He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, 'See you in the New Jerusalem.'

'I'll be there!' was my reply.

He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, 'When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?'

'You bet,' I shouted back, 'God bless...'

'God bless.' And that was the last I saw of him.

Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them.... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them.

Then I remembered his words: 'If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?'

Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. 'See you in the New Jerusalem,' he said.

Yes, Daniel, I know I will...

'I shall pass this way but once.. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again.'

Happy Valentine's Day!

And heart-felt Valentines Day wishes to you, honey!

Click here for a great post from (in)courage, hosted on Blog Frog.

Marriage advice, written in 1886 & still true today!

Let your love be stronger than your hate or anger. Learn the wisdom of compromise, for it is better to bend a little than to break. Believe the best rather than the worst. People have a way of living up or down to your opinion of them. Remember that true friendship is the basis for any lasting relationship. The person you choose to marry is deserving of the courtesies and kindnesses you bestow on your friends. Please hand this down to your children and your children’s children: the more things change, the more they are the same.

– Jane Wells, written in 1886

Cowboy Poetry

Jake, the rancher, went one day
To fix a distant fence.
The wind was cold and gusty
And the clouds rolled gray and dense.

As he pounded the last staples in
And gathered tools to go,
The temperature had fallen,
And snow began to blow.

When he finally reached his pickup,
He felt a heavy heart.
From the sound of that ignition
He knew it wouldn't start.

So Jake did what most of us
Would do if we were there.
He humbly bowed his balding head
And sent aloft a prayer.

As he turned the key the last time,
He softly cursed his luck
They found him three days later,
Frozen stiff in that old truck.

Now Jake had been around in life
And done his share of roaming.
But when he saw Heaven, he was shocked --
It looked just like Wyoming !

Of all the saints in Heaven,
His favorite was St. Peter .
So they sat and talked a minute or two,
Or maybe it was three.
Nobody was keeping' score --
In Heaven, time is free.

"I've always heard," Jake said to Pete ,
"that God will answer prayers,
But the one time I asked for help,
Well, he just wasn't there."

"Does God answer prayers of some,
And ignore the prayers of others?
That don't seem exactly square --
I know all men are brothers."

"Or does he randomly reply,
Without good rhyme or reason?
Maybe, it's the time of day,
The weather or the season."

"Now I ain't trying to act smart,
It's just the way I feel.
And I was wondering', could you tell me
What the heck's the deal?!"

Peter listened very patiently
And when Jake was done,
There were smiles of recognition,
And he said, "So, you're the one!!"

"That day your truck, it wouldn't start,
And you sent your prayer a flying,
You gave us all a real bad time,
With hundreds of us trying."

"A thousand angels rushed,
To check the status of your file,
But you know, Jake , we hadn't heard
From you in quite a while."

"And though all prayers are answered,
And God ain't got no quota,
He didn't recognize your voice,
And started a truck in Minnesota!"

- Author Unknown

Here's something you don't see every day!

Join the weekend wrap-up!

I'm asking readers to blog their responses to one (or more) of these questions, to post their answers on their own site, and to link back to this post.

Here are the questions:
The best thing that happened to me this week was __________________.
The worst thing that happened to me this week was __________________.
The funniest thing I saw/heard/did this week was __________________.
The craziest thing I saw/heard/did this week was __________________.
The thing I was most thankful for this week was __________________.

Remember – you don’t need to answer them all. Here are my answers for this week:

• The funniest thing I saw/heard/did this week was participating in the laughter of friends when we joined each other for dinner Saturday evening.
• The craziest thing I saw/heard/did this week was the news story about the guy who had a camera surgically attached to the back of his head.
• The thing I was most thankful for this week was my husband.

If you have a blog, please post your answer there and link back - we'll make it a blog hop!

Don't have a blog? Answer in the comment section below - we still want to hear from you!

This is so cool!

A look at love

I ran across a concept in my reading the other day that I found very interesting. The author was studying the first epistle of John. She suggested that this epistle should be used as a framework for an examination of conscience. A web search for “examination of conscience” will lead you to several different sets of questions you can use to evaluate your walk as a Christian. Many of these are based on the 10 commandments. But the idea of using other passages from the Bible to measure my progress in the spiritual life was new to me.

We’re now approaching Valentine’s Day, and it might be interesting to use the oft-quoted 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians to assess how well we love. So here’s what these verses say about love, along with a few questions to think about:

Love is patient.

One definition of patience is “the level of endurance one's character can take before negativity”. Do I show this sort of endurance, or am I easily exasperated?

Love is kind.

Am I willing to help when I’m able to do so? Am I mean-spirited or sarcastic? Am I quicker to give compliments than criticism?

Love does not envy.

Do I truly want the best for those I care about? Am I jealous, suspicious, or selfish by nature?

Love does not boast.

Am I willing to stay in the background, or do I crave the recognition and approval of others? Do I let others have credit for their accomplishments?

Love is not proud.

Do I respect the rights and opinions of others? Do I respect my own rights and opinions as well? Am I willing to listen to criticism with an open mind?

Love does not dishonor others.

Do I speak well of others, or am I quick to condemn? Do I allow others the freedom to make their own decisions?

Love is not self-seeking.

Is it “my way or the highway”? Am I willing to compromise? More often than not, is my way the only right way?

Love is not easily angered.

Do I take offense easily? Do I take time to think before I react? Do I lash out and hurt others physically or verbally when they “cross me”?

Love keeps no record of wrongs.

Am I resentful? Do I hold a grudge? Am I willing to forgive?

Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.

Am I more likely to look for the best in others, or do I assume the worst? Do I gossip? Will I speak up on someone’s behalf when others gossip?

Love always protects.

Can I be trusted? Will I stand up for what is right? Can others count on me?

Love always trusts.

Am I cynical and suspicious of the motives of other people?

Love always hopes.

Am I an optimist? Do I believe people are capable of positive change? Am I willing to give folks a second chance?

Love always perseveres.

Am I a loyal friend and employee? Am I faithful friend or lover, or am I quick to “throw in the towel”? Am I willing to work at my relationships?

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Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.

– St. Augustine

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Visit Conversion Diary each Friday for 7 Quick Takes.

Revelation Song

You haven't "heard everything" yet. Trust me.

An assistant professor at New York University's Tisch School of the Arts decided to have a camera affixed to the back of his head. The camera was held in place by three titanium posts which had been surgically implanted. His plan was to have the camera snap a picture every 60 seconds throughout 2011. The pictures are to be transmitted to his website and to the Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art in Doha, Qatar.

Professor Wafaa Bilal did have difficulty finding a physician to perform the procedure. For some strange reason, surgeons deemed the procedure too risky. So he had it done at a body piercing parlor.

Unfortunately, although his brain (???) came up with this idea, his head rejected it. The device had to be removed as it caused him constant pain despite a course of antibiotics and steroids.

He won't be thwarted, however; once he heals, he plans to try again, perhaps with a smaller camera. In the meanwhile, he's had to make do with a clumsier (but more comfortable) set-up: he has tied a camera to the back of his neck. 

Why, you may wonder, would anyone do this?

"It's a performance," he says.

He has a history of unusual "performances". According to a BBC article about his latest venture, "Earlier this year, he had his back tattooed with a borderless map of Iraq, with a dot marking the spot of each Iraqi and US casualty. And he once spent a month confined to a gallery in Chicago for his project Domestic Tensions, where people around the world were invited to shoot him with a paintball via a webcam."

Don't believe me?

You can read all about it here. Or here.

Planned Parenthood: more problems...

Within the last few weeks, Live Action has released undercover video shot in 5 different Planned Parenthood “reproductive health” clinics. According to this Live Action report, “Live Action has previously released more than a dozen hidden camera videos from ten states. This body of visual evidence shows several alarming patterns of illegal Planned Parenthood activities including cover-up of sexual abuse of minors, the skirting of parental consent laws, citing unscientific and fabricated medical information to manipulate women to have abortions, and Planned Parenthood’s willingness to accept donations earmarked to abort African-American babies.”

Live Action has forwarded the most recent videos – filmed in three separate clinics in Virginia – to Virginia law enforcement and to the attorney general of Virginia.

The videos are disturbing enough. But to add insult to injury, our tax dollars help to support Planned Parenthood. Between 2002 and 2009, $657 million tax dollars went directly to Planned Parenthood. (That averages out to over $13 million annually during that time period.)

And make no mistake: Planned Parenthood’s notion of “reproductive health” is heavily biased. Note the order in which they list Pregnancy Options on their website: #1 is abortion, followed by adoption, and, last of all, parenting.

The clear message here is that the last thing a woman should want is to raise a child.

I did a little poking around on the Planned Parenthood website. To their credit, they even have their 2008-2009 federal income tax form available online. It is a lengthy document – the *.pdf file is 82 pages long. I skimmed most of it, and I certainly found some of it to be a bit difficult to comprehend (which is to be expected when dealing with the IRS). For example, one section read: In June 2006, the FASB issued FASB interpretation No. 48, accounting for uncertainty in income taxes, and interpretation of FASB statement No. 109 (FIN 48), which addresses the accounting for uncertainties in income taxes recognized in an enterprise’s financial statements and prescribes a threshold of more-likely-than-not for recognition and de-recognition of tax positions taken or expected to be taken in a tax return. (See page 30.)

But although I can’t make head nor tails out of what that is supposed to mean, I found a few things that were both understandable and interesting:

• More than $3 million was spent for “reproductive services” outside of the United States, primarily in sub-Saharan Africa. (See page 31.)
• Over a 4-year period, Planned Parenthood spent $1 million annually in nontaxable lobbying expenses. Much of this went to ”influence public opinion” or to “influence legislative bodies.” (See page 21.)
• The total annual income of the CFO of Planned Parenthood, Julia Nelson, was over $200,000. But that’s chump change. The president of Planned Parenthood, Cecile Richards, reported a total annual income of more than $350,000. (See page 54).
• The Washington DC firm of O’Brian McConnel Pearson was paid $1,754,770 for its fundraising efforts on behalf of Planned Parenthood; in all, fundraising expenditures totaled over $4 million. (See page 81.)

So I guess this post pits me against Planned Parenthood. Not an enviable place to be:

According to this September 2010 Fox Nation article, the former Chief Financial Officer for Planned Parenthood of Los Angeles, P. Victor Gonzalez, learned first-hand that it’s not wise to tangle with an organization as well funded and powerful as Planned Parenthood. Gonzalez allegedly saw evidence of fraudulent overbilling to state and federal agencies. In one example he provided, Planned Parenthood allegedly spent $225,695.65 for Ortho Tri-Cyclen birth control pills, then billed the government $918,084 – more than 2 ½ times the actual cost. After he issued his report internally, he was fired. His allegations of overbilling were later substantiated when the state of California discovered over $5.2 million in overbilling at a single affiliate in San Diego.

Have you, too, had enough? Here are some links you may want to check out:

• Sign an online petition to stop funding Planned Parenthood with our tax dollars.
• Sign a second online petition to stop funding Planned Parenthood with our tax dollars.
• Write to your representatives to the U.S. Senate and theU.S. House of Representatives.
• Stay abreast of pro-life news and issues through organizations such as Live Action, National Right to Life , or Life News .
• Check the Ultimate Pro-Life Resource List.
• Visit Priests for Life .
• Also, please read this excellent post in “Coming Home”, a blog by Dr. Gerard M.Nadal.

Wordless Wednesday

Join the fun over at Wordless Wednesday!

Click the link for more Wordless Wednesday.

The evils of drugs: Yet another example

Not long ago, I posted about a young man who called 911 to inquire how much trouble he could get into for growing a marijuana plant. (See this post.) He found the answer to his question when he was arrested.

He's not the only person who's had a run-in over recreational drugs just recently. According to this MSNBC article, thieves in Silver Springs Shores, Florida broke into a woman's home and snorted what they though was either cocaine or heroin.

It wasn't.

They later found out what they were whiffing: the cremated remains of the homeowner's father and two Great Danes.

Once again, we have proof positive that crime doesn't pay.

How much does a soul weigh?

In 1907, Dr. Duncan MacDougall decided to find out. He constructed a light-weight frame atop platform beam scales capable of measuring with accuracy within 2/10th of an ounce. He then conducted a series of experiments. Over time, he weighed six patients prior to, at the time of, and immediately after their death. Four of the dying patients were in the terminal stages of tuberculosis, one was suffering from complications of diabetes, and the last patient was dying of unknown causes. Dr. MacDougall then observed changes in weight moment-by-moment, and recorded changes he observed. He was meticulous in his record-keeping. Here is an example, taken from Snopes:

The patient’s comfort was looked after in every way, although he was practically moribund when placed upon the bed. He lost weight slowly at the rate of one ounce per hour due to evaporation of moisture in respiration and evaporation of sweat.

During all three hours and forty minutes I kept the beam end slightly above balance near the upper limiting bar in order to make the test more decisive if it should come.

At the end of three hours and forty minutes he expired and suddenly coincident with death the beam end dropped with an audible stroke hitting against the lower limiting bar and remaining there with no rebound. The loss was ascertained to be three-fourths of an ounce.

This loss of weight could not be due to evaporation of respiratory moisture and sweat, because that had already been determined to go on,, in his case, at the rate of one sixtieth of an ounce per minute, whereas this loss was sudden and large, three-fourths of an ounce in a few seconds. The bowels did not move; if they had moved the weight would still have remained upon the bed except for a slow loss by the evaporation of moisture depending, of course, upon the fluidity of the feces. The bladder evacuated one or two drams of urine. This remained upon the bed and could only have influenced the weight by slow gradual evaporation and therefore in no way could account for the sudden loss.

There remained but one more channel of loss to explore, the expiration of all but the residual air in the lungs. Getting upon the bed myself, my colleague put the beam at actual balance. Inspiration and expiration of air as forcibly as possible by me had no effect upon the beam. My colleague got upon the bed and I placed the beam at balance. Forcible inspiration and expiration of air on his part had no effect. In this case we certainly have an inexplicable loss of weight of three-fourths of an ounce. Is it the soul substance? How other shall we explain it?

Dr. MacDougall conducted the same experiment with 15 dogs; in the case of the canines, there was no change in weight when death occurred. MacDougall interpreted his findings as proof that dogs have no souls.

The weight loss of his human subjects was not identical from one person to the next. (The average weight loss was 21 grams.) In addition, there is some question as to the ability of MacDougall and his colleague to determine the precise moment of death. But while MacDougall acknowledged that the experiment would have to be repeated many times before it could be stated unequivocally that the soul has weighable substance, he did postulate that “the soul’s weight is removed from the body virtually at the instant of last breath, though in persons of sluggish temperament it may remain in the body for a full minute”.

Dr. MacDougall later conducted experiments with 12 dying patients in which he used x-rays to try to snap a picture of the soul as it left the body. He concluded that “the soul substance gives off a light resembling that of the interstellar ether”.


When I first read about this, I thought it might be interesting to repeat the experiments today; with a  cardiac monitor, (I thought to myself) it would be easier to know conclusively what time death occurs. But we can't even decide when life begins. Is it at the moment of conception? At the moment when viability is possible outside of the womb? At the moment of birth?

If we can't decide when life begins, how will we know when it ends? We still debate what "death" truly is. Is it when the heart stops, or when the brain stops?

And does the soul have substance?

Who knows? 

____________________________________

Sources:

- Snopes

- Unplug Your Brain

Recapturing a bit of the child

When I was a kid, the whole goal (it appeared to me) was to become an adult. A grown-up. Now, I’m not so sure.

When I think about it today, I realize that there were a host of trade-offs. I don’t have much time for recess any more… or at least it doesn’t feel as free and as fun as it did back then. I no longer hear creaks as I soar on a swing; now, the creaks are in my knees. While the world at one time seemed quite simple, I’ve discovered new complexities. I don’t see the world in black and white anymore; now, I see many, many shades of gray. Not all of this is bad, nor is all of it good.

Please understand, I wouldn’t go back in time if I had the opportunity. I would absolutely hate to live through my teenage years again. But there were some good things about my childhood that I’d like to recapture.

I’d like to daydream a bit more rather than constantly thinking of the things I need to do (or feeling guilty about the things I didn’t do). I’d like to take more time for play, and maybe take a nap now and then.

I’d like to be a little less cautious. I don’t want to be rash, but now and again it would be nice to jump in to a project or activity with both feet rather than over-analyzing it before I start.

I’d like to be so comfortable inside my own skin that I feel no need for pretense. I’d like to be comfortable enough with my opinions that I don’t feel the need to agree when I don’t agree or go along with the crowd when I don’t like where the crowd is going.

I’d like to remember what it is to be constantly filled with wonder… because, after all, the world is full of wonderful things. There’s the grandeur of Mount Everest and the complexity of an atom. There’s the massive blue whale, weighing well over 100 tons, and the microscopic amoeba. There’s the linden tree and then there’s lichen. So many wonders lie just outside my door.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to be a grownup.

Now, I’d like to reawaken at least some of the kid that used to be me.

A Sunday Snippet: Yielding to God's will

 

Conforming to God’s will would be considered by some to be passivity, lethargy, inactivity. On the contrary, it requires active listening to attempt to discern God’s will and consciously deciding whether or not to cooperate with his will. At times there will be some concrete action to be taken, but at other times it means waiting… sitting on my hands… It is sometimes far more difficult to exercise self-restraint than it would be to get busy and do something. So in a peculiar way, choosing not to act becomes an active choice.

Mary is a perfect example of abandonment to God’s will. When I think about her, a few things strike me especially. She didn’t question or argue, but said, “may it be done to me according to your word”. She never attempted to make a big splash. She was always in the background, accepting God’s will without pushing herself forward. Her response to some of the things that must have been troubling to her on some level wasn’t to react instinctively and blurt out her first thought (something Peter was famous for), but rather to “treasure these things in her heart”. The way she responded to God’s will for her is a model for us to emulate.

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Head on over to This That and the Other Thing for A Sunday Snippet.

Another of God's wonders: frazil ice in Yosemite National Park

911 call leads to an arrest. Of the caller.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Stop by Elizabeth Esther at Elizabeth Esther's blog for the Saturday Evening Blogpost!

Join the weekend wrap-up!

I'm asking readers to blog their responses to one (or more) of these questions, to post their answers on their own site, and to link back to this post.

Here are the questions:
The best thing that happened to me this week was __________________.
The worst thing that happened to me this week was __________________.
The funniest thing I saw/heard/did this week was __________________.
The craziest thing I saw/heard/did this week was __________________.
The thing I was most thankful for this week was __________________.

And here are my answers for this week:

• The best thing that happened to me this week was getting together with friends.
• The worst thing that happened to me this week was attending the funeral of a friend from church. We’ll miss you, Alex.
• The funniest thing I saw/heard/did this week was a blond joke. I won’t share it here – too many of my friends are blond, and I value their friendship!
• The craziest thing I saw/heard/did this week was OOPS! I can’t think of anything here!.
• The thing I was most thankful for this week was the beautiful warm weekend we had: 70 degrees! Lovely!

Don't have a blog? Answer in the comment section below - we still want to hear from you!

Concealing the clutter

I was scooting around looking at some blogs I hadn't seen before. One of them had a really interesting post. The author was talking about a special friend she knew... one she didn't have to clean up for. Instead, she could let this friend come in regardless of the state of her house. And she was brave enough to post quite a few pictures of her home. She provided ample evidence of a housekeeping technique called "organizing in piles". It was cluttered. Nowhere near a cluttered as this picture I pulled off the web, but you get the idea...

I started thinking about my own techniques of housecleaning. My place isn't quite as cluttered... usually... but still, there are very few people I allow in my home without a last-minute effort to tidy up. I'm not comfortable with letting most of the world stop by until I make an effort to spruce up.

I use a similar approach to letting folks see my flaws. It's not as easy to conceal my defects of character as it is to stash the clutter under the bed, but I try. I'm not confident enough in my charisma and charm to believe that most people will accept me for who I am, warts and all. My husband has done better than anyone I know, and I have a couple of close friends who are close runners-up. But it takes me  a while to begin to fully reveal myself to anyone.

I can't conceal my true self from God, though. He knows everything I do and say and think. In fact, he fore-knew everything I would do and say and think. And he loved me enough to bring me into being anyway.

You have searched me, LORD,
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you, LORD, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

- Psalm 139:1-16

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Visit Conversion Diary each Friday for 7 Quick Takes.

Thankful Thursday

Grant me the grace, Lord, to be able some day to pay you at least some small coin towards the enormous sum which I owe you. Then dispose of all the rest as you please, provided that I can do something for you... How intolerable it is to receive so much and to give nothing! Do not permit that I always present myself before you with empty hands.

- St. Teresa of Avila

Each week, the Akal Ranch blog has a "Thankful Thursday" meme. The author asks us to share some of the things we're thankful for, then to link back to her. I'm going to tag a few of my fellow bloggers and ask them to participate as well.

First, here are some things I'm grateful for this week:

• Being able to go out with members of our church family each Saturday after the vigil Mass. This group of folks have become close friends.
• Carolina blue skies. Friends of ours from more northern lands have been digging out - over and over - from big snows. We've been blessed with some beautiful weather here.
• Our cats, Ling and Lucky. They're a source of affection and amusement (and, sometimes, frustration).

TAG, You're it! I'm asking these bloggers to join in this weeks Thankful Thursday:

• Sarah atAdventures of a Recovering Basket Case
• Anne at Imprisoned in My Bones
• Elizabeth Esther at Elizabeth Esther
• Bob at Kansas Bob
• Jamie at Roman Catholic Cop

Feel free to share some of the reasons you're thankful this Thursday in the comment section below.

Writing wrongs and rights

Sometimes it seems far easier to remember hurts or offenses than it does to remember kindnesses and benefits. I've known more than a few people who ruminate over wrongdoings endlessly. There've been times in my life when I've done this as well.

What a perverse habit!

The other day, I received an email that offers some good advice for those of us who occasionally have a propensity to brood over the transgressions of others:

Two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey, they had and argument, and one friend slapped the other in the face.

The one who got slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand, “Today my best friend slapped me in the face.

They kept on walking, until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning, but the friend saved him.

After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone: “Today my best friend saved my life.”

They kept on walking.

The friend who had slapped and saved his best friend asked him, “After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand, and now, you write on a stone. Why?”

The friend replied, “When someone hurts us we should write it down in sand, where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it.”

Learn to write your hurts in the sand and to carve your benefits in stone.